"I'm going to?—"
"I know." He doesn't slow down. "Come for me. Let me feel it."
I break at those words.
The orgasm rips through me in waves so violent my body locks up. Sound disappears. The room dissolves. There's nothing but the relentless pulse of it and his voice somewhere close:Yes, baby, there you go. That's my girl.
He doesn't stop.
Even as I'm still clenching around him, still trembling through the aftershocks, he keeps moving. Chasing his own release now, his rhythm turning rough and frenzied.
"I should pull out."
I wrap my legs around his waist. "Don't you dare."
He buries himself to the hilt and groans against my lips. I feel the pulse of him inside me—hot and claiming—filling me in a way that feels like ownership.
Like he's marking me from the inside.
We stay tangled together, breathing ragged, hearts slamming against each other's chests. His forehead rests against mine, lips brushing my temple.
"We're not done." He says it quietly, still buried inside me, and I feel him twitch, then thicken. "I'm nowhere close to being done with you."
A fresh wave of heat sparks low in my belly.
The office walls feel closer. The rain sounds farther away. Everything narrows to his body, his voice, the rolling of his hips as he starts building me up all over again.
I could stay wrapped up in him like this all night.
THIRTY-THREE
TRISTAN
Keira's back arches off the mattress slightly, her nipples hardening through the thin fabric of her oversized shirt.
If she's dreaming about Henri, I'm going to lose my fucking mind.
Which is insane, considering I'm Henri.
But logic has no place right now in the dark, with her writhing six feet away from me while her piece-of-shit husband sleeps like the dead.
My nails bite into my palms hard enough to draw blood. The irrational surge of jealousy, the possessive fury clawing at my chest. I don't get jealous. That's not who I am. I've shared women before, enjoyed different dynamics without a second thought.
But apparently, where Keira is concerned, none of that matters.
Rules don't apply to her.
Never did.
I don't remember deciding to move, but somehow I'm standing over her, right beside the bed.
When she kicks the sheet off, my eyes drag over every inch of smooth skin from ankle to mid-thigh.
Her body arches again, spine lifting off the mattress like someone's touching her.
Like invisible hands are trailing down her body.
Like someone is teasing her, edging her, bringing her right to the brink and pulling back just to hear her beg.
