22. Chapter 22 #6
“I want you again,” she whispered.
“You’ll get me again,” he growled. “You’ll ride me until you forget his name.”
He dropped her onto the bed, climbed on top of her, and made her a promise with his mouth, his hands, his body:
You’re mine tonight.
Only mine.
And no one hurts you here.
She hit the mattress with a soft gasp, blonde hair fanning across his pillow, limbs sprawled like a dream he never deserved.
Her pink T-shirt had ridden up, showing slivers of skin and the waistband of those criminally short jean cutoffs that had been testing his discipline all damn day.
No more.
He grabbed the hem of her shirt and yanked it over her head in one motion, tossing it behind him. Her bra went next—snapped open and pulled away like it was in his way, which it was. She let him strip her, laughing breathlessly as she reached for his jeans.
“Your turn.”
He got rid of his clothes fast. Brutal. Efficient. Shirt, jeans, boxers—gone. Skin to skin, no barriers, no lies. Just her and him and the quiet hum of this is happening vibrating through his chest like a goddamn anthem.
The moonlight cut through the blinds, casting shadows on her bare skin, turning her golden and wild. Her hoodie had fallen halfway off her arms, the sleeves bunched at her elbows, and for some reason that undid him even more.
She looked like sin.
And salvation.
All in one breath.
He leaned over her, bracing his weight on his elbows, and kissed her deep. Tongue sliding into her mouth, slow and firm, until she moaned into him like she couldn’t help it. He kissed her like he was starving—because he was—and she tasted like wine and want and the kind of fire you don’t survive.
She wrapped her legs around his hips. Clutched his back. Arched up against him like her body had never learned restraint.
He kissed her jaw. Her throat. Bit her collarbone just enough to make her gasp.
Then he moved lower.
“Lie back,” he whispered.
She obeyed, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling like the anticipation might break her ribs.
He took his time.
He licked and sucked her nipples, one at a time, circling with his tongue until her back bowed and her hand flew to his hair, tugging hard.
“Fuck, Heath—”
He smiled against her skin.
“You’re just getting started, baby.”
He moved lower, kissing down her stomach, her hips, sliding those tiny shorts down her legs like they offended him. Her panties were already damp—already—and he pressed a kiss over the wet spot, slow and smug, watching her shudder.
Then he pulled them off with no ceremony, tossed them behind him, and spread her thighs.
Holy shit.
Her legs trembled. Her breathing was shallow. She was already wrecked and he hadn’t even touched her yet.
He hooked her knees over his shoulders and lowered his head.
The first lick—flat, slow, deliberate—made her gasp and grab for the sheets.
He did it again.
And again.
She whimpered.
He licked her like he had nowhere else to be. Like her body was his mission objective. He dragged his tongue from her entrance to her clit, slow and thick, then circled it with maddening pressure until her hips rolled up to meet him.
Her thighs clenched around his head. Her nails raked the blanket.
He groaned into her, eating her deeper, dirtier, letting his tongue work every inch of her. Flicking. Sucking. Circling. Alternating pressure until her moans turned into cries.
“Heath, oh my God—”
“Say my name,” he growled against her, voice muffled between her thighs.
“Heath.”
“Louder.”
“Heath—fuck—don’t stop.”
He slid a finger inside her. Then another. Hooked them just right while his mouth stayed on her clit, tongue ruthless and hungry. She choked on a scream.
“Gonna come, baby?” he asked, fingers stroking deep.
She nodded frantically, breathless. “Yes, yes, please—”
He went harder. Faster. Letting her ride his mouth like she owned him.
She came with a shout, thighs clamping around his head, hips jerking, hands tangled in the sheets as her body shattered under him.
He didn’t stop.
He licked her through it. Helped her come down. Kissed her thighs when she trembled.
Then he moved back up, kissed her mouth again, deep and slow.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered against her lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She was still shaking beneath him. Still gasping.
Her thighs slick. Her mouth red. Her eyes dazed and wild.
And fuck—he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
He kissed her hard. Let her taste herself on his tongue. Let her feel just how much control he didn’t have anymore.
She clawed at him, panting into his mouth, fingers gripping his shoulders like she wanted to drag him into her and never let him out.
He pulled back.
“Turn over,” he said.
Her breath caught.
He gave her a second—one second—then grabbed her hips and flipped her onto her stomach. Not rough, but not gentle either.
She gasped, bracing her arms under her, legs spread slightly apart as she shifted up onto her knees. Ready.
He took in the sight of her—back arched, ass bare and perfect, hair falling over her shoulders in messy waves—and groaned, low and feral.
He lined himself up behind her, gripped her hips hard, and dragged the head of his cock through her folds, slow and deliberate.
She whimpered.
“Say it,” he growled.
“Say what?” she gasped, breathless, desperate.
“That you want this. That you want me.”
“Yes,” she moaned. “Heath, I want you—need you—please.”
He slammed into her in one deep, devastating thrust.
She screamed.
“Fuck—”
He stilled, buried deep, gripping her hips like a man possessed.
“You feel that?” he said, voice wrecked. “You feel how deep I am?”
She nodded, forehead pressed to the mattress, back arched like she was trying to take more.
“You’re mine,” he growled. “No one else gets this. No one else touches you. Ever.”
She moaned something incoherent and that just made him go harder.
He pulled out slowly, then slammed back in, over and over, setting a rhythm that made the bed creak beneath them. Each thrust drove her forward on the mattress, each cry from her throat pushed him closer to the edge.
He reached around and grabbed her throat—not choking, just holding—guiding her back against him as he fucked her.
She arched like lightning struck her.
“You like that?” he said.
“Yes,” she gasped. “Harder, Heath—please, don’t stop—”
He didn’t.
He pounded into her, faster, deeper, hips slamming into her ass with the kind of force that made the whole goddamn room echo.
Her hands clawed at the sheets. Her breath hitched. She was unraveling, right in his hands.
He reached between her legs and rubbed her clit, fast and firm, and she went wild.
She tightened around him, body locking up, head thrown back, and then she shattered.
Her orgasm hit like a fucking earthquake.
“HEATH—”
She screamed his name as she came, thighs trembling, body shaking, and he didn’t slow down—he fucked her through it, used her orgasm to chase his own.
It hit him fast and brutal. Like a gunshot to the chest.
He slammed in one last time, gritted out a curse, and came hard, spilling inside her with a growl that sounded like it came from somewhere below his soul.
They collapsed together, breathless. Sweating. Bruised in the best way.
He stayed inside her for a moment, arms wrapped tight around her back as she whimpered through the last ripples of pleasure.
“Jesus Christ,” she breathed.
He kissed her shoulder. “You’re mine.”
She turned her head just enough to whisper back:
“Yeah, baby. I know.”