Page 98 of Outcast’s Vow

“I want you to make love to me,” Sylvie says gently as we stand next to the bed, embracing.

My brain instantly heads back to denial, but my heartbeat races. Because that’s it, isn’t it? The word that sums up the feelings I’m trying to douse with every atom.

Love.

What if I humored her? What if I gave in and believed, for a moment, that this is what's going on between us? That this is what so many people hunger for? Hell, it would be a good description of what is happening.

But I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want to think about Sylvie’s words. I don’t want to believe it.

My throat constricts.

“I want to have you all over again,” I rumble at her.

Sparks light up in her pretty eyes.

We’re on the same page.

We help each other strip. Slowly.

I pull her tenderly down onto the bed.

And then she climbs on top of me, her legs wrapping around my sides. She guides me inside her, straddling me, going at her pace. Her speed. It’s thoughtful, deliberate, and slow. It’s what she would describe as making love.

I let her set the rhythm. I can taste her lips on my mouth like an imprint. The sweet natural scent of her hair hangs on the tip of my tongue as she bends over me. Our eyes are locked.

I’m already on edge. Helpless.

But then she does something I don’t expect.

Sylvie reaches for me. Reaches for my chest. For the tattoo of her name over my heart. Her fingers are warm. Her touch is gentle. My entire system reacts to the brush of her skin against mine.

“I’m yours,” she moans. “Totally and utterly yours.”

Hearing her say that, seeing how she looks at me, and feeling her hand upon the tattoo...

It’s enough for me to lose all my carefully curated control.

I release with a broken roar, my skin on fire. I’m overwhelmed.

And Sylvie relishes it. She bites her lip and makes no effort to remain quiet, meeting my surrender.

“Yes, Baptiste. Yes.”

She revels in making me lose control.

My groans of climax echo through the bedroom.

Fuck.

After, the room is nothing but heat and silence. Our breaths fall into the same rhythm as the world finally slows. It’s the best I’ve ever had. And it isn’t even about the physical, but the way she fucking connected to me.

How?

She knows what she’s doing. It’s like I’m anchored to her, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be free.

Or if I ever even want to.

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