The Dangerous Jacob Wilde

“Addison,” he said, and she said yes, oh, yes, and he moved over her, knelt between her thighs, slid his hands under her …

“Look at me,” he demanded.

Her eyes went to his face.

And he entered her.

She moaned.

His breath caught.

She was wet and hot, tight as a silk fist closing around him as he went deeper, deeper …

She cried out his name. He was shaking.

But, somehow, he held himself still.

Waited until her muscles took all of him in.

Then, slowly, he drew back. Not all the way. Just enough. The sensation, so exquisite, so exciting, made him shudder.

She went wild beneath him.

He caught hold of her hands, brought them to her sides, moved faster, faster …

“Jacob.”

Her voice was low. Breathless. She said his name again and lifted to his thrusts, her body an arcing bow of pleasure as his arrowed into her.

The world blurred.

Sweat glistened on his skin.

“Now,” he said, and she came, sobbing his name, her legs locked around him, her hands clutching his shoulders.

He gave one long, rough groan.

Then he flew with her into a rainbow of color and light.

He lay sprawled over her.

His body was solid. Hard. He outweighed her by who knew how many dozen pounds.

His weight pinned her to the mattress….

And, oh, it was a lovely feeling.

When he moved, she gave a little mmm of protest.

“I’m too heavy for you,” he whispered.

“No,” she whispered back. “You’re not.”

She felt his lips curve against her throat.

“I am,” he said.

She sighed. “I don’t care.”