Page 21 of Only ever you-Ana & Byron (Blindsided #2)

I nside was a sleek, light-flooded apartment with walls of glass, dark oak floors, and a skyline view glittering across a massive open-plan living area.

There was a sunken lounge with a slate-grey sofa, soft recessed lighting, and a marble breakfast bar in the kitchen beyond. One hallway curved toward the bedrooms, the other led to a large door.

But he didn't stop for a tour.

He carried her inside, kicked the door shut, and kissed her again, hungry and bruising. She slid down his body, trembling as she turned slowly to find him only inches from her.

Byron was already stripping.

First, his shirt, dragged over his head, tousling those short, damp curls-then his joggers. What was left was raw, breath-taking male form.

Light from the hallway skimmed across his torso, highlighting his carved pectorals, a light dusting of chest hair trailing down the ridges of his abdomen to his groin.

His muscles were taut, coiled with energy.

His cock, already hard, was thicker, longer than she remembered and rose against his washboard abdomen.

She swallowed, pulse pounding loudly in her ears.

He stepped closer.

Then he reached for her hand and guided it down, curling her fingers around the weight of him.

"Go on," he murmured, voice low, rough with need. "Put your hand on it, love. Don't be shy."

Her fingers trembled as they wrapped around him. He hissed through his teeth, his hips rocking once into her palm.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he muttered, closing his eyes for a second as her hand moved up and down his length. "No one else. Only you."

Then he surged forward, kissing her, devouring her, backing her into the wall with desperate grace. She kissed him back like her life depended on it and let go of him with reluctance as he lifted her effortlessly.

"You're mine," he whispered as he pressed into her as if it was his life’s mission to merge with her.

She had no time to answer. In a blur, he laid her down on the cool hardwood. Then his mouth was on hers, hot, messy and all-consuming .

She gasped as he kissed her like a man starved.

She was hardly aware as he undressed her with more economy than finesse, buttons flying in all directions.

Then he was between her thighs, fingers sliding her underwear aside. His eyes met hers for a long moment of connection before he looked down at her body. His expression was reverent. Her breath hitched .

Then his lips kissed the top of her inner lips before letting his tongue slide down.

Ana jolted, her hips twitching upward, but he held her down with one hand on her belly, holding her down effortlessly, his mouth pressed into her folds. The first stroke of his tongue almost sent her into orbit.

She couldn't stop the squeak that escaped her lips.

When she reached for his hair, it was to push him away.

But her hands had a mind of their own as she pulled him closer.

She couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. Her body was hot and wet and wild beneath his mouth.

Ana felt his tongue over that secret place as he licked her, his hard hands pushing her thighs apart when she tried to close them.

She couldn't stop the scream that was wrenched from her, her breath strangled. He is going down on her like he has wanted to do this forever. Ana shakily reached down, her hands sliding into his hair, holding him in place.

Then, he pulled back only to insert a finger into her wet heat closely followed by another. An embarrassing squishing sound accompanied his movements.

He whispered, “Shhh." as he moved in and out of her while she squirmed like a butterfly caught in a web.

Suddenly, his fingers were gone. He hooked his fingers under the cotton waistband of her panties and with and impatient snap, tore it off in one go. Then he braced himself over her his hand working to position himself at her entrance.

Ana stiffened as the blunt tip pressed into her.

Her body wasn't as ready as she thought.

He moved slowly, watching her face. She tensed, remembering not just the pain, but what came after. He leaned in, whispering against her neck as his body pressed forward .

"I'm going to ruin you," he rasped, his teeth grazing her skin. The burn was slow, searing as he pushed deeper, inch by inch.

"I want to hear you scream," he growled into her ear.

She couldn't. Her nails clawed at his back, her lips parted in a silent gasp.

He didn't stop.

He thrust harder, deeper. One hand captured her wrists and pinned them over her head, the other sliding under her back. His hips rolled, unrelenting.

The hand holding her hands let go to trace the inside of her arm, her collarbone until his finger circled her nipple. It ached. Everything ached. The pressure built until it was unbearable.

She sobbed, high and broken as she tried to move her hips to take more.

"No," she whispered as she felt the climax approaching.

"Not yet."

But it was too late. Her body took over.

She clenched hard around him, pulse after pulse of pleasure crashing through her. Her legs trembled. Her eyes rolled back.

