9 #4
When she went limp, boneless and panting, I crawled back up her body, kissing her stomach, ribs, the valley between her breasts, her collarbone, and her jaw before claiming her mouth again and letting her taste herself on my lips.
She kissed me back, lazy and sated, with both hands framing my face. “You’re… insatiable.”
“For you?”
I reached toward the nightstand and grabbed a condom, tearing it open with my teeth.
“Always.”
She took it from me, her movements slow and deliberate as she rolled it down my length, her touch so sure it made my vision blur. When she finished, she looked up at me, her eyes clear, dark, and utterly focused.
“Now,” she said, her voice husky. “Fuck me. And say my name.”
I needed no further invitation.
I positioned myself at her entrance, the head of my cock nudging against her soaked, swollen flesh, then pushed inside slowly, one inch at a time, letting her body stretch and accommodate me. She was so tight, impossibly hot and wet from her climax, and she felt like heaven.
She felt like home.
When I was fully sheathed, I stilled and lowered my forehead against hers. We breathed the same air while her eyes stayed wide and locked on mine.
“Aura,” I said, and her name was a vow inside the quiet room.
I began to move at a deep, measured, powerful pace, each thrust a claiming and every withdrawal a promise to return. The bed creaked in a steady rhythm beneath us as our skin slapped together, wet and carnal, driving me higher.
I braced myself on one forearm while my other hand tangled in her hair, keeping her face turned toward mine because I wanted to see everything, every flicker of pleasure and every surrender.
“Look at you,” I rasped, driving my hips into her again and again. “Taking me so deep. Your pussy was made for my cock. Fuck, look how you squeeze me. You’re milking me, baby. Gonna make me come so hard, I wish I was bare inside you.”
“Yes,” she moaned, her nails scoring down my back. “Yes, Easton. Give it to me.”
I slid one hand between us and gripped my base before pulling out of her in one smooth, wet withdrawal. The condom came off with a rough, efficient tear of latex, and I tossed it aside without taking my eyes from hers, watching her breath catch when she realized what I was doing.
Then I slammed back inside her bare.
A guttural, punched-out groan tore from my chest. “Fuck. Fuck, Aura.”
The feeling was obscene and blistering. She was so hot, a wet velvet vise clenching around me, so fucking tight I saw stars. The difference was night and day, with no barrier between us, only her raw, desperate heat swallowing me whole.
I had only had her bare once before, our first time, and I had never allowed myself to savor the fucking memory.
“That’s it,” I snarled, dropping my forehead against hers while my hips pistoned into her with new, primal desperation. “That’s how we feel. That’s how we should always feel. You’re perfect. So fucking perfect for me.”
“Tell me you feel this—tell me I’m not crazy,” I demanded, my thrusts becoming harder and less controlled.
“Yes!”
“Say it again.”
“I feel it too, Easton!”
Her confession, roared into the space between us, shattered the last of my control. I buried my face against her neck, my rhythm turning frantic, brutal, and perfect.
“Aura,” I chanted against her skin, every thrust punctuating her name. “Aura. Aura. Aura.”
Her second orgasm hit silently at first, her body locking around mine like a vise after one sharp intake of breath, before she screamed, a raw, broken sound of pure release as she clenched around me and dragged my climax from my body.
I came with a guttural shout, my hips slamming against hers one final, deep time as I emptied myself inside her, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, white-hot and all-consuming.
For a long moment, only our ragged breathing and hammering hearts filled the room.
I slowly collapsed beside her and pulled her with me until she was half on top of me, her head against my chest, while I wrapped both arms around her and held her as close as physically possible.
The lamp remained on, casting our tangled limbs in warm light and leaving no darkness for either of us to hide inside, no pretense and no rules.
Her fingers traced idle patterns against my sweat-slicked chest while her breathing gradually evened into something slow and deep.
I pressed a kiss against the top of her head. “Stay.”
The word was quiet, but it hung in the air heavier than any declaration of love.
She didn’t answer with words. She shifted closer instead, nuzzling against me as her leg slid over mine, claiming me in sleep as thoroughly as I had claimed her awake.
In the amber glow of the lamp, with her weight solid and real against me, I knew it.
I loved her.
I didn’t say it. I only held her tighter, committing the feel of her, the scent of her, and the sound of her quiet breathing to a memory I knew would have to last a lifetime because I only ever had all of her that one week.
In Cade’s Rover, with Ryan in the passenger seat and Hockey House far behind us, that was all it was now—a memory of the night her rules broke and my heart followed.