I grab her waist, pinning her firmly against the steel to take her weight, and start to move.
My hips slam into hers, hard and relentless. I pull out until just the head remains, then drive back in, splitting her open. The sound of our skin colliding mixes with the rattle of the locker doors and the wet, squelching sound of our bodies connecting.
“Look at me,” I command.
Her eyes fly open, locking onto mine. They are glazed, heavy with pleasure.
“Feel that,” I grind out, snapping my hips forward, hitting the deepest part of her womb. “Feel me claiming you. You belong to me.”
“Ben...” She claws at my shoulders, her nails raking down my back. Her head falls back against the metal, a long, low moan tearing from her throat. “Please... harder.”
“I know.” I increase the pace, driving into her over and over, abandoning any pretense of gentleness. This isn’t gentle. This is primal. I’m marking her from the inside out.
I feel her walls start to clamp down, that telltale tightening that means she’s close.
“That’s it,” I growl against her neck, biting down on the sensitive skin there. “Come for me. Ruin my cock.”
She shatters.
Her body bows off the lockers, her inner muscles pulsing around me in rhythmic waves, milking me, gripping me so tight I can barely move. She buries her face in my neck, stifling her moans against my skin, shuddering violently.
The sensation breaks something loose in me.
I drive in deep and hold, pressing my forehead against hers as the release tears through me. I pour everything I have into her, groaning her name, emptying myself completely inside her.
I’m going to spend the rest of my life doing this. Fucking her, loving her, filling her up. This woman is my future, my family, my everything.
We stay pressed together against the dented locker, breathing hard, waiting out the aftershocks. I keep her leg hooked over my hip, refusing to pull out, refusing to break the connection.
Slowly, my heart rate drops from dangerous to merely elevated.
I kiss the pulse point behind her ear, tasting salt on her skin. I slide my hand into her tangled hair, cradling the back of her head.
“You okay?” I ask, my voice wrecked.
Tilly lets out a shaky exhale, her forehead resting against my shoulder. Her legs are trembling against my waist.
“I think,” she whispers, her voice breathless, “that was better than the fight.”
I laugh, the sound rumbling through my chest and into hers. I pull back just enough to look at her.
Her lipstick is smeared. Her hair is a disaster. Her dress is bunched around her waist.
She looks thoroughly, beautifully claimed.
“Yeah,” I agree, brushing my thumb over her swollen lip. “I think you’re right.”
Chapter Eight
TILLY
If you had toldme forty-eight hours ago that I would be hosting a private shopping spree for Ben’s family and friends, I would have recommended you seek psychiatric help.
But logic left the building the moment Ben Mitchell walked into it.
The last twelve hours have been a blur. After the fight, we slipped out of the arena while the crowd was still screaming his name. We drove back to the ranch in the silence of the middle of the night, ate cold leftover pizza on his kitchen floor, and slept tangled together in his massive bed like we’d been doing it for years.
This morning, Ben woke me up at dawn. He was already dressed, looking grim and focused. He told me he, Koda, and Reign had “business” to handle in town and that I should go open the shop for the girls. He wouldn't say what the business was, just gave me a kiss and told me he’d meet me there later.
