Page 115 of Bound Lives

He sets me on the table, gets between my legs, and thrusts inside me as he crushes his lips to mine. A moment later, I break the kiss.

“Harder,” I whisper, and the word feels dangerous and decadent.

And so fucking necessary.

He obeys without flinching, his hips driving, mouth hungry, hands firm. There’s nothing tender about this. I don’t want tender. I just want Henry. The clock in my head is counting down to Boulder, to the seminar, to reality so loud I want to drown it.

He drags his mouth down my throat, scrapes his teeth along my shoulders.

“More,” I tell him. “More.”

And I get more.

Fast and messy and exactly what I asked for. We move like we’re trying to bruise the past out of our skin. He’s strong.

Every push lights up a nerve ending I didn’t know I had. Every pull feels like a promise hammered into place. The table creaks with each thrust.

We may break it.

I don’t care.

His mouth comes back to mine right when I need it. The scrape of stubble. The taste of want. We’re not gentle. Not nice.

He pulls back, pinches both my nipples hard.

I squeal and pull him back to my mouth.

We kiss.

We kiss.

We kiss.

He thrusts. Pokes at me. Drills into me.

And as he pummels inside me, I rise, rise, rise…

Until—

I shatter.

I fucking shatter.

Convulsions shake me, and I claw at Henry’s chest, his shoulders, his back.

I continue to hold on to him because I need to feel him come apart for me.

“Fuck, Tabitha,” he grits out.

Thrusting, thrusting, thrusting…

Until—

“Fuck!” He pushes into me hard, jarring me.

The table shakes.

Henry shakes.