Chapter Eight
KODIAK
The fight was still in me. All of it was fuel, and my hips used it. I braced one palm by her temple, gripped her thigh with the other, opened her wider, and sank until there was nowhere left to go.
Emma wasn’t underneath me, taking it. She was underneath me, fighting me for the same thing I was. Her hips slammed up to meet mine, she fisted my hair, and she yanked. The pain was so good that I thrust into her hard enough to make the bed frame groan.
Her moan came from her gut and made my cock throb inside her.
“Coleman, harder.”
I gave it to her. The headboard banged into the wall when my rhythm turned relentless. Her hips rose to meet mine on each stroke, and her tits bounced with each impact. I dropped my mouth to one and sucked.
She bit my shoulder hard enough that her teeth left marks.
The pain was sharp, and I groaned into her breast. I thrust into her harder because of it, and she did it again on the other side.
She was marking me the same way I was marking her, and the realization made me lose what was left of my restraint.
She grabbed a fistful of my hair and kept me there. Her nipple was hard on my tongue, and when I grazed it with my teeth, the noise she made was filthy. I did it again, rougher, and she clenched around me so tightly that I had to freeze for a second, or it would’ve been over.
“You have no idea what you do to me.” My mouth was at her ear, and my voice was wrecked. “I’ve wanted to fuck you since that night on the yacht. All I could think about was bending you over the nearest railing.”
“It wasn’t acting.”
“Not one goddamn second of it.”
She dragged my mouth to hers and kissed me.
Teeth, tongue, rough, and messy. She bit my lower lip, and I tasted copper, and I groaned into her mouth.
Her hands grabbed my ass, and she pulled me into her on the next thrust, and the force doubled because we were both driving it.
I hooked her leg higher over my hip, and the new angle let me sink deeper.
She broke the kiss on a gasp. “Right there. God, right there—”
When I pushed into her, she clenched in tight, quick pulses on my cock. I had to picture the tide table pinned to the fridge to keep from finishing before she did.
I slid my hand between us. The second my fingers found her clit, she jerked hard enough to throw my rhythm. I pressed and circled and matched the speed of my hand to my hips. Her breathing was ragged, then stopped.
Her thighs clamped around my waist, and her heels dug into my ass. She squeezed my cock in rolling waves, then went rigid beneath me.
She grabbed my shoulders when she came so hard her back bowed off the bed. “Coleman,” she mewled.
I buried myself to the hilt, clenched my teeth, and breathed through it. Her body was pulsing around me in long, tight contractions, and each one dragged me closer to the edge. I refused to go over. I was not done with her.
She melted beneath me one muscle at a time. Her heels slid down my legs, and her hold on my shoulders loosened. The aftershocks were random and involuntary, and each one tested me.
I kissed her jaw, her throat, and the dip between her collarbones where her pulse was hammering. She hummed, and the vibration traveled through both of us. My cock twitched inside her, and she laughed.
“Shut up,” I said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
“You’re right. You’re still hard.”
“Noticed that, did you?”
Her palm traced down my spine. The pressure was light, but my skin was so charged from the adrenaline that the touch might as well have been a match. Her palm reached the small of my back, and she pressed, pushing my hips into hers, and the shift of me inside her made us both inhale.
“Turn over.”
She held my gaze for a few seconds, then she rolled onto her stomach.
I ran my hand down her back. She was damp and warm, and her muscles tensed and released under my palm as it traveled lower. The bruise on her ribs had faded to a faint yellow. I traced the edge of it with my thumb, and she pushed her hips up.
She didn’t wait for instruction. She spread her knees and arched her back, and I had to grip myself and squeeze. Her ass in the air, her back dipped, her cheek on the pillow—I almost came from the sight alone.
I ran two fingers along her folds from behind. Soaked. Swollen. I circled her clit, and she dropped her forehead to the pillow, and her hips rocked against my hand.
“Stop teasing me.”
“Teasing means I’m not going to finish what I started.”
She turned her head, and the look she gave me over her shoulder would have leveled a lesser man. “Then, prove it.”
I lined myself up and pushed inside her from behind, and the sound that came out of me was one I’d never heard myself make.
She was tighter from this angle. The depth was different.
