Page 9

And just like that, I'm lost.

His muscular arm wraps around my shoulder, pulling me closer with surprising gentleness despite the urgency I can feel radiating from him. When his lips find mine, he kisses me like a man dying of thirst who's finally found water.

Everything narrows to sensations. The press of his mouth against mine, the scratch of his stubble against my skin, the solid warmth of his body as he draws me even closer.

I respond instantly, instinctively, my hands reaching up to grip his shoulders, feeling the coiled strength beneath my fingertips.

The kiss deepens, his tongue seeking mine, and I open to him willingly. A small sound escapes my throat, half surprise and half pleasure. It's been so long since I've been kissed like this, with purpose, with hunger, with a need that matches my own.

When we finally part for breath, his eyes are darker, pupils expanded with desire. He looks at me like he's seeing straight through every wall I've ever built.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted to do that," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear.

"Since when?" I ask, my own voice barely a whisper.

"Since you stood beside me facing down Dylan," he admits, one hand coming up to trace the curve of my cheek. "Standing your ground without flinching. Looking like you were ready to fight alongside me if necessary."

His honesty catches me off guard, touches something deep inside me. It wasn't my appearance that first attracted him. It was my courage, my strength. The realization is unexpectedly moving.

"Your turn," he says, thumb tracing my lower lip. "When did you know you wanted this?"

"The Ferris wheel," I confess. "When you talked about finding purpose, about belonging. When I realized you understand what it's like to never quite fit anywhere."

He nods, recognition in his eyes. "We're the same, you and I. Different circumstances, same core."

His hand slides down to my neck, then lower, hesitating at the strap of my tank top.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his restraint evident in the tension of his body.

The consideration in the question, this powerful man pausing to ensure my comfort, makes my decision easy.

"Yes," I breathe, and guide his hand to the curve of my breast.

He groans softly as his palm covers me, his touch gentle at first, then more confident as I arch into his hand. His thumb brushes across my nipple through the thin fabric, causing it to harden instantly.

"You're beautiful," he says, eyes roaming over me with frank appreciation. "These curves..." His hands span my waist, then slide to my hips. "Perfect. Something to hold onto."

The raw admiration in his voice makes me flush with pleasure. I've never been rail-thin, have always carried extra weight in my breasts and hips. Previous partners have either politely ignored this fact or fetishized it. Tank simply appreciates it, his large hands mapping my body inch by inch.

He kisses me again as he eases me back onto the couch. I go willingly, letting him cover me with his body, feeling the hard planes of his chest press against my softness. His weight should feel confining, but instead it's grounding, secure.

His lips leave mine to trail down my neck, finding sensitive spots that make me gasp. When he reaches the swell of my breasts above my tank top, he glances up, seeking permission again.

"Please," I whisper, beyond caring about anything but his touch.

He hooks his fingers under the hem of my top and slowly draws it upward, exposing my skin inch by inch. When he pulls it over my head and tosses it aside, his sharp intake of breath is gratifying.

"Christ," he murmurs, taking in the sight of me. "You're fucking perfect."

His hands cup my breasts, testing their weight, thumbs circling my nipples until I'm arching into his touch, desperate for more. When his mouth replaces his hand, hot and wet around my nipple, I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out.

"Shh," he whispers against my skin, a smile in his voice. "Don't want to wake your friend."

The reminder of Lilly sleeping down the hall should be sobering, but somehow it only adds to the forbidden thrill of this moment.

His mouth continues its exploration, trailing kisses down my stomach to the waistband of my jeans. He looks up, eyes seeking mine. "May I?"

I nod, lifting my hips to help as he slides the pants down my legs. Now I'm left in just my underwear, feeling more exposed and more desired than I can remember ever feeling.

"These too?" he asks, fingers tracing the edge of my panties.

"Yes," I breathe, past the point of hesitation.

