Page 91 of His Trick

So many questions I didn’t want to answer. Instead, I leaned forward, dropping my small bag and the weight it carried.

I kissed her before she could ask more, my hands locking on her waist, dragging her into me like she was my only means of oxygen. She gasped against my mouth but didn’t pull away. She never did.

I knew Xanthy’s body. Knew every curve and divet. I knew her neck turned her on the most, and how she hated everyone’s feet. I knew she adored old-fashioned movies, and the first time we fucked was toPillow Talkat a drive-in date I arranged just for her.

I knew everything about this woman, except how to love her.

When I broke the kiss, I pressed my forehead against hers.

“Don’t ask. Please, Alexandra, just…don’t,” I rasped, the desperation dripping from me like the rain from my clothes.

Her manicured brows pulled together, concern like a second skin, clinging to her like my clothes.

“You’re scaring me, Shiloh.”

“I just need you, okay? I missed you. I love you. Be with me, Baby Girl,” I said, too harsh, too absolutely broken.

She hesitated and searched my face. “Need me…how? I love you too, Baby. Please let’s talk. I know you went to see your dad. I…tracked your phone. Can we talk, please?”

She was so much like Carrington it fucking hurt. But maybe that was what I needed. A piece of him I could drown in.

I didn’t answer her. Instead, I pushed her inside the house, shutting the door with my heel. The storm stayed outside, but it still roared within me.

“Shiloh—”

“Please.” My voice cracked, just once. “I fucking need you, Alexandra Harding. Don’t deny me.”

Her shoulders softened with her name, and then she sighed, looking at the broken man in front of her.

“Please, my love. Be with me.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay. Whatever you need. But we will talk about this again, Shiloh Anderson.”

She would have to kill me first.

I led her to the couch in the foyer, my hands already rough on her skin, tugging at her soft booty pajama shorts and crop top. She didn’t resist me, but her sorrow-filled eyes stayed locked on mine, still searching, like she knew there was more under the surface.

I couldn’t bear to look at her fucking eyes. The gold around the brown was a painful reminder of him. I flipped her, and when I bent her over the couch arm.

“Talk to me. Please. I’m here, Shiloh,” she whispered.

“Let my body do the fucking talking.”

I thrust into her hard, no warm-up, my teeth clenched, and my nails dug into her thick, delicious hips. She gasped at first from the shock and then moaned. Her body fell into the easy, familiar rhythm, but still she kept pressing, her words breaking between breaths and pants.

“This isn’t you. Not like this. What’s—mmm fuck—what’s going on—you can’t just ignore your pain by fucking me?—”

Yes, I can.

“Nothing,” I ground out, the lie choking me. As I choked my dick in her tight cunt.

“Shiloh, stop lying to yourself and me.” Her voice shook with my speed as I fucked her harder, trying to stop her ability to use words.

“I can’t,” I snapped, my hips continuing to slam into hers.

“Can’t…or won’t?”

I didn’t answer, and finally her orgasm took hold. She couldn’t form any words other than my name. I buried my face against her shoulder blade, fucking her harder, desperate to drown myself in her pleasure.