Broken Kingdom (Corium University Trilogy 3)

“You’ll never have to find out. You’ll always have me to protect you.”

She wriggles against me, sliding a leg between mine. Soon we’re tangled from head to toe. I wonder how much more I can take before the desire to comfort her shifts into another sort of desire. I only have so much self-control. Especially when she wiggles a little and rubs her thigh over my crotch. Give me strength. Of all things she needs now, my erection poking her stomach isn’t one.

Once again, she wiggles her leg, and I have to wonder if it’s accidental. I pull my head back to look down at her. She’s already peering up at me from beneath her lashes. “What are you doing?”

She bites her lip. “You don’t know?”

“I thought I knew, but it doesn’t seem like now would be the time you’d want to do that.”

“It’s all I want.” Her hands clench, twisting my shirt in her fists. “I need something good. I need to be close to you.”

“Aspen, are you sure about this?” My body doesn’t care about questions and second thoughts, but what I feel for her is more than physical. I’m not a completely heartless bastard. It hasn’t been that long since her ordeal, and phone sex is one thing, but this?

“Yes.” She exhales out the word while melting against me. “Please make me feel good, Q.”

My conscience and my cock battle it out for a moment or two before she slips a hand between us and caresses my thickening member. “I need you. And I trust you.”

Fuck me. How am I supposed to say no to that? “If you’re absolutely sure.”

“I’ll let you know if I change my mind.” I can accept that. I can also accept her tits pressed against my chest and her hand now stroking the bulge between us. “Can we take it slow?”

“Whatever you need.” And I mean that. My arms tighten around her as my hands reacquaint themselves with the curves of her body. For a little while, that’s all we do, touching. Stroking. Getting back to that place where she feels comfortable.

I don’t know if it’s her need for connection or the fact that we haven’t done this in so long, but by the time I cup her ass and squeeze with more force than before, she’s moaning my name. Everything in me wants to go faster, to take her and fuck her until she passes out.

It wouldn’t be right. One of us has to keep that in mind.

“Slow down,” I murmur in her ear before kissing the lobe. “We have plenty of time.”

She has ideas of her own, it seems. “Touch me. Please.” She pries my hand from her ass and wedges it between her thighs, over her jeans. I barely apply pressure, rubbing in slow circles. Her head falls back, allowing me to place soft kisses up and down her throat. I only thought I remembered how her skin tastes, but there’s no memory vivid enough to measure up to the real thing.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging before pressing my head tight against her throat. Her hips move in time with my hand. There’s a desperation to her. She’ll do anything to forget what she learned today, if only for a moment or two. I’ll give her what she wants because it’s all I can do.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper when she clings tighter than ever, whimpering and mewling like a kitten. “You can let go. I’m right here.”

“Yes… oh, Quinton…” She lets out a cross between a broken sob and a moan before her thighs clamp down around my hand. I hold her through it, murmuring encouragement and comfort. I know how difficult it must be, trusting again like this. That knowledge is all that’s keeping me from tearing her clothes off and ravaging her. I’m so hungry.

Her eyes flutter open. The dazed look in them is gratifying. “More. Please.” She tugs at my shirt and tries to raise it over my back.

“You mean it?”

Her head bobs up and down. I pull far enough away to remove the shirt and toss it off the bed. The simple sensation of her hands on my skin is heaven.

When she goes still with a soft gasp, I look down and remember the tattoo she hasn’t yet seen. “What is this? It’s new.” She runs a thumb over the inked image.

“What do you think of it?”

Her eyes dart away from it and meet mine before she goes back to studying the work. “I think you wanted to commemorate surviving a bear attack. It’s beautiful work.”

“I designed it myself.”

“You did? Wow.” She still doesn’t get it.

“Concentrate on the way the fur is arranged,” I suggest, watching her brow furrow in thought. “There’s a hidden message.”

“A hidden…” Her mouth falls open as her finger traces the letters. “It’s my name.”