I bottomed out and stayed on my knees with my hands on her hips, and my head dropped forward because the sensation was so intense I couldn’t hold it up.
She pushed into me. A small movement with an enormous result. I withdrew halfway and drove forward, and she fisted the sheets and moaned into the pillow.
“Fuck, Emma.”
“More.”
I gave it to her. The rhythm was slower than the first round but deeper. Each stroke was a full withdrawal and a full return, and she met me on every one. I gripped her hips and pulled her into me each time I pushed forward, and the sound of our bodies connecting filled the room.
She was loud, and I wanted her louder. I reached forward and angled her face. “I want to hear you.”
She let go. The moan she let out was long and raw, and it vibrated through my hands where they pressed into her waist. The bed was creaking in time with my thrusts, and the sheets had pulled off the corners of the mattress, and neither of us cared.
“You asked me to stop running.” My voice was rough and low and barely mine. “This is me staying. This is what it feels like when I don’t leave.”
She reached behind her and gripped my thigh. Her nails dug in, and the pressure drew me deeper, and I delivered what she was asking for.
The anger was gone. I didn’t know when it had left.
Somewhere between the first position and this one, the fury had burned itself out, and what replaced it was harder to deal with because it was tender.
I’d never slowed down for someone and wanted them to feel the difference.
I’d never cared whether the person I was with could tell I’d gone from taking to giving.
She could tell. Her body responded to the shift—she softened beneath me, and the sounds she made changed, got lower, longer, and the difference wrecked me.
I bent over her back and braced on one forearm, and the angle changed. She cried out, and I paused.
Each thrust after that was deep and deliberate, and she was starting to build again.
My free hand slid under her and found her clit. She was swollen and sensitive, and the first circle made her shudder from her shoulders to her hips.
I kept my pace slow. Each stroke hit deep, and each time I pulled back, my fingers worked her, and the tension wound tighter with each pass.
“I can feel you,” I said. “You’re close. Give it to me.”
Her arms buckled. Her chest hit the mattress, and I followed her down. My weight was on my forearm, and my hips kept rolling, and she was flat beneath me, and I was covering her completely, and my mouth found her ear.
“Come for me, Emma.”
She turned and said my name, and there was nothing left in her voice.
Her body locked down on me, and the orgasm rolled through her in a wave that started deep and spread outward and dragged mine with it.
I drove deep and came so violently that my arms buckled.
My hips stuttered, and I buried myself as far as I could go and stayed there while my body shook, and her name was the only word I had.
I don’t know how long we lay there. My forehead between her shoulder blades. My weight on my forearms. My body still pulsing inside hers. Her fingers found mine where my hand rested on the mattress, beside her head, and she laced them together and didn’t let go.
I pressed my mouth to the back of her neck, and she squeezed my hand, and neither of us moved.
After a while, I withdrew, and she made a sound I wasn’t expecting—a soft protest, like the separation was a loss. It did something to me. I dealt with the condom and rolled to my side, and she turned toward me.
Her hair was destroyed. Her lips were swollen and her eyes glassy. The bandage on her forehead from the crash was peeling at one corner, and I smoothed it with my thumb. She caught my wrist and wouldn’t let go.
“Come here.”
I drew her into my chest. She threw her leg over mine and pressed her cheek to my sternum, and her hand settled on my waist. Her thumb drew a slow line across my ribs. I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed. She didn’t pull away.
“You’re shaking,” she said.
“Yeah.” The tremor ran through me, and I couldn’t stop it, so I kissed the top of her head. “Sleep, Emma.”
Emma’s weight settled into me the way it had every night this week, except nothing about this was the same.
I lay with her and stared at the ceiling and let the quiet be what it was.
Now and then, she’d shift closer, as though she needed our bodies to be one again. It didn’t bother me at all. In fact, I was close to ready to be inside her sweet, hot, fucking amazing pussy. Just the thought of it made my cock spring up and hit between her legs.
I loosened my grip because I’d been holding her so tightly that I’d leave fingerprints, and she had enough bruises. She made a small noise of complaint, and I eased her onto her back and propped myself on one elbow beside her.
When I touched the sorest part of her rib cage, she winced.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”