“Yes, in Rome. Mike and I have been forced into some awkward situations together, but that was the first time my come was shoved in his face.”
“I’m not sorry.” He stabbed his tongue again, rimming her, violating her, and making her scream.
Once he had her thoroughly loosened up and drenched in both holes, he gripped her hips and dragged her toward his lap, tight against his cock.
The four times they’d had sex, he’d been restrained by rope, unable to move the way he needed with her on top. Not a comfortable position for a man of his nature. So this was going to feel fucking fantastic, having her under him, pinned beneath the drive of his need.
“It was real.” She trembled, gripping his arms. “In Texas, when we fucked, every second of it was real. I never faked my desire for you.”
“It was real for me, too. That last time, when I took your ass, my cruelty was unforgivable. The things I said afterward were lies. I’m—”
“Don’t apologize.” She pressed a finger to his mouth. “We’re not doing that. We’re not going to regret the actions that brought us together, okay?”
“No regrets.” Poised between her thighs, hard and thick and pulsing with eagerness, he lined himself up and met her eyes.
In that look, he felt as though he were already inside her, and she was inside him, their connection sparking, twisting, soldering into something brighter, denser, and more profound.
Then he pushed, sinking inside her body, stroking his tongue into her wet mouth, and burying his cock to the hilt.
Jolts of overwhelming sensations coursed back and forth and everywhere. They held themselves motionless, her lips parted around a soundless cry as he attempted to master his breathing and not bust a nut.
Her lissome beauty was intoxicating. Impossible to look away. Not to mention the pleasure that gathered where they were joined. The strangling grip of her pussy brought a flush of sweat across his brow.
He flexed within her. He couldn’t help it, and the pulsing sent her chest into motion, rising and falling and thrusting her gorgeous tits upward.
With the dip of his head, he took the taut nipples into his mouth, sucking and biting until she groaned and yanked his hair.
“I’m dying a mini-death here.” She pulled his mouth toward hers. “Fuck me already.”
He obliged, bruising her lips, attacking with teeth, and shutting her up with the swift, invasive thrusts of his body. He held her gaze as he fucked her. He never looked away as he stretched her and filled her so full and deep she had no time to brace herself when the first orgasm hit. He watched as she exploded around him, and his pleasure rose in dark, swirling torrents, pushing him to join her. But he fought it off, unwilling to surrender so quickly.
Before she caught her breath, he flipped her over and plowed into her from behind.
Over the next couple of hours, he took his time with her, exploring her body, worshiping her curves, and pumping his seed in all of her holes.
He found his ultimate release in her ass, his cock buried to the root and his eyes jammed shut against the violent, jetting spurts of his climax. Seconds later, she joined him from below, moaning through yet another orgasm. He lost count of how many she’d had.
On hands and knees, she collapsed beneath him. He rolled to his back, his cock throbbing and sore. Deliciously used.
She panted beside him, her hair plastered to her flushed, sweaty face and her eyes aglow with dazed satisfaction. A huff of laughter broke through her gasps for breath. She swallowed, heaving and short-winded, and laughed again.
Happiness looked good on her. Dazzling and magical. She was absolutely extraordinary and so vibrantly, naturally gorgeous. Her beauty was true to life.
“What the ever-loving hell, Cole?” A beaming smile lifted her cheeks as she crawled toward him, climbing up his chest and sliding a lazy kiss across his mouth. “You’ve been holding back on me.”
“Ready for round two?”
“Oh, no, no, no. You just blew through ten rounds. Pretty sure you broke my vagina.”
“Let me see.” He shoved a hand between her legs.
With a yelp, she stumbled back and off the bed. “I’m going to feed you, you beast.” She turned and sashayed toward the door. “Then we’re going to talk.”
Contentment sifted through Lydia as she sat at the kitchen table, watching Cole dig into his second bowl of mutton stew. He hummed as he chewed, his eyes hooded with pleasure.
She savored the moment, knowing it wouldn’t last. A somber conversation loomed ahead. And the job. She had to finish the job by the twentieth of January. Less than a month. If she didn’t, it would be out of her reach.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. “I’ve never cared much for Christmas presents, but you just gave me a dozen unforgettable ones. I’ll never walk the same again.”
“I hate this time of year.” His eyes twinkled as he stared at her over his spoon. “At least, I did. You might’ve changed my mind.”
He slid the bite of stew between his chiseled lips, licking the utensil.
The temperature of her body rose several degrees.
Was he trying to be sexy? Or was it an involuntary reflex, like the salivation happening in her mouth?
Seriously, though. Why was he so beautiful?
His facial hair was thick but not long. Nothing like the beard he wore in Texas. Neatly trimmed, soft, and tidy, the length lay somewhere between stubble and a full-on beard. The scruff took those boyish dimples and made them so manly. She loved it. She really did.
Two small pink scars glowed amid the tattoos on his arm. One in front and one in back, they marked the pathway of the bullet he’d taken in Texas. If he hadn’t stayed at her side that day, that bullet might’ve gone through her.
He wore his jeans with the button unfastened. Nothing underneath. No shirt. A lot of ink. Tousled, just-been-fucked hair. Lethal from head to toe. Sexy as fuck.
The man looked like he’d been playing football his entire life. A linebacker with a solid eight-pack and enough aggression to push back an army. Beneath all that brawn and those adorable dimples was a guy she could have a beer with, or tear up a dance floor with, or run into a gunfight with, or share a dozen orgasms with. He was the most dangerous person she knew, and maybe, just maybe he was the safest.
“Thank you.” She smiled softly.
“For the orgasms?”
“For spending Christmas with me.”
“I should be thanking you. Earlier tonight, I was sitting in a pub alone, feeling woefully sorry for myself.” He slurped down another spoonful of stew. “This is our first Christmas together. The first of forever.”
“Whoa. Forever is a long—”
“Forever.” The sharpness in his tone cut through her. “I get all of you, Lydia. Every holiday. Every non-holiday. Every damn thing for the rest of your life.”
She straightened, stunned, disturbed, and strangely aroused.
“Having second thoughts? It’s too late for that.” He pointed the spoon at her. “You opened that door, knowing what you were letting in. You welcomed me into your bed, knowing what kind of lover I was. A celibate one, in fact, until I met you. Because I don’t do casual sex. I’m a partner for life. A dedicated, faithful, protective, possessive, jealous, obsessive partner. Welcome to my world.” He flashed her a wolfish smile, all teeth and somewhat scary, and returned to his bowl. “This is deadly. Seriously, the best stew I’ve ever eaten. What’s in it?”