Color had risen in her cheeks, a deep flush that might have been equal parts wine and arousal. She was undone in the most perfect way, so lost in the experience they were sharing.
“Do you mean it?” she whispered, letting her hair fall like a curtain around them as she looked down at him with a glassy, baleful gaze. “All those things you’re always saying about beingobsessed with me? That you’ll be here for me and nothing will separate us? Is it just lip service?”
“I mean it,” he rumbled, sliding his hands up her back and enjoying the dance of her muscles as she shuddered beneath the touch.
“But you can lie.”
Her bottom lip trembled. This was important to her. Of course it was. She had no tolerance for uncertainty—that was what the compulsions were about, wasn’t it? A need to impose order, to find control in a universe of entropy. She was begging him to give her the certainty that she craved.
“Yes,” he said, dragging his fingers lightly up and down her spine. “But I am not.”
He’d known the words would do little to soothe her, but what she wanted and what she needed were two different things. He would not give her one at the expense of the other.
“But how do I know?” Her eyes searched his desperately.
“You don’t. In time, I’ll show you. For now, you’ll have to embrace the unknown.”
Her face scrunched up unhappily. “I can’t.”
“You will.” He gripped her hips and shifted her until the head of his cock prodded her entrance.
She planted her hands against his chest, her eyes widening as he teased her tight core. If she’d been less eager, he would have taken the time to prepare her, wringing orgasms from her until she was languid and without resistance.
Maybe this was better; she was never going to forget this moment, stretching to take all of him.
He swept her hair over her shoulder, gathering it to the far side of them, so Logan would have to see the ecstasy on her face as he entered her.
“Ophelia,” Logan called, braced to rise up out of the chair. He looked like he was going to be sick. “Wait?—”
She held Sam’s gaze as she threw her hips back and sat, taking half his cock in one sharp movement. A ragged cry tore from her throat. Her nails raked across his skin. He caught at her hips, stilling her.
“You’ll hurt yourself,” he grated, holding her aloft.
“Fuck,” Logan bit out, standing. “Ophelia, stop.”
She panted, rocking up and sinking another inch. Her skin was growing slick with sweat as her body worked to adjust to his size.
“Ophelia!” Logan said more urgently, reaching for her.
Sam lunged up, grabbing his wrist before he could make contact with her. “Donottouch her.”
“Thirty-One, stand down!” Logan commanded, wrenching out of his grip.
“She’s mine,” he snapped instead of complying.
“What the fuck are you?—”
“Sit down,” Ophelia said tightly. “And shut up.”
Stunned, Logan took a step back.
She rocked forward again, and this time when she came down, she took Sam all the way to the hilt. He groaned, his cock head nestled against her cervix as her channel squeezed around him.
Logan’s eyes were wild, his hands threaded into his hair as though he was about to pull it out. “Effie, what the fuck is this?”
“You tell me,” she said, her voice reedy and breathless. “It was your idea.”
She held Logan’s gaze as she rose and dropped hard, fucking herself with Sam’s length. He growled his approval, lending her his strength with a firm grasp on her waist as she did it again.
