Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
“Good girl.” And I’m still coming, still in the throes of bliss, when he kisses his way back up my body.
“See? I told you I’d take care of you. Now you’re so damn wet for me, aren’t you?” He slides his fingers through my wet heat just to prove his point, before he laps them clean, inches from me.
I whimper wordlessly, suddenly overcome with an unexpected need to be filled by him, to draw closer, to feel him inside me.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers in my ear, trembling with the effort of holding himself back.
“No. Don’t stop,” I whisper. “Please don’t stop, Cavin.”
He reaches down and positions himself. The broad head of his cock presses against my entrance.
“Breathe, love.”
I try. He pushes forward. Just the tip.
The stretch is immediate. Intense. My body resists.
“Fuck, you’re tight.” His jaw is clenched, the muscles corded with the effort of holding still. “Relax for me, Erin. Let me in.”
I breathe… try to relax. He pushes deeper.
There’s pressure, then a sharp sting that makes me tense.
“Shh, shh.” He kisses me, murmuring against my lips—soft reassurances in that rough brogue that grounds me. “That’s it, love. I’ve got you. You’re doing so well. Taking me so fucking well.”
He bottoms out, then stays completely still, letting me adjust. I feel so full, stretched, connected to him in the most intimate way possible.
“How do you feel?” His voice is strained.
“Full.” I shift my hips experimentally. “So full.”
“Christ.” His hips jerk involuntarily. “Don’t—don’t move like that unless you want this over fast.”
“I want—” I don’t know what I want. I just know I need more. “Move. Please move.”
He pulls back slowly, then pushes in again, watching my face for any sign of pain.
The sting fades, replaced by something else entirely. Pleasure builds gradually, a rising tide.
“More,” I breathe out. “Faster.”
“Greedy girl,” he says with a light slap to my arse that sends heat blooming between my legs. But he gives me what I want and picks up the pace. Each thrust hits something inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
His forehead presses to mine. We move together, finding a rhythm. His hand slides between us and circles my clit.
“Oh god—Cavin—”
“That’s it. Let go for me, love. I want to feel you come on my cock.”
My body clamps down on him as pleasure crashes over me in waves. I cry out his name, my nails digging into his shoulders. I shatter, lost to the echo of the first orgasm, eclipsed by the second.
“Fuck—Erin—” He loses his rhythm. His thrusts become erratic, desperate. “I’m—fuck—”
He buries himself deep and comes with a groan that sounds like it’s torn from his chest. I feel him pulse inside me. Feel the warmth of him spilling into me.
It’s messy and overwhelming and utterly perfect.
For a long time, we just breathe together, tangled up in each other and the sheets. His weight is heavy on top of me, comforting rather than crushing.
Slowly, he pulls out. I wince at the sensitivity.
“Alright?” His eyes search mine, worried.
“More than alright.”
He rolls to the side, pulling me with him, and tucks me against his chest. His hand strokes up and down my spine in a soothing rhythm.
“Mine,” he murmurs eventually, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “My wife.”
“Yours,” I whisper back, running my fingers through his hair. “Always yours.”
And in this house—our house—with the candles flickering and the fire crackling and the world locked safely outside, I’ve never felt more at home. Never felt safer. Never felt more seen.
The voices in my head are quiet. The anxiety that usually thrums through my veins like a second heartbeat is gone.
There’s only him. Only us. Only this.
He pulls the sheet over us, and his arms tighten around me.
“Sleep, love,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve got you.”
I believe him.
For the first time in my life, I actually believe someone when they say that.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cavin
I don’t know how I got back here. I’m behind bars, the dank smell of my fucking prison flooding my senses.
“Where is she?” I growl into the dark. What did they do with my wife, and why am I here? I can’t talk to anyone in this condition because I’m pacing, my hands fisted by my sides. There are men in the cells behind me and around me, crowding me in.
“Where is who?” one taunts.
“My wife!” I roar. I punch one and then round out and punch the second.
When someone grabs me from behind and touches my wrist, I lift them, just about vaulting them across the room.
“Cavin!” It’s Erin’s voice in my ear. “Cavin, Cavin, wake up.”
I blink. When I come to, I have Erin pinned in my grasp beneath me, with the sheets tangled around my legs.
Holy fucking shit. Oh my god.
Erin.
I release her like she’s a hot coal and shake my head, trying to blink it all away. The desperation, trying to find her. The coldness of the cell. The way I knew I was going to be attacked and beaten by a gang.