She was reborn in his arms, alive and unrestrained, her emotions unfurling in staggering abandon. So many feelings, sensations, the good and bad, the pain and pleasure, the past and present—all of it mounted and spilled out in a shocking flood. She gave a harsh cry, her body convulsing and belly clenching, untying knots as sobs tumbled from her throat, along with wave after wave of relief.
He held her through it, kissing away her tears. Then he lowered himself onto her, his mouth hungry against hers as he worshiped her, caressed her everywhere, and prepared her to take him.
When he finally pushed inside, it was with slow, rocking thrusts, fitting his hard length deeper, deeper. At last, he hilted himself, bottoming out, filling her with unholy pressure and pure satisfaction. She gasped, then groaned, matching the growls rumbling from his throat.
He paused, their breaths rushing, colliding, eyes locked in wonder.
God, he was so gorgeous—chiseled features, squared jaw, a shadow of sexy stubble, and tousled brown hair dangling over his stern brow.
“You should know,” she said, “I might act like all is well, but beneath the surface, I’m dreaming about running my own cartel and pistol-whipping every woman who looks in your direction.”
His eyes danced, his smile beaming. “I’ll provide all the pistols you need.”
By now, she should’ve been immune to the deep timbre of his voice. But the low, throaty vibrations were as intoxicating as the stretch of his cock.
He circled his hips, forcing her to feel every inch, driving shivers of pleasure through her limbs. Her head fell back. She dragged in air, and his mouth fell upon her throat, licking and kissing and showering her in sparks of love.
Desire stirred along her spine, spreading outward like a slow, burning flame. His strokes caught a timeless rhythm, sinking deep, masterfully controlled and wickedly orchestrated.
He fucked her slowly, loved her thoroughly, his stamina and youth carrying her through hours of unadulterated pleasure. He was a mean son of a bitch, a carnal beast, but without a fog of anger driving their hunger, they took their time and savored the explorations of each other’s bodies.
She didn’t know how long they played or how many orgasms she’d chased into the rafters. But she knew he was spent when a hoarse groan brought him to a languid, sweat-slick halt.
Rolling to his back, he took her with him. With their bodies still joined, she gently rocked, reluctant to relinquish the motions that brought them so much pleasure.
Eyes closed, with an arm thrown over his brow, he lay limply beneath her, chuckling softly.
“You’re insatiable,” he murmured and trailed a knuckle along her thigh.
“Get used to it. I hear women only get hungrier with age.”
“Can you have a baby?”
“I don’t know.” Startled, she slid off of him, staring at his closed eyes. “I’ve never tried. Can you?”
“Never tried.”
“Do you want a baby?”
“I want you.” He cracked open an eye, lazily watching her. “Children. No children. Whatever happens, happens. We’re going to have an amazing life together.”
She nodded, wanting that with a healthy amount of fear and excitement.
Tenderly, she ran her palm down the corrugated ridges of his abs, the skin taut and slick over steel. When she reached the trail of soft, wiry hair, he sighed, relaxed.
As relaxed as his cock. It lay along his thigh, wet with their mingled come, and long. Even flaccid, he was at least seven inches. But she could fit that much into her mouth.
Her fingers moved on their own, encircling him, her mind full of wonderment. She’d spent hours exploring every inch of his body, but this part of him still intimidated her. She hadn’t dared to take him into her throat.
She moved between his legs, roving her thumb over the velvety knob. The muscle jerked, but didn’t harden.
He lowered his arm, staring at her from beneath hooded lids. “Are you going to suck the life out of me?”
“I’m going to try.”
He started to swell in her hand, so she hurried, lowering her head and drawing him into her mouth. The tang of their arousal hit her taste buds, the sound of his grunts spurring her faster.
She lapped and sucked, rushing against the clock as he grew harder and longer against her tongue. This wasn’t an act she’d ever been particularly fond of. But the tremors in his thighs, the clench of his hands in the bedding, and his groans… Oh, Jesus, his groans were everything.
Eyes shut tight, he rode out the contractions that rippled along his flat abdomen. Extraordinary.
He was too gorgeous, too sexy, too fucking huge in her mouth. But too much of this man was the perfect amount. The perfect amount of gagging, choking, thrusting…
With a growl, he flipped her onto her back and fucked her until neither of them could move.
Then they slept. Hearts beating in sync, bodies entangled, blissfully content, they slept until nightfall.
She woke in the dimly lit room, dying of thirst. Tommy didn’t stir beside her.
Careful not to disturb him, she slipped from the bed, dressed in the bathroom, and crept into the hall in search of something to drink.
Voices drifted from the living room at the far end. Soft whispers. The team was awake.
She wasn’t keen on facing a gang of armed criminals alone. But if she wanted a life with Tommy, they would have to accept her. She would have to trust them.
Steeling her spine, she adjusted her t-shirt and jeans and strode down the hall.
Halfway there, a partially opened door gave her pause. Light glowed from within, the flooring different from the rest of the house. Polished hardwoods.
No furniture was visible through the crack. Was that…a mirrored wall?
She shifted, stealing another angle, and spotted Cole sitting on the floor near the back wall, surrounded by beer bottles.
Curiosity and concern pulled her closer. She opened the door.
A dance room. Holy shit, it was beautiful. Massive. Twelve-foot-tall seamless windows soared to the rafters. Mirrors covered the other walls, and ballet bars wrapped the entire room. There was a lounge area with a leather couch, a built-in stereo system, and a dancing pole in the back corner.
All built for the dancer who was tattooed on his arm.
Her heart sank to her stomach.
Cole glanced at his watch and dropped his head back against the wall, eyes shut. “Forty-five seconds.”
“What?”
“There’s a rumor going around that Tomas is packing a ten-inch dick.”
The random comments gave her whiplash. “It’s not a rumor.”
He nodded, finished off his beer, and grabbed two more. “Want one?”
“Sure?” Uncertain, she left the door cracked behind her and joined him on the floor.
They drank in silence.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him look around the room, his eyes flickering as if he were tracking an invisible dancer as she swayed through her routine, her feet scuffing and bouncing across the shiny flooring.
Shadows crept over his expression, and he blinked, looking away.
“Do you want to talk about her?”
“Nope.” He popped the P.
“How long has it been, Cole?”
How long have you been hurting?
“She married my best friend seven years ago.” He tipped his beer toward the door, his voice gruff. “Your forty-five seconds has arrived.”