Page 172 of What Remains

This isn’t sex. This is something sacred.

My hands fist the comforter as his tongue finds a perfect, devastating rhythm, pleasure building until it spills over in a rush, leaving me shaking beneath him.

Gentle kisses and caresses map his path back up to me as my heart rate syncs with his. His lips linger on my cheeks, my forehead, as if he can’t stop touching me.

When he enters me with otherworldly care, he goes slowly, giving my body time to accept him, his eyes never leaving mine. The stretch makes me gasp. My nails dig into his shoulders as instinct takes over.

“I’ve got you.” He presses a kiss to my temple.

I wrap my legs around him, anchoring him closer. “Don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The first full movement pulls a broken sob from both of us.

After that, everything blurs. Heat, pressure, the slide of skin on skin, his mouth on mine swallowing every gasp, every whispered yes.

It’s overwhelming in the best possible way.

Like falling and flying at the same time. We’re finally reaching that place we’ve been fighting toward for two years. Suspended together in something bigger than either of us. Until all that remains . . . is us.

“Sweetheart?” Easton’s sleep-rough voice draws me from a doze.

We’ve barely rested since we closed that door two days ago. Too busy discovering each other in ways that don’t involve bullets or body armor.

“Mmm . . . say that again.” I arch into his touch as his thumb traces slow circles over my nipple.

“Troublemaker is more accurate.”

I turn my head on the pillow to meet his gaze, my lips curving. “Pretty sure I earned naughty after what you let me do to you at oh dark thirty.”

His eyes close, a groan slipping free like the memory alone is enough to undo him.

Yeah. Definitely earned it.

“Sweetheart,” he repeats, softer this time.

I climb onto him, bracketing his hips with my thighs, palms sliding over warm skin and hard muscle that I’m still not used to being allowed to touch like this. Mine. All mine. “Yes?”

He lifts his hips just enough to let me feel exactly how awake he is. “Careful. You’re putting yourself in a very dangerous position.”

I rock against him. “Worth the risk.”

A low laugh rumbles through his chest. He lifts up on his forearms to brush his nose against mine. “I think you’ve corrupted me. The things I still want to do to you . . .” He squeezes my arse, letting me know exactly where his head is at.

“Ha! How about the other way around?” I poke his chest. “You’re nowhere near innocent.”

“All your fault, I swear.” He winks, dropping flat onto the bed. He cups my breasts, and I shiver at the contact.

“Sure it is,” I tease.

His gaze darkens, heat replacing the amusement. Flipping us, he cages me beneath him, forearms braced on either side of my head. His weight settles over me. Solid, protective, and intoxicating.

“I’ve had a long time to think about what I want to do with you,” he murmurs against my mouth.

“Not done with me yet?” I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve made love already. Each experience was blissful, perfect, and, at times, deliciously dirty.

His eyes flash to mine. “Hardly.”