Page 74 of Midnight Mooring

“My dirty girl.” There was smug arousal in his voice as he pushed back up to take hold of my hips and drive into me. “You need this, baby? You need my fucking?”

“Yes. Yes!”

He grunted, his hips thrusting harder. “I’ve wanted you like this every night since you were eighteen. Wanted to fuck every inch of you. You might hate me for it … but you’re mine. This pussy, this body, this mind, this heart … all mine … Cameron.” He groaned my name and thrust harder, more pointedly. “And every inch of me is yours, baby. My cock, my body, my mind, my heart …” He cut off on a curse. “Come, baby. Come for me. Squeeze me hard … Cam … fuck, I need it.”

The orgasm splintered me apart, his filthy yet strangely endearing possessiveness an aphrodisiac unlike any other. I sobbed with the blinding pleasure that shook through me.

“Yes, fuck, yes!” Forde yelled as his cock throbbed and his hips jerked against my arse. The heat of his chest hit my back again as his hands coasted around to my breasts. He squeezed them as the last of his climax shuddered through him.

His lips touched my ear as he tried to catch his breath. “You’re mine. Say it.”

Usually this caveman nonsense would send me running for the hills. He wasn’t the first man to call me his in bed and demand I agree.

But as Forde twitched inside me and I was surrounded by him, by his scent, I couldn’t help myself. This was different. He was different from any other man. Every feminist inch of me took a holiday. Because I did feel like I was his. And he did feel like mine. I think … it had always been that way. At least for me.

“I’m yours,” I whispered and turned my head ever so slightly. “Are you mine? Really?”

Forde slowly pulled out in answer, and I turned on my back. He moved over me, bracing his elbows on either side of my head as his gaze roamed my face. “I’ve been yours since we were kids,” he confessed gruffly. “I’m sorry it took me so long to find my way back to you.”

Emotion brightened my eyes as he cupped my cheek, his thumb caressing it tenderly.

“Okay, then.”

Forde’s smile was slow and teasing. “My Cameron. Ever the poet.”

I shoved at him even as I laughed. So happy. Happier than I ever thought we’d ever get to be again.

31. Cameron

As I came out of sleep, I felt hot. Really hot. The hair at the back of my nape was sticking to me. It was August, so there was a possibility today was the start of a heat wave. But then I became cognizant of the heavy weight lying over my waist.

My eyes flew open, adjusting to the morning light pouring into the room through the crack in my bedroom curtains. And there was a very masculine, very tattooed forearm thrown over me.

Last night came back to me in a rush.

Unbelievably, Forde did get around to making love to me last night.

We had sex three times in one night.

For a thirty-nine-year-old man, he should be proud of that.

My lips twitched with giddy amusement as I turned my head to find him.

“Oh.”

Forde was awake. His eyes were bright with warmth as they roamed my face.

“Have you been awake long?” I asked, my voice a wee bit croaky.

“Not too long. You mutter in your sleep,” he teased.

I raised an eyebrow. “You were watching me sleep?”

“Babe, I could watch you sleep all day.”

An overwhelming ache that went beyond affection and tenderness filled me to overflowing. So much so, my chest tightened a bit. “Maybe … maybe last night we moved too fast.” The words blurted out before I allowed myself time to process my insecurities.

Forde instantly withdrew his arm, his expression turning blank as he sat up.