His forehead rests against mine, eyes shut tight. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours?”
He shakes his head. “After that.”
I swallow hard, trailing my fingers down his neck. “Always yours.”
A harsh pant leaves his lips, then he shoves my panties to the side, and I gasp as he slams into me, right here against the door. I’m already soaked, but it still takes a moment to adjust to the size of him in this new position. My nails curl into his shoulders when he rolls his hips in a slow circle against my most sensitive spot.
“Again.” It’s another plea despite the growl lacing his voice.
“Always, Joshua. Always yours.”
His arms flex as he tightens his hold on me, locking me firmly to him. He pulls out, then plunges in hard enough to nearly flatten my spine against the door. Over, and over, and over. The deadbolt digs into my back, the knob catches my dress, and the door bangs and rattles behind me as he pumps without control. Without rhythm. No sense of restraint.
So fast and hard it makes every time before this feel like he was going easy on me.
I’ve never fully seen this side of him, but it doesn’t matter; I want to know every side. Panting hard, three important words dance on my tongue, begging to be let out. But they never make it past my lips.
His fingers bite into my thighs, arms, and waist, competing with the pressure of my hold on his shoulders. My mouth falls open, my clit grinding against him with every movement, and I’m sure I’m going to break some kind of record when a delicious spasm soars through me, tightening my core. Oh, god, the orgasm hits me so hard my thighs shake around his hips.
He groans, stroking my trembling body in soothing caresses as he pushes deeper, deeper. Then he pulls out. His hard length presses into my stomach, and warm liquid spills over my skin. His shoulders hunch forward, head bowing into my neck, muscles still quivering.
I freeze as realization washes in: he wasn’t wearing a condom.
He takes a second to get his breathing under control, and when he finally slides his gaze to mine, guilt flickers behind its depths.
We stare at each other, our chests rising and falling.
Then his eyes drop, lingering on my neck, my waist, my thighs. As he slowly takes me in, the guilt I saw just moments ago transforms into something deeper, darker. His face twists, almost like he’s disgusted at what he sees, and cold shock pours over me when he moves me down his body, sets me on the floor, and steps away.
“Hey,” I murmur, still out of breath. “It’s okay. It was just one time.”
After adjusting his sweats over his hips, he slicks his hands through his hair, pulling the strands. His Adam’s apple bobs when he looks me up and down again, and he shakes his head. “Jesus, Blue. I’m so fucking sorry.”
He paces toward me, opening his mouth like he’s going to say more, but then he shuts it again and scrubs a palm down his face.
“Joshua, I’m fine,” I insist. “We’refine.”
I step closer, lifting my hand to brush back a few strands of hair falling over his forehead, but he stops me with a gentle grip.
Grey eyes, filled with regret, find mine, and I don’t understand why he’s looking at me like that. He leans down, his mouth so close to my lips I think he’s going to kiss me. I wish he would. But he only brushes over them, the light touch uneven against my skin as he carefully lowers my arm to my side and releases me.
“It’s not fine,” he whispers harshly, reaching around me. “None of this”—his gaze slips down my body again—“is fine.”
“What are you talking ab—?”
Keys scrape along the side table, then the knob turns, and he’s gone.
Awhooshof air leaves my lungs, my back falling against the now-closed door.
What the hell just happened?
I walk in a daze to the kitchen, where I mindlessly wipe the stickiness from my stomach with a wet paper towel, then return to the living room. When I tug at the hem of my dress to cover myself better, my thumb slips through a hole. Frowning, I look down to find a small tear. My gaze wanders further when I see the light marks peppering my upper thighs. Some are red lines in the form of his fingers, the kind that are already fading, but one or two look dark enough to turn into bruises. Suddenly hyperaware of tenderness spanning the right curve of my neck and the side of my arm, I reach up and gently pat my skin where it’s sore ...
So this is what he saw.
My heart pounds as I stare straight through the walls of his empty guesthouse like they’re not even there.
