Her eyes widen, nostrils flaring.
“Mine, Eira.”
I’m fucking losing it.
Whether it’s the post-nut clarity or the way I’m already on the verge of coming again mere minutes later. Or maybe I’m losing my mind because it’s Christmas Eve, and I’m balls deep inside a woman I didn’t expect to care so much about.
My brain knows this comes to an end in a couple days; my heart refuses to not to be in it for the long haul. And I can’t fucking stand that.
Chapter fourteen
Eira
Though the way his fingers strum over my clit is delicate, nothing in the aggressive thrusts or deep-etched scowl on his face is. His skin slaps into mine each time I’m filled to the hilt—so deep it borders on painful.
My back lifts off the bed with the wave of an impending orgasm, heat swirling in my core, edged by the angry grunts and groans that slip out from between his tight lips. Like pain and pleasure are waging war inside him.
My eyelids slam shut, and my ankles tighten around his neck.
So close.
So close.
“Open your fucking eyes,” Lucas barks. “Open them and look at me.”
This doesn’t feel like the time to argue, so I gaze up at him, wide-eyed as his tight, hurried circles on my clit make my walls clench around him, and we’re both staving off the inevitable.
“Please,” I beg quietly. “I-I’m gonna…”
“Come,” he orders, somehow finding a way to make every thrust even more powerful.
Legs shaking, pulse racing, core tightening, an orgasm overwhelms me. And his eyes soften a little when he pulls out to paint the apex of my thighs in thick, white cum.
The muscles in his jaw tense, and a low rumble claws its way up from his chest as he reaches between us. His index finger drags through the substance glistening on my pale skin, tracing a well-defined L. Then another letter next to it.
LM
With attention to detail, he cleans up the tail end of the M, as if there was ever any doubt what he was asserting.
“Lucas,” I barely squeak out, staring at where his finger is still hovering just above my skin. Above where he laid claim by signing his initials like an artist branding a completed work.
In the next moment, the only movement is the staggered rise and fall of our chests. Then he removes my ankles from his muscular shoulders and steps backward.
“I’ll go get you a washcloth.” His voice is gruff, and the bunching between his eyebrows still evident.
What the hell changed in the last five minutes?
He was flirty and funny and himself while I sketched. Feeling safe, I showed him what I drew. He insisted I touch myself so he could watch, and he came without even touching his cock. And when I sucked the saltiness off his warm skin, he lovingly sifted a hand through my hair.
But the moment he thrust into me, something snapped. I got a fascinating glimpse of the gruff, angry, closed-off version of Lucas people warned me about. I’m not against rough sex, the sting of damp skin colliding repeatedly, the sweat running past his temple from the aggressive thrusting, or the angry dirty talk. I know Lucas, though—enough to know that wasn’t fun for him.
“Thank you.” I extend a hand to take the damp towel when he saunters back into the room.
With a sudden tenderness, Lucas sinks down onto the mattress next to me and quietly says, “Let me do it.”
A shiver skates up my spine when the warm cloth presses to my lower stomach. Without a word, he cleans me, the tiniest flicker of a lost smile catching my eye when I whimper at the feel of his touch floating over my clit.
As silently as he came in, he leaves. I use that opportunity to check on the kitten while he showers, and hopefully clears whatever’s on his mind. He’s still in the shower when I open the bathroom door to brush my teeth.
