Page 45 of Marked By Tank
It tears through me hard enough to blur the edges of the room. I bury my face against her throat and come with a broken sound I don’t bother hiding, hips jerking once, twice, every muscle in my body locking down around the release.
After, I stay over her, breathing like I ran ten miles uphill.
So does she.
The fire pops in the stove. Wind rattles a branch outside.
She slides one hand into my hair and just holds.
That small, soft touch gets me worse than half the things we just did.
I lift my head enough to look at her.
Flushed. Kiss-swollen. Hair wrecked. Eyes heavy and still a little stunned.
Beautiful.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, then whispers, “Yeah.”
I brush my thumb over her bottom lip.
“Good.”
Because if she wasn’t, I’d tear the world apart starting with myself.
