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The pleasure of having her was so intense, so surreal, that he shuddered and tried to absorb the moment, how agonizingly perfect, how incredibly right, she felt beneath him. Bracing his forearms on either side of her head, he inhaled sharply when she rolled her hips with purpose against his. Then she closed her eyes and whispered his name, pushing on his chest, rolling him to his back with a groan that made him wild.
Those wicked hips settled over him, pumped against his dick and the pleasure rushed over him in a full, devastating body wave. She didn’t just take him in. Shetook him on, her eyes locked to his, body working with him, for him, her moans rising in harmony with the stuttering thrusts of his final drive toward release.
The sunflower around her neck brushed his face as she bent over him, straddling him with silk and slow, tactile hunger. It was warm from her skin, sliding along his cheek, down the hollow of his throat, settling where his heart hammered frantically, for her, for this moment, for the wild, aching promise of more nights like this.
Redemption. Freedom from the blank prison he had sealed himself into.
Grace was all of it, burgeoning hope catching in his chest with every slow, devastating sway of her hips.
She seduced him into believing that maybe, just maybe, he could slow down.
That he could find a place of peace inside himself.
The quiet of her need made him think that anything, with Grace, might be possible.
She whispered his name like it was a prayer and a dare, like she knew exactly what it meant to give herself to a man who gave nothing half-measured.
He was so lost to her as he withdrew and surged back into her, over and over, long, hard strokes that increased in power and strength and depth. He was so close it hurt. His body strained, taut with the tension of too many hours of denial, his jaw clenched, breath ragged, thighs locked as he heaved into her with everything he’d held back. Her name broke against his teeth in a shattered groan, but it was her hands on him, her sweet glove, gripping his engorged, aching dick, guiding his rhythm, that undid him.
“Come for me,” she whispered, low and fierce, placing open-mouthed kisses on his jaw, his lips. “You’ve been hard for so long,” she murmured, her groan low and lush. “You prayed instead of taking what you wanted. That made me want you even more.” She rode him hard, relentlessly, and his face contorted at the agony of pleasure. “You don’t have to hold back,hebbiti. Not anymore. Neither of us has to withhold anything.”
He came on those words, his release ripping through him, not in a single wave, but in a flood that overwhelmed thought, breath, control. He came with a groan that vibrated through his chest, shaking under her hands, the pulse of it drawn out by the rhythm she never let falter. His hands gripped her like she was the only thing anchoring him to the world.
The aftershock hit like detonation, sharp, shattering, drawn from a place so deep it wasn’t even pleasure anymore, just pure, unfilteredneedfinally finding release. His body arched, muscles locked, a sound caught in his throat, half-curse, half-benediction, as he poured into her, pulse after pulse wracking him so hard he saw stars behind his eyes.
He didn’t speak. Just lay there, still sheathed inside her, the last tremor of his climax echoing through his chest. But his cock went hard, thick, aching with something more than release.
She made a soft sound, then her voice rasped out, “Oh, God, Nash?”
“This is your fault, Grace. I seem to have a perpetual hard-on for you. Can you do something about that?” His body coiled again, not with urgency this time, but with wonder. With awe. With the unbearable knowledge that she’d touched something in him that no one else ever had.
She looked at him, burst into soft laughter. “Blame this on me. That’s not very heroic.” She moved her hips, and he grunted and closed his eyes at the heavy pleasure. “But damn if you are the cutest, most charismatic gunslinger I have ever met.”
He shifted slightly, “Gunslinger. Are you saying there’s a weapon between my legs?”
“Oh, yes, a very dangerous one. You know we do have a job to do. How many mags are you toting?”
“I think I might need a moment after this to reload.”
She moaned softly, “Oh, God, Nash. I want you so much again. Burning me down? I’m cinders, and with a breath, you’re bringing me to flame again, beautiful wildfire.” She slid her fingers over his scalp, gently anchoring him to her chest, and he stilled again.
He pressed his mouth against her throat, his lips moving to her collarbone, the tip of her breast. He wasn’t just hard. He wasopen.
She kissed the top of his head, her voice low, raw. “I’ve got you, Nash.”
His throat worked. His arm tightened around her waist. He was lost, drowning, his pool training failing him. The words came from somewhere raw and aching inside him, somewhere he had walled off, and in the light of Grace’s grace, he whispered the most dangerous words he’d ever given another human being.
“Don’t let go.”
“I won’t, you beautiful, sexy bastard.”
He huffed out a puff of laughter, then shifted again, slowly, gently, and looked up at her. What he saw in her eyes made him ache in places he didn’t know could feel,trust.Fear.Need. The kind of need that didn’t burn, itclung. The kind that saidyou broke me, and I wanted you to.
She trailed her fingers down his spine, and his eyes fluttered closed under the weight of her touch.
“You’re—” she began, her voice shaking.
“Hard,” he finished, his voice hoarse, lips brushing her skin. “I’m not done with you.”