Page 187 of Sins of Arrogance

De­sire wars with re­mem­bered plea­sure.

There have been times he’s kept me bound and on edge for hours. I’ve come so hard, I passed out. More than once.

I don’t think I have the stamina for that tonight. I need.

“Michael,” I whim­per.

“You’ll come when I say.”

I want to ar­gue, to beg, to de­mand. But all that comes out is a cry as he sucks harder, and thrusts two thick fin­gers in­side me, hit­ting that per­fect spot.

And I shat­ter. Scream­ing my throat raw as my body seizes around his fin­gers, stars burst­ing be­hind my eyes.

Be­fore I can come down, he shifts and flips me onto my stom­ach. Bruis­ing hands yank my hips up and back, and he plunges his huge erec­tion in­side me in one bru­tal, beau­ti­ful thrust.

I scream into the sheets, and he curses, grip­ping my waist like he owns me.

Be­cause he does.

“This is mine,” he growls, thrust­ing so deep, so hard, I swear I can feel him in my throat.

“Yes,” I gasp. “Yours.”

The rhythm is ruth­less. Pun­ish­ing. Per­fect. My whole body tight­ens again, climb­ing im­pos­si­bly high, im­pos­si­bly fast.

“I want you to come again,” he grits out. “Let me feel it.”

I reach un­der my­self, rub­bing my swollen, needy clit. My or­gasm hits like an earth­quake, splin­ter­ing me into a thou­sand trem­bling pieces.

And it hits me. More than the plea­sure. Some­thing deeper. Some­thing fierce.

Crim­son. In­tense.

“I love you, Michael!” It comes out on a sob and I wal­low in the pro­found right­ness of the words.

This is not with the pale pink af­fec­tion that grew in those early months for the man I mar­ried.

This is ma­ture. Molten, heated, and con­sum­ing. This is the kind of love that doesn’t come with safety rails.

And I trem­ble with the enor­mity of it.

Mick goes rigid above me, growl­ing my name as his hips jerk and he floods me with his heat.

For long min­utes, nei­ther of us move and the only sound in the lux­u­ri­ous ho­tel suite is our harsh breath­ing.

Then he sinks down on top of me, nuz­zling my neck. “So feckin’ per­fect for me. I’m bleedin’ lucky, even for an Irish­man.”

I smile, ut­terly bone­less be­neath him. And for this mo­ment in time, I let my­self be­lieve I’m not just his wife.

I’m his ev­ery­thing.

Chap­ter 46: The Bunny Boiler Be­trayal

MICK

I don’t look away from the screen.

Not even for a sec­ond.