I hold on, fingers white and nails digging into his skin, staring down at his cock pounding me, and then his face, jagged with strain.
His mouth splits open and his face screws up in a silent, strangled roar.
Just before he finishes, his eyes flick to mine.
Perfect green, alive and primal.
Then he’s a mountain falling down.
His jaw clenches so he doesn’t make a sound, and he’s so deep inside me I can feel his throb, his heartbeat, his unforgivingheat.
Ohhh, shit.
The flood.
The magma flow.
The eruption, his seed all lava as it overflows my pussy and runs out between us.
His grip bruises my hip, trying to draw me closer, though there’s nowhere to go with him bottomed out as he empties his balls deep inside me.
I wrap my arms around him and hold on tight.
“Fuck,” he says hoarsely.
An entire universe in one gravel word.
I press my face against his chest.
He smells like cologne and Kane and forbidden sex.
I think I’m still trembling.
His hand brushes my hair. “You good?”
“I… I think so.”
He tilts my head back so he can kiss me. “We should clean up. Hurry.”
“You mean before we have company?”
“I mean your bags, duchess. I really don’t want them to see them. I’ll take them up while you fix yourself.” He kisses me again, slowly and thoroughly.
Just like that, it’s decided.
I’ll stay because I can’t imagine doing anything else.
“Can you walk to the shower?”
“Y-yeah. I just need a minute,” I say, half laughing.
“No time.”
The next thing I know, he’s pulled out, thrown his shorts on, and he’s shuttling me upstairs in his arms. I laugh against his chest.
“I’ll go back for the bags in a minute,” he tells me quietly. “I don’t want you going anywhere. We still need to talk.”
“I won’t.”
