Wicked as Sin (Wicked & Devoted 1)

What the fuck?

Before he could ask, the force of his next mindless thrust sent him delving deep. He tumbled inside her unimpeded, until he was blessedly submerged balls deep.

Dear God…

Her scalding heat surrounded him in a feeling unlike anything he’d ever experienced. An involuntary shudder wracked his body. Holy fuck. This woman was going to burn him the fuck alive. Right now, all he could think was how badly he ached for the flames.

He’d process these last few moments—how he felt and what it meant—then they’d talk. But later. Much fucking later.

Now was for making Brea scream his name.

“Oh, damn, pretty girl…”

When he looked down, he was surprised to find her eyes screwed shut tight.

“It hurts,” she whimpered.

Fuck, the last thing he’d ever want to do was cause her pain. He had to find the control to be gentler—somehow. She’d had a massive orgasm, and while she was swollen he’d battered into her like a damn blunt-force object. He owed it to her to make her feel good.

But his goal was to give her so much fucking pleasure that she’d never want to spend another minute naked with Cutter Bryant.

“I’m sorry,” he crooned. “I’ll slow down. No more pain.”

Slowly, she relaxed around him. “Really?”

“None. I promise.” To prove it, he stroked softly into her, down, down, until his crest nudged her cervix.

Oh, holy hell…

“That’s better,” she sighed breathlessly.

“Yeah?” He kissed her overheated cheeks, swiped his thumb across the perspiration at her temple.

She nodded. “That feels…good.”

Fuck, did it ever. He thrust a bit faster, still watching her face for any sign of discomfort. Thankfully, nothing but soft excitement filled her face. And when her lashes lifted from her cheeks, opening his view to the windows of her soul once more? Yeah, his cock nagged and ached for relief, but the vise in his chest squeezed even harder. Her expression played hell with his self-control.

Those fiery golden eyes of hers said that, at least for now, she totally belonged to him.

His fingers on her hips tightened. He tried so fucking hard to hold back and stay in control of his rhythm, but his body was done waiting.

His thrusts picked up pace. “A little or a lot?”

“A little.” She writhed under him, moving with him as he slid in and out of her like melted butter. Then she tightened with a cry. Her gaze bounced up to his in shock a second before she liquified under him with a moan. “Oh. No, a lot.”

So he’d found her sweet spot. Fuck, yes. “More?”

She clarified her incoherent sob with a wholehearted bob of her head.

One-Mile took that as a hell yes.

He tucked his hands under her ass and lifted her closer, tilting and opening her wider to penetrate her deeper. The shift didn’t just give him access to the most untouched corners of her body but put him in direct contact with her still-sensitive clit.

As soon as he did, she gasped and shuddered, her stare going wide with both shock and a hundred silent questions.

He just smiled as he settled into a quick tempo. She’d figure it out—pretty quickly if her reaction was any indication.

There was something so unbearably intimate about staring into her eyes as he fucked her. Every emotion, every thought, every shred of bliss? He saw them all. One-Mile swore he wasn’t reading just her body but her mind. And she was telling him that she couldn’t hold out much longer.

“Pierce!” She clamped down on him.

He filled her faster and ground down on her clit just to help things along, because goddamn it, he’d held back for her as long as he could. Everything inside him was poised and screaming at him to let go of his restraint and fucking explode.

Hell of a time to remember that he’d monumentally screwed up and—for the first time ever—forgotten a condom.

He didn’t care. Whatever happened next? Yeah. Bring it. He didn’t need anything more than this moment, right now, to know that Brea Bell belonged to him. Whatever she had with Bryant was history.

He’d make sure of that.

If there were consequences from tonight…the timing might not be optimal, but the end result suited him just fine.

Beneath him, Brea suddenly went wild, rocking with him, nails in his back, lips on his neck, her cries in his ear. Then he felt her cunt clenching, her breath stopping, the air stilling, and the need building in his heavy balls bursting.

Teeth bared, he growled as his restraint broke. He shoved his way inside her with a dozen rapid-fire thrusts that had his headboard beating the wall—and Brea clenching on him as she let loose a shrill shriek of ecstasy and shuddered wildly under him.

Jesus. Holy hell. Fuck, fuck, fuck… But no self-talk could stop the overwhelming wall of rapture. It flattened him, undid him, turned him around, twisted him, then spit him back out. After long, mind-blowing moments, he finally found the other side of ecstasy, gasped for air, and tried to process what the fuck had happened. He felt different. He felt changed.