He draws them down slowly, eyes darkening as he reveals me completely. The cool air kisses my heated skin, making me shiver, or maybe it's the look of raw hunger on his face that causes the tremor.

"Spread your legs for me," he says, voice rough with desire.

I comply, letting my knees fall open. His large hands cup my thighs, thumbs tracing circles on the sensitive skin there.

"You're already wet," he observes, a note of satisfaction in his voice as he slides one finger through my folds.

The touch sends electricity through me, making me lift my hips seeking more. He obliges, slipping first one finger and then two inside me while his thumb finds and circles my clit.

"Oh god," I whisper, hands fisting in the cushions beneath me.

"That's it," he encourages, watching my face as he works his fingers in and out. "Show me what you like."

Before I can form a coherent response, he lowers his head, replacing his thumb with his tongue. The first touch of his mouth against my sensitive wet pussy nearly undoes me. I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle the moan that threatens to escape.

He's skilled and attentive, reading my body's responses and adjusting his rhythm accordingly. Two fingers curl inside me, finding the spot that makes my back arch while his tongue works magic on my clit. The combination is overwhelming, building pressure low in my belly with alarming speed.

"Tank," I gasp, one hand moving to tangle in his hair. "I'm close."

He hums against me, the vibration adding another layer of sensation, and increases his pace slightly. His free hand slides up to cover my breast, pinching my nipple lightly in time with the thrust of his fingers.

The multiple points of contact push me over the edge. My climax crashes through me in waves, and I have to bite down hard on my palm to keep from crying out. He stays with me through it, gentling his touch as the aftershocks ripple through me, only pulling away when I tug lightly at his hair.

When I can focus again, he's looking up at me from between my thighs with satisfaction.

"You're magnificent," he says, placing one last kiss on my inner thigh before rising to his knees.

I reach for him, suddenly desperate to feel his skin against mine. "Take these off," I command, tugging at his t-shirt.

He complies, pulling the shirt over his head to reveal a torso that's a masterpiece of muscle and ink.

Tattoos cover much of his chest and arms, some I recognize as military symbols, others more personal designs I'll need time to decipher.

But it's the sheer power of his physique that takes my breath away.

Broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, defined abs, and arms that could easily lift me without strain.

"Your turn," I say, reaching for the button of his jeans.

He helps me, shucking the denim down his powerful thighs and kicking them aside. Now he's left in just black briefs that do little to hide his impressive arousal.

I reach out, palming his hard cock through the fabric. He's big. Bigger than I've ever experienced before.

"See something you like?" he asks, voice strained as I continue to stroke him through his briefs.

"Very much," I answer honestly, hooking my fingers in the waistband. "May I?"

He nods, a muscle in his jaw ticking as I slowly lower the last barrier between us. His cock springs free, thick and hard, curving slightly toward his stomach.

I wrap both hands around him, marveling at the contrast between the velvet-soft skin and the steel hardness beneath. He groans as I give him a few experimental strokes, his eyes closing briefly in pleasure.

Acting on instinct, I lean forward and spit into my palm, then spread the moisture along his length, making my movements slicker, smoother. His breath hisses between his teeth at the added sensation.

A surge of boldness overtakes me. I turn on the couch, positioning myself on all fours, looking back at him over my shoulder.

"Fuck me like this," I ask him, feeling powerful in my vulnerability.

His eyes darken, hands coming to grip my hips. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely," I confirm. "Please, Tank. I want to feel you inside me."

"I've never been with anyone like you," he confesses as he positions himself behind me. "So hot, so sure of what you want." His hands caress my ass, my sides, my hips. "I fucking love it."

The blunt head of his cock presses against my entrance, seeking but not yet entering. I push back against him, impatient now, and he responds by sliding just the tip inside me.

"Oh," I gasp at the stretch, the fullness.

"Too much?" he asks immediately, freezing in place.

"No," I assure him, pressing back further. "More. Please."

