Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
He’d been a perfect gentleman all night, and Hank would’ve been proud. “Your body is way too sore for what I want to do with it.” He might as well be honest with her.
She turned in his arms, her hip sliding across his erection. From the spark of wickedness in her eyes, she meant the torturous touch. “Like I said, I’m not sore.” She rolled her hips against him again, playful and sure, and that smile—half-mischief, half-invitation—cut clean through his good intentions.
Well, all right. He was just done fighting them.
He kissed her, taking over slowly, until her teasing quieted, lips parting under his. His hand slid under the sleeping bag, up beneath her shirt, across the warm skin of her stomach. She sucked in a breath.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low against her mouth.
“I’m perfect,” she murmured, breath hitching. “Touch me.”
God help him. He was trying.
His hand slipped under her shirt, rough palm to bare skin. She sucked in a breath, hips shifting just enough to tell him she wanted more. He rubbed his thumb over her nipple—slow, light—and felt her body tighten against his.
She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. The way she moved said it all.
He dragged his mouth along her neck, tasting sweat and salt and her. Her shirt was in his way, so he shoved the material up. She lifted her arms, sleepy and sure, and he yanked the shirt off and tossed the fabric aside. Somewhere. Who cared?
He looked down, unable to help himself. Her hair was wild, eyes half-lidded, chest rising fast. She looked unreal. He leaned in and took one nipple between his lips. Sucked. She groaned, low in her throat, and her nails dug into his back.
That sound she made. Yeah, he could live there.
His hand moved again. Down her stomach. Into her yoga pants. She opened for him like she’d been waiting all night.
Warm. Slick. Already there.
His breath caught in his chest. “Still good?”
She nodded fast, then wrapped her leg around his and pulled him closer. “Yes. Christian, yes.”
He slid a finger inside. She clenched around him, hips grinding slow. He added another, worked her open, kissed her again just to keep from losing it.
“God, you feel good,” he muttered against her mouth.
“Then don’t stop.”
Not a chance in hell.
He shifted down and kissed her breast, slow and reverent, then the other, and felt her fingers grip his shoulders tight. She was hot silk and heat, already wet. He groaned into her skin, and her hips lifted, her breath catching.
“More,” she whispered.
So he gave her more. “One of these days, I’m gonna make you beg.” Not this morning. Not when her body had to be hurting from the explosions, and not while he wanted to show her that he could be gentle. Not often. But sometimes.
He used two fingers now, working gently, circling with his thumb, listening for her sounds, the way her thighs tightened and her breath got shallower. She was unraveling under his hand, and Christ, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Watching her face, he felt every pulse and tremor, and didn’t stop until her body arched and she came apart in his arms, trembling against him, her breath a broken whisper of his name. He kissed her as she came down, deep and slow, his hand still resting between her legs, holding the heat of her.
When she opened her eyes again, they were clear and full of something he wasn’t sure he deserved.
“You sure?” he asked, voice rough now.
“Yeah.” She smiled, slow and certain, shimmying out of her pants. “I want you. Now.”
He kissed her again, her jaw, her throat, her shoulder. Then he rolled on top of her, careful not to crush her. Slowly, taking his time, he slid inside her, inch by inch, and she gasped his name like a prayer.
Everything else disappeared.
The sleeping bag, the ledge, the chill in the air were gone. There was only Amka wrapped around him, clinging to him, moving with him like this was always meant to happen. And maybe it was.
When she dug her nails into his ass, he started to pound. Hot and fast, hammering into her as if he never wanted to be free. Her gasps spurred him on.
Fire rushed through him, down his spine, blasting into his cock. He switched his angle, pounding against her clit, and she went over. Hard. She arched against him, the cords in her neck stretching, her mouth forming his name.
Her internal walls grabbed him so hard his vision went black. The climax ripped through him, taking everything he wanted to be, giving it all to her. Panting, overcome, he stayed inside her as she quieted.
“Definitely not too sore,” she murmured with a half laugh.
He didn’t deserve her. Didn’t care. It was too late for them both to find another path. Christian rested his cheek against her hair and listened to the world breathe. For just a moment of peace.