Page 51 of Entwined With You

My next sound isn’t a word, but a squeal, because he’s pulled me to him, his mouth claiming mine as he rolls us both over until he’s on top of me, our kiss wild. Ferocious.

This is how I remember him. These are the kisses and touches that come back to me in dreams.

This is what I fantasize about when I go to bed alone at night. Not just the touch, but the connection. Not just pleasure, but the electricity that seems to arc between us, as if we’re atomic particles that should never have been separated.

This is why his betrayal hurt so deep.

And it’s why I never fully believed it—not really—even after Lambert showed me the proof.

“Samantha,” he murmurs, flipping us over so that it’s him straddling me. I cup his neck and pull him down, craving his mouth and the claiming way he kisses me. He doesn’t protest, and soon his weight is pressing me against the mattress as our mouths collide in such wild, deep kisses that I think I’d be satisfied even if this is all we do tonight.

Except I really hope it won’t be all we do tonight.

“Brax,” I murmur as I slid my hands down to find the tie of his sweats again. I tug on it, undoing the bow and loosening the waistband. Then I slide my hands inside, my palms cupping the warm skin of his seriously tight ass.

He rises up, breaking the kiss, and I whimper in protest. His mouth curves into a half-smile and he murmurs, “Patience,” as he tugs his sweats all the way off, leaving him wearing only the souvenir Tee.

I squirm, tugging at my own shorts, but he takes care of that for me, tugging the legging-style material down until he’s pulled the shorts over my feet and has tossed them onto the floor. “Take off the tank,” he orders, and I comply immediately, tugging it up and dropping it off the bed. I’m not wearing a bra, and I bite my lower lip as I lay back, my heart pounding as his eyes roam over me. He hasn’t seen me in fifteen years, and I suddenly feel as nervous as a Victorian-era bride on her wedding night.

Although that’s probably a bit of an exaggeration.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs.

I laugh, delighted. I love the sentiment, but I also know he can’t really see a thing. The light’s not on, and the ambient lighting coming through the Venetian blinds is minimal.

“Your turn,” I say, propping myself up on my elbows. “Off with the shirt.”

He complies immediately, tossing it aside with a flourish.

I tilt my head. “Wow. A man who follows orders.”

“I’m yours to command,” he says. “Tell me what you want.”

“You know what I want.”

“I want to hear it.”

“You,” I whisper. “Please, Brax. I want you inside me.”

“As you wish.” He slides up my body, then makes me melt with a slow, deep kiss. The kind I feel all the way down to my core where his fingers are teasing me, and tiny sparks shoot all through me, the precursor of a coming explosion.

“Please,” I beg, spreading my legs. “Please, now.”

The words have barely left my lips when he enters me, and I watch his face, his expression a reflection of everything I’m feeling. It’s been so long—too long—and I know he isn’t going to go slow. I don’t want him to. I want hard. I want punishing. I want him to completely own me the way he should have for the last fifteen years. The way he would have if I hadn’t screwed up so badly. If I hadn’t trusted suspicion but had trusted my heart.

And then thought leaves me and nothing at all matters except the sensations coursing through my body. A wild net of electricity making every one of my cells tingle as all the sparks race toward my core, building and building until the spark morphs into an explosion so intense my body lurches up, shaking, only to be trapped again under Brax as he cries out with his own orgasm. And then, breathing hard, he rolls off me, his hand resting on my belly as his thumb traces patterns in my still-tingling skin.

I sigh, completely content and happier than I can remember being in years. I already want to do it again, and I have to laugh at myself, because I’m desperate to make up for lost time. How had I lived without this? I didn’t even realize how alone I felt. Not until I’d showed up at his door. And now, in his bed, I feel whole again.

Group Ultra may have given me solace over the last fifteen years. But it’s not my home, even though I accepted it as a substitute.

But Brax…

He’s home and hearth combined. He’s my life, and he always had been. I was a fool to have ever doubted him, but I was younger then, and clearly more foolish, or I would never have believed what they thought the evidence showed. On the contrary, I would have told him everything, and it would be me—Sabrina—in this bed tonight, and not a woman who doesn’t even really exist.

I screwed up back then; I know that now.

And because of that, the man who has always been the center of my life made love with a figment of my imagination tonight.