Every time he growls, cursing, trying to stay quiet for Andrea’s sake.
If my mouth wasn’t full of him, I’d totally be in trouble, too.
He never peels his eyes off me. They just stick to my body, so intimate and intense, stripping me barer than stark naked, watching my nipples swell and my pace quicken.
I try like the devil to bring him off first, but it’s too intense with his gaze, his taste, his soft grunts and echoing fucks like thunder in my ears.
I’m—
Coming!
Oh, do I ever.
And it’s somewhere in the middle of my first twisting, shaking tremor that Blake goes off, his cock swelling in my mouth, pulling my lips down on his shaft. It only takes a second before I’m overflowing with him, his heat pouring all over me, more than I could ever hope to swallow.
My body hitches again and again, even as I try to keep my lips pulsing up and down his cock.
Muscles I didn’t even know I had are freaking trembling when it’s over, and there’s nothing but the sound of our heavy breathing in the night.
Except, over isn’t even the half of it.
Blake barely rests for five minutes while I take a breather in his arms. Then his rough, calloused hand circles my ass. And those caresses turn into greedy handfuls while the warm, loving look in his eye goes pure caveman.
Maybe our little talk about birth control the other day was an invitation to forget the condoms. Or maybe he’s just that into it—and so am I.
If he was a savage before, he’s an absolute beast-man now, pushing into me raw, his forehead on mine as he spreads my legs and claims my wet heat.
There’s no holding back.
Everything we’ve done tonight was just a warm-up for a therapy far deeper than anything I could ever do with words or my hands.
He grabs my wrists and pins me down, a sharpness I adore, a contrast with the sweetness of his kiss and the scratch of his beard on my bare, trembling skin.
Our mouths try to match what’s happening lower, Blake pistoning into me, each stroke gliding me a little higher. It’s pure friction. Delicious agony.
The angry, pent-up desperado—my gunslinger—throwing himself into me with a passion and a heat that takes me places I never dared imagine.
“Blake!”
I can’t stop gasping out his name.
He can’t stop his heat, his furious strokes, the sweeping slash of his tongue as we crash together like two cymbals. It’s reckless and wild, a frantic race to the end.
There’s nothing on earth like the way he growls out my name, drilling deeper, when he goes off the edge.
Of course, I’m a goner, too.
His hips pound so, so deep.
The friction of his pubic bone melts me from the inside out.
And next thing I know, every inch of him swells, his whole body tenses, and he’s shoving fiery words through his teeth.
“Fuck, Peace!”
I think it’s hearing my name on his lips in so much rapture that does me in. My body seizes. There’s barely a second to tangle my limbs around him as his final strokes lift me completely off the bed, before slamming us both into the mattress again.
We dive right into the electric heat of our release together. So intense I feel like I’ve been ripped right out of my body.
But Blake Silverton stays imprinted on every sweet convulsion and breathless sigh.
18
Camera Blues (Blake)
It takes me a long time to fall asleep.
Partly because it’s so damn cold in that little cabin, though the small space makes it easier to warm up fast, especially with Peace tucked against me, sharing our body heat underneath the blankets.
Partly because I can’t stop thinking about Holt.
About that bootprint.
See, the town council can’t afford a workers’ comp lawsuit for construction injuries, or any other kind of injuries on the job for town contracting work.
So they issue their own safety equipment when they hire people.
Cops, firemen…construction workers.
And Holt went clomping around the house in those boots, ripping my home to shreds while I panicked over my kid running away.
Bastard scum. I bet he called just so I’d go running home to see what he did.
It’s a growing certainty in my mind, and I hate it.
Hate that it ruins any chance that the last scraps of my tattered kin might be able to hold together.
Guess it’s just me and Andrea, after all.
Me, Andrea, and Peace.
That last thought finally lets me find refuge in sleep, deep into the night.
I’m not expecting to be woken up by the sound of my phone ringing.
And I’m sure as hell not expecting it to be Sheriff Wentworth Langley.
“Blake?” Langley says. He sounds tired—but he always sounds tired lately, and I think that man needs a damn Xanax. “You’re gonna want to come in. We picked up Holt and…it ain’t looking good.”
Shit!
I bolt upright, making Peace squirm sleepily, burrowing harder against me.