Page 72 of Hearts on the Line

“You look so pretty waiting for me.” He comes to stand behind me and presses the head of his cock against me. “And this pussy. Fuuuck, Sloane. You’re perfect for me.”

It’s all too much as he eases inside, stretching me.

“That’s it. Take it. Almost there, baby.”

I forget my own name for a minute.

“Ethan…”

“Take a breath. Breathe, Sun.” One warm palm settles at the base of my spine, his hand rough against my soft skin. He wraps my hair around his other fist and tugs, my spine arching, before he drives into me.

I yell out, dropping my head against the mattress, struggling to catch my breath. It’s like I’m stuck under the surf, wave after wave crashing over me. Or maybe that’s just my pulse pounding in my ears.

This feels…oh, this feels…

I lose myself in him. I always have. The sharp slap of skin against skin, the helpless little sounds slipping from my mouth every time he drives into me, filling me up.

“I missed you so much.” I try to keep everything straight, feeling myself pulled between what we had, what we lost, and now. It’s so much now, and I don’t…I swallow. I can’t…

When he bends down and kisses between my shoulder blades, I shatter again, bright white light exploding behind my eyelids.

I think he’s going to keep me like this, on my hands and knees for him, but he pulls out. Releases my hair. His hands sweep down my back before he palms my ass, then gently spanks me.

Twelve years. This feels either like it’s a punishment or a man terrified he’s letting me go.

I push that thought away, flipping over so I can face him. I dart my tongue out to wet my lips, my eyes raking up his body in the dim light peeking through the blinds of his bedroom.

“Can’t look at me like that, baby,” he says with a small laugh.

I struggle to catch my breath, reaching my foot out to hook it behind his waist and drag him closer.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me.”

He leans forward and tugs my skirt down my hips so it pools on the floor between us, then guides me back onto his bed.

Soft, careful.

“We’re not done yet, Sun.”

I shake my head, bracing myself on my elbows.

“Say it.” He crawls forward, kissing his way up my body, before he gently skims his teeth over that spot at the curve of my neck, bites, then licks the pain away.

“I’ll beg,” he whispers against my ear. “Is that what you need, Sloane? For me to say, please? Or do you like it better when I call you mine?”

I’m dizzy with the sudden change of pace, and then I realize it’s not a change. He’s committing me to memory with each kiss, each lick of his tongue, each press of his fingers. I grip the sheets, arching off the bed. Every drag of his lips feels like a confession he’s too stubborn to say out loud.

“I don’t need you to call me mine.” I push at his shoulders, drawing him back, his eyebrows drawn down until I curl my hand around his cock, and roll off the condom, tossing it to the side. I spit in my palm, my eyes locked on his, as I coat him, then lick the scar over his shoulder. That night that cost him—and us—everything. “Say please, Ethan.” I adjust my hips as he settles between them, then sinks into me.

The feel of him is overwhelming, my breath catching, my skin warm and flushed.

“Please, Sloane,” he whimpers in my ear. “This feels…fuck, baby. I…I need you to say it.”

I don’t know when I start shaking. I just know that when I break apart, it’s with his name in my mouth and his arms locking me to him like I might slip away otherwise. He follows me over edge, his breath ragged in my ear, and for a moment, we just stay there, tangled and trembling.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes are soft in a way that hurts. Like he’s letting me in, and he doesn’t even realize how dangerous that is.