Page 76 of Burned

I’m aching and empty and my muscles clench with need. He knows. He feels it. He presses his stomach harder against myback. He pushes two fingers inside me, curving his fingers up to that spot that feels like everything in me is tightening.

It’s too much for him to handle. He groans, pulling his hand away. I make an angry little sound and reach back for him.

He catches my wrist, pins it against my stomach, and presses his mouth to my ear.

“You want to be stubborn this morning?” He enters me in one deep, ruthless slide, hard, hot and insistent. “I think not.”

My gasp breaks against the pillow.

For a second, there is only fullness. Heat. His body locking around mine. His arm across my waist. His mouth at my neck. His breath ragged in my ear as he says, “Mine.”

I grip his forearm where it bends across me. “Yours.”

His control snaps.

He moves hard and slow at first, each thrust dragging the breath out of me, forcing every thought into my body. And it’s just me and him and us and what we do when no one is looking.

But everyone knows.

His hand slides to my throat, no pressure, just possession.

His other hand between my legs, circling with cruel precision. The tightness is impossible now. I shatter like the ice wedding cake.

I come with my nails digging into his arm, my muscles clamped around his cock like a vice. He keeps moving through it, drawing it out until I’m shaking.

Then his rhythm turns rougher.

Less controlled.

His hand leaves my throat and grips my hip hard enough to bruise. I hope it does. I want to show it to her.

“Baby,” he groans. “Erin.”

He comes buried deep inside me, his body going rigid behind mine, his mouth pressed to my shoulder, biting it to keep from yelling.

Somewhere downstairs, a door shuts. Voices. The echo of heavy boot steps.

The world returns slowly. I turn to face him before I lose the nerve to tell him. “I dreamed about a wedding,” I whisper.

“Whose?”

“Yours. And you were marrying her.”

“That dream,” his mouth moves to my jaw. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

“A nightmare of jealousy?” I ask.

“I like you jealous.”

“Of course you do.”

“I like knowing you don’t want any other woman to have been with me.”

“That sounds unhealthy.”

“It is,” he says, and kisses the corner of my mouth. “But so are we.”

I shove at his shoulder, “That’s so not reassuring.”