“Always, beautiful.”
It’s slow. Reverent. So unlike Jansen that I struggle to breathe. It’s big. Bigger than a claiming, or a connection. He’s savoring me. Like he’s afraid that if he doesn’t, I might not be real. It’swritten there in his green eyes. He’s afraid, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.
Was it me almost dying? Or is it something else?
When I come, it’s in rolling waves of pleasure, my body lax in his arms. He continues his slow, even strokes, riding my pleasure without wavering in rhythm or intensity, his gaze overwhelming in a way I’ve never felt from him.
“Trouble?”
He presses his lips to mine, keeping me from asking more.
And when he comes, it’s with the same intensity, a low groan and a slow blink of his blond lashes.
His lips are soft against mine, his voice muffled. “I’m not giving this up. Not ever.”
“Never,” I agree.
He bundles me into his arms, his nose pressed against the crook of my neck.
We don’t separate until he slips loose, his parting kiss soft, gentle.
And it hurts. Only I can’t push it, not now. He didn’t say it with words, but his actions were clear enough. Later, we’ll talk.
So for now, I flop my boneless neck to the side, finding RJ leaning back in my chair, his eyes hooded. And Walker, dropping to his knees beside me. “Princess,” he says, his thumb tracing my likely swollen lips.
“Yes?” I croak.
“Can you do one more?”
As an answer, I pull his thumb into my mouth, spiraling my tongue around the tip. A grin hints at the corner of his mouth. “Insatiable.”
I grin around his thumb, digging my teeth into it just enough to keep him from pulling it back.
He kneels over me, his eyes dark.
Then, instead of trying to take back his thumb, his other fingers dig into my hair, and he leans forward, his tongue slipping between my teeth, coaxing mine to dance with his.
Letting go of his thumb only makes sense, so I do, diving to meet him. His newly freed hand pulls my hair tight enough for the sting to register, causing my already limp body to slacken farther, trusting him to do what he wants with me. To take so much, and to give as much in return.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he whispers to me, and I feel it. I feel it in a way that I’m not sure I could have a few months ago. Maybe ever.
“So are you,” I whisper, dragging my hand down the side of his face, his dark eyes searching mine.
“I want to do more, but I don’t think I can wait.”
“You’ve waited plenty.”
That grin is back. “I have, haven’t I?”
He runs his hands down my front, tweaking my nipples, making me gasp and arch.
Then, without preamble, he slides into me, the way so slick there’s no friction. He sits back on his heels, dragging me with him down the bed, my ass resting on his thighs, the rest of me spread out like some kind of dazed, sex-sated feast. “Decadent,” he mutters, and the way he looks at me, I know he’s collecting details to add to a drawing, a painting, preparing to combine a piece of his soul with how he sees me.
Then he rocks into me, tiny nudges against my swollen flesh, and thoughts become slippery, his thumb coaxing me higher, another, impossible orgasm building inside of me.
And when I come, my body trembling, too tired to shake, he grabs hold of me, slamming me against him until he comes too, his jaw clenched, but his eyes locked on mine.
We stay frozen in the moment, our breaths ragged.
