Page 70 of Shadow Of Sin

“You. Right now. All of you.”

I roll the condom on and lie back down. He crushes his lips to mine and pushes into me. Slowly. Agonizingly. He stretches me wide, filling me with pulsing heat and need. My back arches off the bed and I lance his shoulders with my nails.

“Holy shit,” I rasp.

He stops. “Are you okay? Do you want me to⁠—?”

“Don’t you dare stop. Don’t you fucking dare. Just…move.”

He moves. And God, he moves like he does everything. Every push and pull are deliberate, and precise. He pays attention to every reaction I have and adjusts to give me more of what I want. When I gasp, he does that thing again. When my nails press against the small of his back, he thrusts deeper. When I say his name, just his name, nothing else, his rhythm stutters and I feel him fighting for control.

My hands tangle in his hair, my legs locked tight around him. Every nerve in my body is firing. He drops his head to my neck, his breath like a torch lit against my skin. He rocks his hips against mine with a rhythm that has my entire body teetering on the brink of the kind of bliss I’ve only read about. I claw at his back when he hits my spot, a yelp escaping my lips.

“Fuck yes,” I choke out, squeezing my muscles and drawing him farther. I drag my clit along his cock with each push and pull, a scream erupting from my throat. Tingles erupt in my core, shooting out to the tips of my toes and the ends of my hair. Blood rushes between my ears, everything in the outside world fading to white noise…except him.

“Wolfe—” My voice doesn’t sound like mine. “I’m⁠—”

“I know.” His thumb finds my hip bone and presses. “I can feel you.”

“How—?”

“You’re trembling. And your—” He stops talking because I grab his face and kiss him hard enough to shut his brain off entirely.

The orgasm blasts through me. Hard. My whole body locks up, and I cry out against his mouth. He swallows the sound and follows me over the edge seconds later with a groan that vibrates through both of us.

Sweet Jesus.

Wolfe Molloy is a sex god.

Hours later, we lie in my bed among the discarded condom wrappers from our sexfest. I think it’s safe to say we’re sated.

For the moment, anyway.

His arm is wrapped around my back, hugging me tight against his side. I rest my head on his chest, my cheek vibrating with the hum of his heartbeat. It’s slower now.

I breathe him in, the soap, the sweat, everything uniquely him. Aftershocks still have my body singing, and my brain is finally quiet for the first time in weeks.

He traces light, lazy lines up and down my arm that make me shiver. There’s not a pattern I can identify. Just movement. Like his hands need to keep touching me.

“You made things quiet.” He presses his mouth against my hair. “My brain is always so loud. Running, processing, never off. But right now, it’s just...quiet. You did that.”

My throat tightens. “You can’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll want to hear them again. And then I’ll need them. And needing things from people is how I end up in courtrooms in handcuffs.”

“You’re taking a big leap from pillow talk to prison.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. But a lump lodges in my throat, and I press my face harder against his chest because if I look at him right now, I’m going to cry.

And Eva Moreno does not cry after sex.

“Hey.” He cups my chin and tilts my face up. “Look at me.”

I look. His eyes are soft, not analytical, not processing. Just looking at me like I’m a person he can’t believe is real.

Like I’m a person he cherishes.