Page 245 of Immune

Then her hand wraps around me again, stroking my hardness with less certainty than heat.

“I want you inside me,” she says, the words rough and brave and too honest to be polished.

My entire body locks down around the sound of them, and I pull my fingers free slowly. She watches me bring them to my mouth, and her pupils blow wide when I taste her from my skin.

Wild honey.

Rain.

Sweetness and sugar.

Everything I’ll be craving until the day I die.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, and for once there isn’t an insult behind it. Just a breath and muttered words.

I find protection in the emergency kit mounted near the door, because Haven Ridge apparently prepares for everything, including poor decisions in rooms meant for agriculture.

Dakota laughs when I come back with it, not loudly or happily, but enough that the sound places something warm under my ribs. “Of course this place has condoms in a greenhouse.”

“Maybe the plants are romantic,” I say.

“Never say that again,” she demands, though there’s amusement in her words now.

I tear the foil open instead of answering, and her eyes drop to my hands as I roll the thin rubber along my shaft. The sight of her watching almost ruins me before I even touch her again.

I lean down and kiss her knee, and her expression changes this time. Something more startled. I kiss above it, then her thigh, and then I return to her mouth before the softness can become too much for her to tolerate.

Her hand slides between us, guiding me, and that almost ends me too.

Dakota O’Reilly, furious and shaking and alive, choosing exactly where she wants me.

I line myself up and stop. Her eyes narrow on me. “Don’t be noble when I’m naked.”

“I’m not being noble,” I assure her.

“You’re hesitating.”

“I’m just remembering that this belongs to you,” I say, and the anger leaves her face so quickly it almost looks like it pains her.

Then her grip tightens at the back of my neck and she demands, “Then let me have it.”

So I do. I push inside her slowly and her breath shudders.

So does mine.

She’s tight around me, hot and trembling, and every single inch feels like I’m being trusted with something lethalenough to kill me. I keep one hand braced on the table next to her hip while the other rests at her waist, loose enough that she can move but firm enough that she knows I’m right here.

Dakota’s eyes stay open, and mine do too.

The first sound she makes isn’t a moan, but a stunned and broken breath, like she expected softness to bruise but found warmth instead.

I stop as soon as I’m fully seated inside her. Her nails dig into my shoulders and she rasps, “Don’t you dare be patient right now.”

I shake my head once, voice strained as I tell her, “I’m deciding whether or not I can move without losing my mind.”

“Oh.”

The smallest ghost of a smile crosses her mouth.