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She grabbed hold of the waistband of her panties and shoved them down her legs, and he groaned.
Those copper curls were prettier than he could’ve ever imagined.
Glorious in every way.
He wanted to taste her. Devour her.
And he realized then there was nothing stopping him. He wasn’t on a leash. It was the most dangerous damn realization he could’ve had. Because he wasn’t going to stop himself.
On a growl, he went down to his knees, pushing her back against the wall and burying his face between her legs, licking into her like she was an ice cream cone and it was a hot summer day, and he had to get every last drop.
“Gus,” she said, grabbing the back of his head. And with his broad shoulders, and her thighs draped over him, he lifted her up off the ground as he continued to eat, devouring her.
“Oh, Gus,” she said, rocking her hips against his mouth. And then he pushed two fingers inside of her, and a third, while she sobbed and rolled her hips against him, while she came, and then came again.
“I can’t,” she panted. “I can’t.” And he knew it was time to make her come again.
And he did. Mercilessly.
Then he picked her up, and carried her to the bed, kicking off his boots, jeans and underwear as he did, pinning her down to the mattress and pressing his arousal between that slick cleft there.
“Gus,” she whimpered. And he kissed her. Drugging and deep. So that she could taste her own desire on his mouth. So that she could taste just how much he wanted her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, wrapped her legs around his hips. And it was just about too much. To have every inch of Alaina Sullivan pressed to him. To feel her dampness covering him as she rocked her hips against him. “Gus,” she moaned.
And he wanted to wait. Wanted to tease her. Wanted to tease them both.
But he didn’t have the strength. Instead, he gripped the base of his shaft and guided it to the center of her body, so that he could tease her. Rub the head of it against that sensitive bundle of nerves before drawing it back down to her entrance and filling her, but just a bit.
“Please,” she said.
And then he slammed home.
And it was like a freight train had run him the hell over.
She was so tight.
Tight and perfect and everything he’d been looking for in any other partner he’d ever had.
He fit her.
And he looked down into her eyes, and couldn’t deny who it was. And he didn’t want to.
Because she was his. His Alaina.
And he growled out her name as he ground himself against her.
She sobbed, and he withdrew, before going back home.
And he lost himself, unable to be gentle. Unable to establish any kind of rhythm.
And he was praying. Praying that she would find her release.
That this would end, because he didn’t have the strength to keep on holding back.
And then those fingernails dug deep into his shoulders and she screamed out his name, her internal muscles pulsing around him. And he lost it. “Alaina,” he growled, as he spilled himself deep inside of her. As his orgasm tore something from him, something he didn’t think he’d ever get back.
A piece of his damn soul.
