Page 11 of Harvest His Heart (Alphas Fall Hard Collection #6)
He parts the flannel, kissing along my jawline, slow and easy, setting my pulse on fire as he takes his time, makes a feast of me down to my neck, my shoulder, my collarbone, and then lower until I feel the heat and wet of his mouth through the thin veil of cotton and lace.
“Yes, Anson,” I gasp, body quivering, relaxing against his lips. Each kiss, nip, and suck a promise I long to hold onto.
“I need you,” I confess. I need to feel loved, cherished, like I’m his everything.
“You sure?” he asks, ambivalence threading his question. “Don’t want to take advantage of you when you’re feeling vulnerable, unsteady.”
“I want you to make me forget … everything,” I pant against his ear, savoring the salt and warmth of his flesh. “Show me what matters.”
He moans as the tip of my tongue traces the shell of his ear, finding his earlobe, sucking and teasing. Flannel hits the couch, then my shirt and bra.
His mouth claims my breasts, dipping lower, awakening fire buried so deep I no longer thought it existed.
Lips seal around my nipple, sucking hard, big hands teasing and tantalizing me.
Seizing my hips, echoing my lead, arching me against him, slow and easy, grinding me down over him until my head swims.
“What I wanted in the orchard,” I confess between gasps. “Had to walk away or lose control.”
His eyes dart to mine, face somber, searing. “I knew you wanted me. Could feel it. Smell it. Taste it on your lips and flesh. But I didn’t want to push, start something without trust between us. Don’t want any regrets, Lace. Any pain.”
Sandalwood and apple blossom collide as our breaths race, bodies sliding against each other. The layers of clothing between us a cage I long to escape.
“The only regret,” I say, cupping his cheeks and running my hand over his rough afternoon stubble. “Would be not letting you know how you make me feel.” I tug at his shirt, fingers stumbling over his buttons, hungry for more of him.
I lean forward, feather his chest in kisses, trace his scar with the tip of my tongue. He shudders at my caress. Like he’s not used to people touching him there.
“Too much?” I pant.
“Doesn’t hurt anymore,” he says warmly. Hand coming up to stroke my cheek. “Healed by you.”
I grab his hand, place it over my heart. An echo of earlier in the kitchen. “I heal your outer. You heal my inner.”
“Meant to be,” he says with conviction, finally sinking fully into the moment, surrendering with me. Flames spark from the fabric, rustling.
We don’t undress. We unravel—the armor, the fear, the loneliness. One breath at a time.
“I’m clean. Got condoms,” he offers.
“I’m clean, too, and on the pill. No need for a condom.” My eyes dart to the huge, night-blackened window, heart thudding. “But what if someone sees us?”
“Our safe spot. Home,” he grumbles. “No one touches this place. Anyone who tries will pay.” There’s iron and steel in his voice.
But the pleasure is sweet, overflowing, like the juice down his scarred wrist as he circles my other nipple with his tongue, and I see stars. Rough hand slides between my legs, thick thumb sliding over my folds, slickening in my arousal.
“So wet.” He groans. “Like you need me. Like I’m enough.”
“You’re all I need,” I admit, voice stuttering as he circles my clit.
I arch back on a sharp inhale, pleasure rushing through me like a tsunami.
His insistent mouth teases and draws me out, expert thumb unraveling me with each lazy orbit.
He slides a thick finger inside, curling it back toward him.
My body jolts. Breath escapes my lips. Every nerve sparks alive.
My fingernails dig into his back, voice far away, begging him not to stop. Like my whole world, all meaning rests in his mouth and one hand. The other stays clamped at my waist, demanding friction as I roll my drenched core over his thick, hot length.
“Oh, God, Anson. I’m going to come.” I brace, lower ab muscles tightening, legs shaking. His merciless stroke and naughty mouth push me over the edge. Floating free, I gasp, quivering and flooding warm, tears pooling, emotion ripping through me on a whimper that burgeons into a scream.
He talks me through it, works me until I melt against him, quivering. Completely absorbed by him.
Anson licks his fingers, pupils blown, breath hitching as his grip centers on my hips again.
The fire pops and sizzles, warm, inviting as he slides into me.
I gasp—so thick, so raw, too large. Pushing me well past the point of comfort.
Yet, somehow, the completion I’ve always needed.
Like a piece of my soul clicking into place.
I stare into his eyes, overflowing with tenderness, souls touching in our unbroken gaze. His hips move, driving deeper with each thrust, demanding, giving even more. I cup his cheeks, smile, eyes melting into his.
Not casual sex. Not lust. But vulnerability, ache and fill, pain and pleasure. Heady and overwhelming as he takes me over the edge again. I break hard, gasping, sobbing, kissing his face. Totally his.
He follows behind, breath hot on my neck, passion rolling through me, waves of heat and rumbling pleasure. Strong hands gripping my waist so hard I’m sure I’ll bruise. And yet the touch is tender, reverential, messy and ardent. Two lives coming together, two worlds crashing.
I love you.
Those three words hang in the sliver of air between us.
They shine in his eyes, etch in my heart.
An unspoken agreement as our breathing slows, and I snuggle against him.
He pulls a fur blanket over us, decadent soft against my naked flesh.
Bodies tangled, union fortified in the comfortable silence that settles.
His fingertips stroke absent-mindedly over my shoulder into my hair as we watch the fire, transfixed by glowing amber.
“Need you here,” he murmurs—more vow than claim. His lips find mine, not a kiss of hunger. A kiss of home. His words, spoken from an honesty too absolute to deny. Not possession, not covetousness. Just the truth of what we are together.