She placed her hand on his back.
The vicious shudder that wracked his body shocked her even more. But she kept her hand on him, desperate to soothe the tension, and to calm his ragged breathing, as his head dropped forward until his forehead was resting against the concrete wall.
Was this a panic attack? Where had it come from?
‘I was safe, Theo…’ she whispered. ‘I was only fifty yards from the house.’
He swore again, and she stroked both hands down his back to circle his waist and hug him. She pressed her cheek into his spine, the tears welling as she realised how cold he was.
He’d run out to search for her, with only a few layers on—in minus-thirty degrees.
She had no idea what might have triggered his reaction to waking up and finding her gone, but she could feel it flowing through him now, in the tight muscles that refused to relax, the hoarse breathing. She began to talk, trying to soothe herself now as much as him.
‘I found the instruction manual for the sauna. I-I know you don’t like the cold. I wanted to do something…’For you. She bit off the thought, because it sounded too sentimental. ‘To celebrate.’
‘Celebrate what?’ he said, his voice rough, his hands still braced against the wall, his harsh breaths suggesting he was still struggling to get enough air into his lungs.
‘It’s Christmas, Theo. Today is Christmas.’
He shifted round at last. Grasping her hips, he pulled her into his body. Cradling her head, he pressed her face into his shoulder, holding her too tightly.
‘I told you. I don’t celebrate,’ he murmured into her hair.
‘I know but…’ she said, trying to gather her fractured thoughts as his fingers sank into her hair and he massaged her scalp, almost as if he were testing to make sure she was real, solid. ‘I thought we could share a sauna to keep you warm…’
Before she could finish the thought, he clasped her cheeks to tilt her head back, and his lips found hers. He thrust his tongue deep, the kiss forceful, frantic—so much more raw and urgent than the way he had always kissed her before.
She opened for him instinctively, the yearning in her sex nothing compared to the yearning in her heart. Whatever had caused his panic attack, he needed her to anchor him.
He tore his mouth away, his gaze searching her face. ‘I only need one damn thing to keep me warm…’ he managed, before boosting her into his arms.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, holding onto his strength as he marched across the garage and headed up the interior stairs.
She rained kisses on his face as those urgent hands sank beneath the waistband of her pants to cup her bare bottom. She was panting hard, her heart ramming her ribs when they reached the lounge. He dropped her onto one of the low couches,the glitter of the Christmas tree lights sparkling in his dark hair. She barely had a chance to catch her breath before he had dragged off her yoga pants and panties and released the huge erection from his sweats. He found a condom in the pocket, ripped the foil packet with his teeth before sheathing himself with clumsy fingers. She watched him as her heart got wedged under in her throat—and pulsed between her naked thighs.
‘I can’t wait,’ he rasped, grabbing her legs to draw her to the edge of the couch and position himself between her thighs. The thick head of his erection butted the place where she ached for that brutal thrust that would drive him deep.
‘Don’t wait, you don’t have to…’ she whispered, her arms wrapping around his shoulders to draw him closer.
He grunted but dragged his fingers through her slick folds to test her readiness. Then his gaze locked on hers as he held her hips and plunged to the hilt.
Her tight flesh struggled to adjust to his girth, even though she had taken him so many times before.
His forehead met hers as he began to rock. In. Out. Deep. Deeper. Giving her every pulsating inch. Pleasure spread, tightening her nipples, making her chest ache, her skin sparkle and glow.
The relentless thrusts—harder, faster—robbed her of breath, the pleasure rising, twisting, holding her in its coils, suspended.
She moaned, her sobs matching his grunts, the slap of flesh on flesh visceral, basic, brutal in its intensity. The scent of him—salty sweat, male musk, the hint of bergamot and orange—invaded her senses, clogging her lungs.
She clasped his cheeks in unsteady hands, threaded her fingers through the silky strands of hair, holding on for dear life now. Her lungs hurt, her back ached, her core pulsed with exquisite pain, the orgasm so close.
He shifted, to brush his thumb over her aching clit, the thick thrusts becoming jerky, desperate. And then he found the heart of her at last.
She screamed, the coil bursting like a dam, the emotion rushing through her—brutal and overwhelming. She held him, the only safe place in the hurricane consuming them both.
As she plunged into oblivion, he thrust deep one last time and shouted out as he crashed over, too.
Theo groaned, the last waves of the brutal orgasm finally receding, his cock still wedged inside her.
