Page 50 of Fractured Reality
“You’ve got one more, sweetheart,” I grin as I angle her face to meet mine, needing her this close so I can see the moment she dives over the cliffs edge again. Resting her full weight against me, our foreheads pressed together, I pump my hips. She shakes violently, screaming out my name as the second orgasm hits in quick succession. Two more thrusts and I’m right there with her. Losing my ever-loving mind as I empty myself inside her, my vision spotty, my thumping heart threatening to lurch right out of my chest as I cradle her the best I can to my body.
“Mine. Mine. Mine.”
CARA
“Yours.”
Still semi-hard and nestled inside me, he crashes his lips against mine, losing himself in me as our tongues dance. My lungs scream for oxygen, our hearts beating frantically in time, but I don’t pull away until he breaks the connection.
Panting exhales fill the air, our sweat slick bodies warm as he holds me against his chest in a tight embrace. I could sleep for a week, my body boneless as I slump in his arms as much as the restraints will allow.
Ezra reaches up and unbuckles my wrists. I groan at the loss of him when he pulls out of me. Resting my cheek on his shoulder when he carefully lowers me beside him on the bed. The aftershocks of my release spark in every extremity—my brain wanting more, my body playing catch-up. He dips and dots featherlight worshiping kisses down my face, neck, andcollarbone, lapping at the scarred tissue of his bite mark that has almost faded to nothing.
“When this baby comes, I want a fresh mark from you,” I order, kissing his nose and breathing in his familiar scent mixed with a hint of frantic sex.
“Whatever you say, Mrs. Wolfe.” He runs his hand through my loose curls, massaging my scalp with deft fingers. I mumble incoherently, lost to the sensation. “Let’s do it again,” he chuckles against my lips.
“You’re psychotic.” I slap a hand against his chest when I pull back for air.
“Caring and possessive too—I’m like a fucked-up Care Bear—all the emotions wrapped up in 6’3 of dangerous tatted muscle.” He raises his arm and flexes his muscles theatrically, and I can’t hold back the chuckle. “I like rainbows, but I won’t hesitate to cut a prick,” he adds, bonking me on the nose with his finger before diving in for my ticklish spot on my hip with a beaming grin. I laugh so hard, I almost wet myself. He leans back and pulls me across him, the metal of my prosthetic caressing the patch of skin tattooed with my name over his heart as I rest on his chest.
Is he unhinged? Certainly.
Deathly protective? Always.
Quick to grab a blade? Morning, noon, and night.
But under it all—my Ezra Wolfe will always be adorably playful with an unhealthy side order of crazy.
And I wouldn’t have him any other way.