He stroked his cock once, twice, while she lay spread for him, waiting. He didn’t say anything to her; he was beyond words. He dipped his fingers into her pussy and took the wetness there—not for her clit, but for his cock, fisting himself with her arousal.
Then he braced himself over her, fitted the head of his cock to her opening, and drove himself home.
She gasped and reached for him, but that wasn’t what he wanted. Any other time he loved for her to touch him, loved for her to be free. But this was about using her—her body, her heart. This was about taking what was his. And so he grabbed her wrists together and held them over her head. He used his other hand to hold her hips steady as he fucked her hard enough to shake the bed.
He fucked her until his body was covered in a sheen of sweat, until his muscles were wound tight—until her pussy spasmed around him three separate times. Her body was limp beneath him, wrung out, and still he kept fucking her. This was what he was: an animal, a machine. A soldier. Something that could thrust and invade and fight for hours, and that was what he did.
“Can’t,” she whispered.
But he felt her tightening around him already, felt the gush of liquid heat his cock. He had no mercy in this moment. It was why he’d never touched her like this before. She’d wanted him—the real him, even at this time. And he knew that she could take it. So he gave it to her, hips pistoning, hand on her wrists, holding her on his cock, forcing her to come again.
It brought her to life, the orgasms, making her limp body buck and rock against him, shaking her breasts loose from the lacy fabric of her nightgown. Her brown nipples were stark against her pale skin, and he reached down to lick them. Only then, only sucking her firm, pebbled skin did his balls clamp down, did his come shoot deep inside her, did a groan rip from him, helpless with relief.
Even after he had come, he remained in her, thrusting lazily, enjoying the wet slide of her around his softening cock, using her to wring the final pulses of pleasure from his body.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice like gravel.
“Yeah,” she answered, breathless and sleepy. “Don’t move, okay? Stay.”
He could do nothing but obey her—his woman, his salvation—and remain inside her as he drifted off to sleep, knowing he was too heavy but unable to stop the slide, shifting just enough that she’d be able to breathe.
“Forever,” he promised.
In seconds her breathing evened out, and he knew she was asleep. He followed her down, still joined, her legs cradling him, her pussy cradling him, her breasts cradling him. And he took without remorse all she had to offer, all her comfort and softness and beauty. He covered her in both possession and protection, knowing he would never let her go.
Chapter Ten
Six months later
BLAKE EYED A tree in the distance. It was really the perfect tree. He couldn’t imagine why he’d never realized it before. His vantage point was new. They’d set up the wedding arch in the very back of the property where a stream babbled in the distance. From here he could see the back of the house with the bright red hummingbird feeder and new gazebo. Erin had turned his house into a home, and he thought he might have always wanted that, longed for it, even when he could only pay her to dust the furniture.
He glanced at the woman beside him. His lover. And in a matter of minutes, his wife.
The pastor was taking his time.
Her eyes sparkled at him from underneath the veil as if she knew how impatient he was. He would have dragged her to the courthouse the day she said yes if he hadn’t known she wanted a ceremony. So he’d nodded and smiled through the fittings and the tastings and the meetings with the designer. The end result, he had to admit, was fit for a princess—and he knew that it had all been worth it.
Well, it would be worth it if it could end soon.
He had sat through a long sermon about loyalty and love. He had spoken vows he’d written himself and listened to Erin’s vows without choking up visibly in front of their small group of friends and family—an extreme achievement, he thought. He’d slipped a ring on her finger, a thin gold band to match the antique engagement ring she wore. And let her put a ring on his finger, pretending not to notice the way her hands shook.
And after that had begun the longest pronouncement of a union he’d ever heard. He forced himself to stay still. Forced himself not to send a silent message with his eyes to the pastor to finish already. With his scars and his dress uniform, it might come off more intimidating than he intended.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Thank fuck.
He lifted the thin veil and draped it behind her, pulling her in close. His lips were an inch from hers, and still he hadn’t kissed her. “How long until we kick everybody out?”
Her lips curved against his. “Hmm. Three hours?”
He groaned. “At least tell me you aren’t wearing anything under that grown.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”