Page 172 of Gamebreaker

I moved. Slowly. A deep, rolling stroke, curling forward to find the place I'd memorized the first time. She cried out high and broken when I found it.

"There you go," I said. "That's my good girl, taking me so well."

"Right there. Right there, please don't stop, please..."

I didn't stop. I kept that same slow, deep rhythm, curling into that spot on every stroke, while my mouth stayed at exactly the pressure that kept her right at the edge and wouldn't let her over. I could feel how close she was. I could hear it in the sounds she was making and feel it in the trembling that had started in her thighs.

I backed off.

I slowed my fingers. I lifted my mouth. I let her breathe.

"No." Her voice broke completely. "No, Cam, please, I was so close..."

"I know." I pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. "You can hold it a little longer. For me."

"I really can't."

"You can." I waited until I felt the tension ease and the crest pull back, and then I started again. The same rhythm. The same depth. My mouth sealed back over her clit, never quite enough, just enough.

"I hate you," she said. She did not sound like she hated me. She sounded like a woman coming apart at the seams. "I hate you so much."

"No, you don't."

"You're right, I don't, I'm very... oh... I'm actually very fond of you, I'd just like you to... please, please..."

Her hands had come down. They were in the sheets, twisting, and one of them was moving toward my head.

I stopped completely.

I came back up her body, caught both her wrists, and pinned them over her head again, harder this time, my face an inch from hers. She was panting. Her eyes were wet and wild.

"What did I say?"

"Don't move them," she whispered.

"And what did you do?"

"Moved them."

"So what happens now?"

She swallowed. "You start over?"

"I start over." I held her wrists in one hand and slid the other down her body, slow, and pushed two fingers back inside her, and she arched off the bed. "And this time, you're going to keep them there."

I edged her twice more. I was not sorry about either one. The second time, she made a sound that was nearly a sob, her hips fighting the weight of me, her whole body straining toward the release I kept just out of reach. Her bonnet had slid crooked over one ear, and she didn't care, and I'd never wanted anyone more.

"Cam." It wasn't her usual please, the one with an edge to it, the one that still held on to some piece of itself. This one was undone. This was Harper with nothing left to manage. "Please. Please, I'll be good, I'll be so good, I need to come, please let me come."

I looked down at her.

Three weeks ago, I'd asked her whose she was, in the dark, before dawn, and she'd said yours, and then I'd let her walk out my door. I'd been hearing that word every night since. It had been the worst sound in the world, because it wasn't true. I hadn't let it be true.

"Whose are you?" I asked her.

Her eyes filled. "Yours."

"Say it again."