She’s too fucking gorgeous.
The wet white fabric clings to her, her skin showing through it, from the dark rosy shade of her nipples to the soft pinkness between her thighs.
I take her lips, taming her mouth till it goes slack. Then I lick the water drops from her neck, her shoulders, taking her nipples—first one, then the other—in my mouth and toying with them till her back arches beautifully.
She gives back a shudder, moving against me like she’s under a spell, her fingers kneading at my shoulders.
“Paxton,” she whispers, and it’s so fucking gut-deep intimate for her to call me something other than that nickname.
For her to whisper for me like she wants to know me deeper than flesh, sweat, and fire. Like she wants to map my soul.
I give her deeper, all right—peeling that bathing suit off of her with a shallow growl.
She’s naked and beautiful, shining in the hot tub’s lights, arching over me with her hair tumbled everywhere and her spine curved.
Her lush tits thrust high and full, heavy with her nipples roused.
They’re peaked for mischief, tempting me to lick, to nibble, to suck, to do whatever it takes to make her give me those sounds that turn my veins into a foundry.
When she surrenders to her own heat, dragging my trunks down to bare my aching cock, hell.
I’m ready.
With a lustful grin, I wrap my arms around her, holding her to me, letting her set the pace, letting her fucking torture me.
“Had that pussy on my mind all day, Fliss. Give it up,” I whisper, my throat dry with need.
Smiling, she sinks down in a slow, hitched shiver, spinning lightly in my arms. Just the right angle so her ass grazes the angry tip of my dick. Then she’s facing me again, shifting her legs apart.
I get that curled bite of her lip that almost makes me lose it before we’ve begun.
I keep it together as her hot slit teases me, grabbing her hips and impaling her sweetness on my length like a sucking mouth.
Fuck.
Her delicious torment consumes me as she takes the barest inch—then stops, trembling, tossing her head back with her eyes closed.
Her face glows with pleasure, lips parted, this slick, sex-haired angel come from above to steal my spirit—or at least every hot drop of hell in my balls.
Relax. Breathe. Play it cool, I whisper in the back of my mind.
Hard advice to follow.
It takes all my willpower not to slam up, to take her like a bull in rut, to churn this water into a whirlpool with furious machine-gun thrusts.
Somehow, I resist. I hold back. I kiss her like the immaculate, knockout creature she is.
This is her moment.
She has me in absolute thrall, this siren pulling me into her depths.
Again, she moves, taking more of me, a few more inches, dosing my pleasure in slow movements that feel like explosions punching through to my bone.
Shit.
Now I know.
I know I’ll wind up with Felicity Randall listed somewhere on my death certificate.
Her hot cunt clenches and grips around me. A ragged groan tears from my throat as I kiss her again, sinking my teeth into her shoulder.
Finally, she gives in.
There’s this unbearable instant when she sinks down fully, enveloping me to the hilt, her plush ass held hostage in my hands, my cock buried in her.
For a breathless, gasping, mind-wrecked moment, we hold.
Together.
I can feel her heart beating, slamming into me as she whimpers.
Mine’s crashing back just as hard.
It’s a tempo that guides us, the same as burning breaths, as we start to move.
My thrusts come deep, storming through the water, slow and eerily silent at first except for the faint slap of disturbed water.
We don’t need words right now.
I don’t need anything but her.
And this thing we make together that’s prettier than anything I’ve known, this rhythm that stretches to infinity, that turns me inside-fucking-out—it guts me in the best way.
I’m snarling when she comes the first time and not just because it’s hotter than hell’s grill.
It’s because I know I’m not making mistakes.
Not this time.
Not with her.
This thing we’ve put together with swaying thrusts and rasps has to be something uniquely addictive and rare.
It tastes like forever.
Forever, and still not nearly long enough.
The rolling twists of her body and the tightness of her inner depths push me to the brink. I reach down, find her clit, and stroke wildly while I power slam into her.
A storm lodges in my throat.
When I finally go off with this searing pleasure moving up my spine like it’s one long fuse, hitting my brain and triggering a charge that makes me see stars, I’m roaring.
Recklessly yelling my addiction for this woman into the night, straining to empty my balls into her, to brand her from the inside out.
Fuck yes, I’ve lost it, but I’ve got a good reason.
I won’t let this go.
I won’t let her fall.
And I make her cry my name again and again, holding this fallen angel for as long as she’ll let me drink our forever.
No matter how brief, how painful, or how miraculous that forever may be.
19
Tarnished Gold (Felicity)
For such a tiny dog, Shrub needs to be walked like a hyperactive little fiend.
I guess there’s not many places to store the energy when you’re a Pekingese, practically a four-legged mop, but still...
This is the sixth time I’ve been out with him today.
I watch him bounding ahead on his leash, only stopping to look back at me when he reaches the end of his tether, giving back impatient looks with huge eyes and his pink tongue flopping.
Thank God for harmless little monsters when I’ve got so many big, scary ones breathing down my neck.
I’m grateful for the pup today when his energy helps me get some fresh air, instead of feeling like I’m caged up and practically in witness protection at Alaska’s cabin and all. I think I’ve only left to go to work and then come straight home under his watchful eye ever since the big scrap with Paisley and her goons.
It’s not Alaska making me feel caged, of course.
It’s knowing she could be anywhere, watching me. Or maybe not her, but a hired gun sent to do her bidding. It feels like it’d be too easy to wind up a lifeless stiff, tossed into one of the many canyons around Heart’s Edge, where I won’t be found for a century.
And I wouldn’t see it coming until it was too late.
What I can see right now is Alaska and Eli.
I’ve wandered off along one of the winding side paths leading alongside the massive field where the cabins are situated, but from here I can just make out father and son on the long grassy stretch leading toward the half-heart cliff the town was named after.
They’re a portrait of happiness.
Alaska’s got Eli up on his shoulders, while the boy angles his camera—no doubt trying to get the perfect shot for a landscape photo.
It still makes me smile so much that Eli wants to do that for my café. He’s a budding perfectionist with an impressive eye for detail and lighting.
Let’s be real, so many things about them make me smile.
What I can’t understand is why they want me around.