30. Dane Gallagher #2
I hook my fingers under her sports bra and pull it up and over her head in one clean motion, tossing it aside without looking. She’s bare under me, chest rising and falling, watching me.
“You don’t get to say things like that and then not get railed.”
She doesn’t look away. “Promise?”
That hits.
“Every man in that store was looking at you. Every… single… one. And you’re talking to me about putting yourself next to another man on purpose. Letting him—”
“Dane, I told you it wouldn’t mean—”
“I know what it would mean.”
I yank my shirt off when she reaches for it, not breaking eye contact. She’s flushed now, breathing faster, and something in me finally breaks under the weight of the day.
“Doesn’t matter. The thought of it—” I shake my head. “I can’t stand it.”
Her expression softens. “Dane.”
I rake a hand through my hair. “You’re asking me to picture you with someone else. Smiling at him. Letting him think he has a chance with you.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m your husband. Too bloody right I’m jealous.”
My hand fists in her hair, and I pull her head back just enough that she has to meet my eyes.
“There’s no version of that I can picture without wanting to put him through a wall. You understand me?”
“Yeah, I understand.” Her voice is lower now, rougher.
I kiss her, and she bites my lower lip hard enough to sting. A sharp breath leaves me, my grip tightening slightly, and she makes a small sound in response.
I push up and get to my feet long enough to drag my jeans off, not taking my eyes off her.
She’s already reaching for me by the time I come back to the bed.
I catch both her wrists before she can touch me and pin them above her head against the pillow, holding her there as I look down at her.
“Dane—”
My hand tangles in her hair again, pulling her head back, my mouth close to her ear. “You have no idea how hard you’re about to get fucked.”
“Then stop threatening it and just fucking do it,” she says, the words slipping out raw and unguarded.
Ah, there she is. My old Charlotte.
It’s been years since she’s gotten this mouthy with me, and some part of me has missed it.
“Turn over. Face down, ass up.”
She moves straight away, forearms flat on the mattress. I sit back on my heels, taking her in.
My hands spread her apart, and something in me shifts.
Not new. Just… newly discovered.
My palm comes down hard against her arse, the sound sharp in the room. Her body jolts with it, a broken gasp leaving her.
“You’ve been pushing me all day, Charlotte.”
Another strike, just as firm.
“Talking about being with another man like I’m supposed to be fine with it.”
She makes a sound into the mattress—half gasp, half moan.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s what I thought.”
Another controlled strike, my hand lingering after, feeling the heat bloom under my palm.
“Keep mouthing off to me, and I’ll have your whole arse red.”
I gather spit in my mouth and let it fall, watching it land and slide down her cleft. The sight of it hits something in me I wasn’t expecting.
All of this is mine. Every inch.
I push into her, and her whole body shudders, her hands fisting in the sheets.
“Oh God—oh—”
I stay there for a second, feeling it, feeling her. Then I start to move, and the sound she makes into the pillow isn’t quiet.
Everything that’s been building all day comes out here and now.
I drive into her hard, the rhythm rough. I’ve stopped trying to rein it in.
The bed shifts under us, the headboard knocking sharp against the wall. She meets it straight away—pushing back, matching me.
“Don’t be gentle.” Her voice breaks, rough and breathless. “Fuck me like you hate me.”
My hands tighten on her hips, pulling her into each thrust, and she gives it right back, moving with me, taking it, answering it, locked into the same pace.
I drive into her again and again, the headboard knocking harder against the wall with every thrust.
She pushes back just as hard, turning her head to look at me over her shoulder, watching me as I fuck her.
I fold over her, my mouth at her shoulder, teeth scraping over her skin, and she hisses.
“Bite me.”
Something in me answers before I think, and I do—my teeth catching her skin, not too hard, just enough. Then I soothe it, my mouth closing over the spot, sucking gently. She gasps into the pillow, her back arching under me.
“Call me your filthy whore.”
That lands somewhere volatile.
My grip tightens in her hair, and I pull her head back, my mouth close to her ear.
“You’re my filthy whore.”
I drive in on the last word and feel her clench around me.
“Mine. A whore who can’t get enough of my cock—who wakes up wet for it, who’d beg for it if I made you.”
“Don’t stop. Keep going.”
My hand slides under, pressing against her, feeling where we’re joined, the heat of her, how slick she is for me.
“Your greedy pussy stays wet for me. Always. For my cock and no one else’s. You understand me?”
“Yes—yes—”
“Say it.”
“I’m your whore. I stay wet for you, Dane. Only you.”
My hand slides up, wrapping around her throat. She drops her chin and leans into it, offering it to me without hesitation. I tighten my grip—controlled, deliberate.
“Ohhh—” The sound she makes is low and helpless, nothing like anything I’ve heard from her before. I feel it everywhere.
“Dane—I’m—I’m going to—”
“Yeah,” I say against her hair. “Fuck yeah, you are.”
“Ah—ah—”
She comes apart completely, shaking, her body going rigid and then soft all at once. I ease my hand at her throat and hold her through it, her back against my chest, staying with her until it passes.
I don’t pull out.
I should. I know I should. The thought flickers in and out, gone as quickly as it comes, because I’m nowhere near that kind of control.
Instead, I just do it.
I come inside her.
Something I’ll regret later. I know I will. But not now.
Holding her tight against me, I feel something give way. My forehead drops to the back of her neck, and a desperate sound leaves me.
There’s no stopping it. No attempt to.
There’s only one clear thought left in my head: she’s mine.
We finish face-down on the bed, breathing hard. Her hair’s a mess. There’s a mark on her shoulder where my teeth were—and I find I like seeing it there.
Charlotte turns her head and looks at me. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” I say, still catching my breath.
“You came inside me,” she says, sounding more shocked than upset.
It was stupid, but in that moment I just couldn’t make myself pull out.
“I don’t know what the hell came over me.”
And here I am, still buried inside her, not wanting to pull out.
“Whatever came over you, I like it.”
We stay like that for another minute or two until my cock softens and slips out. Then we lie on our backs beside each other, holding hands.
“We both needed that after the month we’ve had,” she says.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Our frustration from the last four weeks had to go somewhere. Anger with nowhere to go has a way of becoming something else.
This was better.
I’m not pretending it wasn’t rough, because it was. And I’m not sorry about it.
Something shifted in this room. Something in me that usually stays quiet and contained surfaced and stopped holding back.
Charlotte didn’t pull away from it. Neither did I.
After all these years, we’re still discovering new edges of each other.
She shifts closer and threads her fingers through mine.
Outside, the world is still there. The cameras. The strangers. The people who think they’re entitled to pieces of us.
Let them have their stories.
They’ll never know the truth of this.