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“I love holding you down and fucking you, sugar. More often than not, that’s what I’ll be hungry for.” I drag her hips higher, propping that tight ass against my stomach and angling her just right. Just right. “But by God, your body is going to know this cock from every angle.”
A shiver goes through her. “Yes, Blaste.”
Exhilaration prickles every inch of my skin. “That’s what I love to hear.”
I take her slow, but firm, on her hands and knees.
I fold myself over her and kiss her neck, the sensitive place beneath her ear, while I enter her wet cunt from behind, the base of my spine tightening like a corkscrew and it’s no wonder, because she’s a magical creature, her fingers twisting in the grass, her back arched, opening the cheeks of her backside so I can rub my thumb over her tight, little asshole while I’m pumping, my abdomen stitched up with pain trying to hold on to my come as long as possible, so I can enjoy her. The sight and snugness and scent of her.
I take my time, driving my cock to the hilt, working my hips in circles, grinding, then pulling out almost entirely, exhaling, slowly, fisting her hair and pulling her head to the side while I sink back into the tightness, feeling her muscles flex in welcome, groaning as her wetness increases, the sound of my cock punching forward slowly tangling with our increasing moans…and I start to move faster. No help for it. I press her cheek down into the grass and work us into a frenzy.
“You get me off like such a good girl,” I grunt, teeth clenched, my balls so stiff they’re not even swinging now, just plastered to my undercarriage, poised and ready to let loose. “You break me, Shiloh. Fuck, you break me. Baby, just stay still, just like that, it’s going to be rough for a minute.” She whimpers as I let the beast come out of me, taking her from behind with a savagery a man shouldn’t inflict on the woman he loves, but I can’t stop. I can’t, because she’s my love and my lust, all rolled into one. My perfect match. And she’s stripping me of my control so thoroughly that I’m bellowing her name as my peak speeds closer, blinding me, wrecking me. “Ohhh shit, shit, good girl, keep your ass up, almost there, almost—”
I tackle her into the grass, thrusting deeper than ever and shouting a curse as my come floods out of me, filling her perfect space, and I realize she’s trembling violently, too, her orgasm colliding with mine, and knowledge that she can climax when I’m fucking her that hard makes me so hot, another wave of pleasure rolls out of me, emptying me in a way I’ve never experienced before. And yet, my chest, my heart is so full, I blurt the words in my head. I say them out loud because nothing has ever been truer.
“I love you, Shiloh,” I breathe into the nape of her neck. “I love you so much.”
She reaches back and grips my hand. “I love you, too. I love you, Blaste.”
We tumble sideways into the grass and I draw her roughly into my arms, needing to touch her, soothe her, feel her. Hot pressure forms behind my eyes when I see her face and find her gazing back at me with so much love, so much devotion that I can only hold her, rock her and attempt to calm down. We stay like that for hours, but it feels like a matter of minutes, because no amount of time with her is enough. And when darkness falls and we fall asleep, neither one of us expects to be woken up by a voice.
A presence.
A familiar one…to me at least.
And that’s when the world around me starts to crumble.
Chapter
Eleven
Shiloh
“Jim?”
This whispered question comes from Blaste and I rouse myself from a half-sleep, cracking an eyelid open to find an old man standing at the edge of the lake holding a fishing pole, several yards away. In the other hand, he holds a bucket, but he drops it to the ground and it tips over, sending bait and supplies spilling onto the shore.
“Jim?” Blaste says again, louder, voice almost ragged.
That name is ringing a bell somewhere in my mind, but I’m still too groggy from dozing to recall where I’ve heard it before. Who is this man? He’s looking at Blaste like he’s seen a ghost. Someone he’s seen before. But maybe hasn’t seen in a long time.
Ghost.
Oh…oh God.
I remember where I’ve heard the name Jim. When Blaste was talking about his family, Jim was the name of his older brother. But he can’t be one and the same with this man, can he? There are a million Jims in this world, right? That doesn’t explain the recognition on both of their faces, though. That doesn’t explain the sheen in Blaste’s eyes.