Then she went limp beneath him, her thighs still open, with him still hard inside her.

For a second, she blacked out. When she came to, she didn't look at him.

Couldn't. Tears stung her eyes. One slipped free. Then another.

He licked it away.

Ana waited for him to pull out. Somehow, she expected him to say something cruel. Something smug.

But he seemed to hover frozen above her. When she finally opened her eyes and looked, his face was carved in lines of control as his eyes bored into hers .

He looked at her like he'd been waiting his whole life for her to open her eyes to him again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Then he started moving again.

Deeper. Harder. Fast.

He groaned, his voice wrecked with sensation, fingers digging into her hips as he drove into her like he couldn't help himself. She felt every inch of him, every desperate thrust. His mouth dropped to her shoulder, then her neck.

When he came, it was with a hoarse cry, his whole body shuddering over hers. She hugged him close in that vulnerable moment.

Then the silence was broken only by their desperate gasps for air

She lay beneath him, full and sore, his chest pressed to hers, his heart thundering against her ribs.

His cock pulsed inside her, still hard. Still deep.

When he finally withdrew, she felt the wet slide, the sudden emptiness, the heat spilling from her body. But he took her with him so that she was splayed on top of him.

They drowsed in silence, her body heavy atop his, his breath warm against her temple. Outside the glass walls, the city blinked and shimmered. Inside, time didn't seem to move.

Eventually, she felt him shift.

A gentle flex of muscle beneath her. Then arms sliding under her thighs and back. He carried her like she weighed nothing, like a ragdoll, boneless and dazed-down a short hallway dimly lit by recessed lights.

She squinted, trying to make out the space. Impressions flitted through her brain. Bedroom, maybe. King-sized bed. Navy linen. Minimalist. Masculine. But he kept going.

Instead, he nudged open a door and carried her into a cool, softly lit en-suite .

Before she could speak, he set her down on the toilet.

She blinked up at him, disoriented, trying to focus without her glasses.

"Have a wee," he said, voice casual, low. "You don't want a UTI."

She stared. "Get out."

He gave her a look-somewhere between amused and unimpressed. "Ana. Pee."

She gave him an outraged look.

"I said, get. out. I can’t pee with you standing there like that."

He held up his hands in mock surrender but grinned as he stepped out, leaving the door slightly ajar like he didn't trust her to follow orders.

She could still hear him moving around outside, bare feet on wood. A drawer opening. A cupboard clicked shut. Then, after a pause-

"I put your glasses on the sink," he called. "I have a shirt for you if you want. But I prefer you like you are right now."

Ana muttered something rude under her breath and did what she had to do, body still aching, legs still trembling.

The post-coital reality was setting in, blurry, damp, sore, and oddly at peace.

Like this is where she was supposed to be.

Ever since the blast, she had this irresistible urge to see Byron.

To finally give what was between them a try.

When she stepped out a few minutes later naked as the day she was born, he was standing by the bed holding a bottle of water in one hand and two paracetamols in the other. Her skin still held the sheen of sweat, her hair damp at the roots, wild down her back.

She was naked.

Byron looked up from where he'd been fiddling with the bedding. And then he looked, really looked at her.

His eyes swept her body slowly. His gaze stalled on the faint line beneath her ribs, a silvery scar just beginning to fade. Another across her hip. A ghost of bruising along her thigh and the scarring on her leg. The aftermath of a close call.

He didn't ask, but his throat worked as if he wanted to.

She stood still under the weight of it.

His jaw flexed, a flicker of emotion crossing his face, his eyes suspiciously wet for a second, before he turned away sharply.

"Missed a sock," he said gruffly.

Ana blinked, looked down.

She was completely naked... except for one ridiculous sock still clinging to her left foot.

A surprised laugh escaped her.

Byron didn't look at her, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Sexy," she said dryly, kicking it off. "Bet you fantasised about this moment."

He tossed her a bottle of water and climbed into bed, facing the ceiling.

"You have no idea," he muttered.

He reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers before pulling her under the duvet and spooning her.

"Don't say I never take care of you," he muttered against her ear "I have been working out for years for this."

"I don't know if I can trust that." She arched a brow. "You also let a cockapoo violate you in the lift."

He chuckled. "That mutt's got no shame. Bet he's from Salford."

He snorted, then kissed her ear.

"Go to sleep, Bartolini."

***