He obliges, pushing forward in a slow, steady thrust until he's fully inside me.

"You feel incredible," he murmurs, leaning forward to press kisses between my shoulder blades. "So tight, so perfect around me."

When he begins to move, it's with measured control, each thrust deliberate and deep. I match his rhythm, pushing back to meet him, taking him fully each time. His hands grip my hips, guiding my movements, occasionally sliding up to slap my ass or around to cup my swinging breasts.

The angle allows him to hit spots inside me that send sparks of pleasure up my spine. I lower my head to the cushion, changing the angle slightly, and his next thrust hits perfectly against my g-spot.

"There," I gasp. "Right there."

He maintains the position, driving into me with increasing force but never losing control.

He leans over me, chest to my back, and whispers in my ear, "You take me so well.

" One hand tangles in my hair, gathering it gently but firmly, then pulls just enough to create a delicious tension. "I hope you like this."

"God, yes," I breathe, the slight sting only enhancing every other sensation.

We move together in perfect synchrony, the only sounds our heavy breathing and the muted slap of skin against skin. I'm getting close again, teetering on the edge of another climax, when Tank suddenly stills.

"Wait," he says, voice strained with the effort of control. "I want... I need to see your face."

He pulls out, his cock glistening with my arousal, and I turn to face him, momentarily confused by the interruption but trusting that he has something equally good in mind.

He scoops me up like I weigh nothing, strong arms securing me against his chest. I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms encircling his neck.

"Now I can see you," he murmurs, adjusting our position so the head of his cock aligns with my entrance again. "Watch your face while I'm inside you."

With a slight flex of his hips, he enters me again, filling me completely. In this position, with gravity helping, he reaches even deeper than before. The sensation pulls a gasp from my throat.

"Shh," he reminds me gently, capturing my lips in a kiss that swallows any sounds I might make.

He begins to move, using his incredible strength to lift and lower me on his cock with seemingly minimal effort. His muscles flex beneath my hands, solid and secure. I have no fear of being dropped, no doubt in his ability to support me completely.

I can see the concentration in his gaze, the restraint as he measures each thrust to bring me maximum pleasure.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against my lips. "So perfect. The way you feel around me..."

His words, combined with the fullness of him inside me and the friction against my clit as our bodies press together, push me rapidly toward another climax.

"I'm going to come," I warn him, already feeling the first tremors starting.

"Yes," he encourages, increasing his pace slightly. "Let go for me. I want to feel you."

When the orgasm hits, it's overwhelming—radiating outward from where we're joined, sending waves of pleasure through my entire body. I bite down on his shoulder to muffle my cry, tasting salt and skin as my inner muscles clench around him.

The sensation of my climax triggers his own. With a few final, powerful thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt inside me, his body tensing as he follows me over the edge. I feel the pulse of his load, his arms tightening around me as he shudders through his completion.

For several moments afterward, we remain locked together, my legs still around his waist, his arms supporting me, our foreheads pressed together as we catch our breath.

The vulnerability of the position—so open, so exposed—should make me uncomfortable, but instead I feel utterly safe, completely held.

Eventually, reluctantly, he lowers me to the couch, slipping from my body with a mutual sigh of loss. He stretches out beside me, pulling me against his chest.

"That was..." he begins, then falls silent, apparently unable to find adequate words.

"Yeah," I agree, understanding perfectly.

His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, following the lines of my tattoo. The simple intimacy of the touch is almost as affecting as what we just shared.

"We should probably get dressed," I murmur after a while, though I make no move to do so. "In case Lilly wakes up."

"Probably," he agrees, but his arms tighten around me slightly, keeping me close.

The logical part of my brain knows this is complicated. He's leaving soon, we live in different worlds, getting attached can only lead to heartache. But lying here in his arms, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat, I find it impossible to regret what just happened.

Whatever comes next—whatever reality we have to face in the morning—this moment is perfect, complete. And for now, that's enough.