Page 150 of By A Thread

My life would never be the same. I was never letting her go. No matter what.

She writhed against me, still coming, still sobbing my name, holding my face to her breast.

We stayed like that long after the waves stopped coming. Sweat gave her skin a honey-like sheen in the soft glow of the light. I didn’t want to pull out. I didn’t want to ever not be inside her again. I felt her clench around me once, twice, as if she’d read my mind.

I gave her nipple one last stroke with my tongue before dropping my head back against the sofa. “Three-two,” I gasped.

“Jesus, we’re still not even?” Her laugh was breathless, and I felt that too in my still-hard cock.

“Give me a couple of minutes.”

And the rest of your life.

50

Ally

He took me home. Brownie was waiting not so patiently for us inside. I stayed in the kitchen, helping myself to a glass of water and hopping up on the edge of the counter while Dominic let the dog out into the backyard.

Minutes later, man and dog returned in a burst of energy. They’d clearly been playing in the dark. Brownie stuck his face in his dish, sloshing water everywhere. But Dominic set his sights on me.

He stalked toward me, a gleam in his eyes, and I felt a delicious cocktail of nerves and excitement mix inside me. He looked positively devilish, and I was pretty sure I looked debauched.

Stepping between my legs, he put those big hands on my thighs and ran them up to my hips, squeezing and kneading. My breath caught in my throat because apparently the two most volatile, explosive, violent, world-ending orgasms I’d ever had were not enough.

Judging by the subtle tightening in his jaw, I wasn’t alone.

“I’ve fantasized about you just like this.” His voice was a honeyed rasp that I wanted to bathe myself in.

Orgasms? What orgasms?My vagina’s short-term memory was clearly impaired.

His hands slipped around my hips to my ass, and he yanked me against him. His mammoth penis definitely had a case of amnesia because he was stone hard.

We needed to talk.

Needed to have a conversation about what the hell this all meant.

Discuss why he’d suddenly thrown his principles out the window and crossed a line that, for him, took him too close to his father.

Instead, I hooked my heels at his back and draped my arms over his shoulders. His strong, steady shoulders.

“I hate that someone hurt you, Ally,” he confessed, bringing up a hand to tenderly trace the bruising on my face.

“Everybody gets hurt sooner or later,” I said lightly.

“Not you. Not anymore. I can’t take it.”

I rested my forehead against his. “Some things are out of even your control, Charming.”

“I refuse to believe that.”

I was aware of the fact that he was only half-joking.

“Your father,” he began.

I leaned back to study his face. So strong, so serious. The cut of his jaw, the furrowed brow. I lusted after the subtle hollows in his cheeks. It was the face of a warrior, a god. And those blue eyes were anything but icy now. As if a fire had been lit deep within him.

“Does it bother you to talk about him?” he asked.