Page 88 of Until You

Hell, she is incredible. The taste of her kiss. The feel of her pussy tightening around me. The scent of soap and sex on her skin. The sight of her before me slowly coming undone.

The only thing better than the feel of her is the taste of her.

That’s a drug in and of itself.

I try to shift her off me with thoughts of her pink pussy and my wet tongue pleasuring it, but she clamps her thighs over mine.

“No,” she murmurs. “This is about you tonight. For you. Let me give you what you need. Let me make you forget.” She grinds her hips over me. “Need me, Crew.” Her eyes are still on mine but fall somewhat closed with pleasure as she cups her own breasts and rubs her nipples between her thumbs and fingers.

It’s a slow build. A sensuous climb.

Of shuddered breaths followed by panted gasps.

It’s hands grasping and thighs clenching.

It’s need mixed with greed and want mingled with temptation.

It’s her coaxing and me taking.

“Come for me,” she commands as her hips piston a little faster and her fingernails dig into my biceps as my hands guide her hips. “Crew.”

My name has never sounded better in that part moan, part demand of hers. My head begins to dizzy as the white-hot ache spreads from my balls to my lower abdomen to fucking everywhere.

I come, hammering my hips up to hers. Hard and ragged and desperate. I empty myself with a feral groan before sinking my teeth into her shoulder and then licking the nip away.

Our fingers link as she settles all the way down on top of me and her lips find mine again. Her kiss is tender. As gentle as the sex we just had was, it still felt raw. It still felt desperate.

“I’m here, Crew,” she murmurs against my lips, giving me words I didn’t know I needed to hear. “I’m here.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Tennyson

Stay.

Those were his words as I tried to untangle myself from him tonight and sneak back to my room like I have been doing the nights we’ve come together.

Gray eyes met mine, telling me he meant it. Expressing to me that he wasn’t ready to let go yet.

Telling me that he still needed me.

The man sure knows how to make a woman feel valued, that’s for sure. Even on a night when it’s clear he had to deal with his own personal demons, it still felt like he tried to put me first.

I don’t know how, but it did.

I glance down at the top of his head and press a kiss to where it rests on my chest. His leg is hooked over my thigh, and his arm is tucked around my abdomen, pulling me against the curve of him.

I can’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else right now.

Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep. Maybe that’s why I find solace in hearing his breathing even out and feeling his muscles fall lax.

The events of tonight replay in my head. His sullen mood. Us dancing downstairs. Falling asleep on the couch in his arms only to wake up in my own bed where he must have carried me to. The abject terror thinking that I brought danger upon him and the girls.

The realization that I actually am.

Yes, his nightmare, his ordeal, his guilt, are horrific in so many ways, but I’m grateful for him finally confiding in me. In needing me. In letting me give him something he needs since I’m always the one who seems to be drawing strength from him.

But even with all that, there’s one thought I struggle to drown out: I can’t knowingly put these three into harm’s way—especially when I know I’m falling for them.