Fighting to Forgive (Fighting, #2)

His hand skates up my body as he stirs from sleep. “Good morning, Mouse.” His voice is rough and so damn sexy. He rolls me to my back and climbs on top of me, settling between my legs. Oh, boy. Someone was having a good dream. He buries his face into my neck, dropping kisses against my throat.

“Yeah it is.” I spread my legs farther apart and welcome him closer. The heat of his morning hard-on presses against my panties. There’s no evidence of the shorts I wore last night. I wiggle my toes. Socks gone, too. “Did you carry me from the couch last night and undress me?”

“Guilty.” He drops to one elbow and rests his head in his hand. His eyes are really green in the morning. “Don’t worry. I didn’t do anything inappropriate.” A crooked smile pulls at his lips. “Unless you consider a little fondling inappropriate.”

I prop myself up on my elbows. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh yeah, sweetheart. I would.” His teasing smile confirms what I already know. Even in my sleep, I’m safe with Blake.

He slides my hair over my shoulder and heaves an exaggerated sigh. “I had big plans for you and this bed last night. You squashed that shit by falling asleep, but…”—he kisses the tip of my nose— “turns out, holding you in my arms all night was just as good.”

My cheeks burn at his compliment. “I slept better than I’ve slept in years, but I would have liked to…” I shrug, suddenly embarrassed at how blunt I’m being. “You know.”

He bites his lip, erasing his cocky smile, and grinds his pelvis into my hip. “No, Mouse. I don’t know. Tell me.”

Butterflies race from my stomach to my throat. The husky sound of his voice, the clear evidence digging into my belly—he wants me. Badly. Just as much as I want him.

“Sun’s barely up. It’s not too late.” I run my hand up his chest to rest at his nape. “We have a few hours before—”

He slides his hand down the front of my panties, turning my words into a gasp. I drop back onto the bed while his hand works between my legs in lazy strokes. Heat blooms below my belly button, and I arch my back.

He nips at my lips. “Let me know this is okay, Mouse.”

“Yes, you’re… this is way better than okay.” My breath catches in my throat as he thrusts two fingers in deep.

“Layla…” The sound of my name from his lips, said with such reverence, stokes my need.

I reach between us and wrap my hand around him, stroking the heated steel of his erection. His fingers mimic the pace of my strokes and fuel the flame of my arousal. He locks his eyes on mine, and we watch each other as the pleasure builds, bringing us both to the brink. Lips parted, eyes heated. Our hips roll and thrust, and we crawl toward the peak at an aching pace.

He leans in and nips at my lip again, his impatience mirroring my own. He’s looking for my permission.

“Yes, I want it. Make…” Not making love, not fucking… what is this? “I need you.”

His hand moves from between my legs to his side table. I slide off my panties as he rolls on a condom. He lifts me to straddle his hips, and grabbing the hem of my shirt, he tugs it over my head. Completely naked and exposed above him, he sits back and runs his eyes over my body in a visual caress. With gentle strokes to my thighs, he coaxes them wider. His gaze falls between my legs. My face heats, but I force my eyes to stay on him.

“Fucking gorgeous. Every inch.” He grips my hips and lifts me up. “Hold on, baby.” He guides my hips down, burying his body inside of mine.

I cry out against the delicious intrusion. Feeling confident, I move above him, slow and steady. He holds my hips, trying to control each stroke, but I keep the dragging pace.

Playing with the different ways I can move, I use him as a human experiment, and make notes of the subtle responses he gives. Arching my back, I roll against him in waves.

He pinches his eyes closed. “Shit, Mouse. You’re driving me crazy.”

My orgasm coils low, and the memory of what it felt like has me driving down harder.

“Fuck yeah, more.” His fingers dig into my hips, and he slams his hips into me.

My heart pounds behind my ribs. The muscles in my stomach tense, and my knees lock onto his sides. I match his pace, thrust for thrust, until I can no longer keep up.

He’s guiding my body on his, and I’m powerless to stop it. My stomach churns, and a feeling of foreboding pricks at my nerves.

Closing my eyes, I breathe deeply and tell myself that I like this side of Blake. His loss of control should be sexy, not scary. And it is. I’m not scared. I’m not scared.

He slams into me again. While keeping one hand on my hip to steady his thrusts, his other hand glides up to my breast. He kneads the tender flesh, and I relax a little. My shoulder muscles release their tension, and my orgasm builds.

Another slam of his hips. The dark shadows from my past linger in the distance, ready to pounce. I’m in control. I repeat the words over and over hoping it will pierce the thick skin of my fear.

My body lists, and he flips me to my back. His huge arms confine me to the bed, the weight of his body holding me down as he hammers into me.

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