I’ll never be the same after this—not when every brutal thrust feels like he’s tearing me apart and reshaping me from the inside out.
Not when the raw, unfiltered need in his eyes burns through me, stripping away everything I thought I knew about sex and intimacy. Rewriting it all with him at the center.
The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes in the room, loud and primal, a rhythm that pulls me under. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I dig my heels into his taut ass, urging him deeper, needing more, all of him.
The pressure coiling inside me winds tighter and tighter with every relentless stroke, every driving thrust. His mouth finds mine, hot and desperate, his kiss as consuming as the way he moves inside me.
When he finally abandons my swollen lips, his mouth devours my throat, trailing heat down to my collarbone, leaving me gasping.
His hands roam to my breasts, his mouth finding one nipple, sucking it into the wet heat of his mouth. The drag of his teeth sends a shock straight through me, and just as I’m about to lose myself in the teasing pleasure, he surges into me again.
Hard. Demanding. Relentless.
And fuck me, I want it all.
Despite his iron grip on the hammer, the headboard bangs against the wall with each powerful surge. The more he looks into my eyes, the more erratic his movements become until the composed, regimented GI Joe I’ve always known dissolves into a man-consumed.
All guttural snarls and fractured control, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“You’re mine,” he growls, the possessive claim making my walls clench hard around him.
“I’m gonna ruin you for any other man. This pussy, the socks, Otis—” His hand skims the valley between my breasts, coming to rest over my racing heart, his eyes blazing. “And this? It all belongs to me.”
His dominance, his tenderness, his sheer intensity—it’s too much. It crashes over me in waves, and I tumble over the edge with a cry, my vision whiting out as pleasure takes me. Each pulse of release expands and consumes, leaving me wrecked and growing all at once.
There’s no recovering from this fall. There’s only Chance—relentless and tender, keeping me suspended in this place of reeling, unending pleasure.
Even as he takes me with a ferocity that leaves me gasping for air, his touches are threaded with love. The way his fingers brush a stray lock of hair from my face, lingering against my cheek. The soft kisses he presses to my neck, my collarbone, my lips, reverent even as his pace drives me wild.
“So beautiful, my Holly,” he murmurs.
I whimper as he hits that perfect spot inside me, over and over, the pressure swelling, throbbing, dancing on the edge of pain. Sparks shoot through me, curling my toes and leaving me clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping me from shattering completely.
He growls, his grip on the hammer tightening as his thrusts grow rougher, more desperate, each one chasing the release we both need. “Let go, baby,” he rasps, his hand cupping my chin as he leans in, his voice a low, sinful command. “Choke my cock with that boss bitch pussy of yours—one more time.”
And then I’m gone. Tumbling, spiraling, breaking apart as my orgasm consumes me completely, unapologetically. My vision blurs, my body shakes, and waves of unrelenting pleasure flood every nerve, making me cry out his name.
I can’t tear my eyes from his as it happens—watching him watch me, his gaze full of raw, animalistic satisfaction as I fall apart around him.
Until his jaw goes slack, his body jerks, and with a ferocious, guttural shout, he follows me over the edge. His cock pulses inside me, and I feel him give me every piece of himself, no holding back, no restraint.
We collapse together, our bodies slick with sweat, our hearts pounding in sync like they’ve always meant to be this way. He gathers me close, his arms strong and warm, holding me like he never intends to let go.
As I catch my breath, my cheek resting against his chest, I know—this is it. Right here, in his arms, is exactly where I’m meant to be.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Holly
Every delicious achein my body reminds me of last night—his mouth, his hands, the way he made me beg while gripping that hammer like it was the like it was the only anchor in a storm neither of us could escape.
My thighs quiver with each step, tiny aftershocks of pleasure rippling through me, each one a replay of him claiming every inch of my body.
Staring into my reflection, towel tucked around me, I search for the version of myself who's about to go make my father see what everyone else already knows.
"You know that towel isn't bulletproof, right?"
Chance's voice carries that gravelly edge that makes my the most sensitive parts of me flare to life.
