“Quinn, yes.” I run my ankles up his calves, teasing him, wishing he’d do all that and more.
Not just because it’s what he deserves, but because I’ll die like this if he doesn’t.
“Tory, fuck,” he growls, his hips rolling back.
I spend a breathless second worried he’s having second thoughts.
But then—oh, then—his hips roll forward, perfectly aligned with my body, slowly feeding his pulsing tip into my depths.
Quinn tries to go slow, but I don’t let him when I push back, taking him fully into me.
Panting, fingers tangled in his hair, every inch of him inside me, I see the very instant Quinn loses the last shred of his control.
He’s already in to the hilt, his balls resting on my ass, when he makes this sharp jerk, sinking deeper, showing me I’m unmistakably his.
Forever more.
Because if I thought his hand owned me, if I thought I lost myself in his kisses…
I didn’t have a clue what was coming.
Every frenzied stroke, every slash of his hips, every time his teeth find my throat in these hot, wicked kisses brand me for life.
Hell yes, I’m his.
His as he makes me feel every punishing thrust, training my body to accommodate him.
His as his pubic bone grinds against my clit, his strokes coming harder and deeper, making me clench around his length for dear life.
His as I’m racked with a bestial pleasure I never dared imagine, every limb pinched to his body, trying to scream because I flipping can’t.
He’s made me this breathless.
He’s made me this wanton.
He’s made me a toy as I rasp out a breathless screech, coming for the first time with his cock still pumping like mad, his body just a streak of tattooed muscle above me.
I’m so many levels of gone I might never come back.
I’m coming, gasping, groaning, raking my nails down his back in a fever.
He gives back an even faster rhythm, even harder strokes, wringing every bit of pleasure out of me.
And just when I think I’m done and spent, his steady thrusts start again, reminding me we’re only done when he says so.
I want to feel him come inside me so bad.
I’m driven half insane, imagining the heat, the thought of him pouring into me, taking his release from my flesh.
“Quinn,” I whimper, barely recognizing my own voice as I try to match his rhythm.
“Almost there, darlin’,” he strangles out, his throat tight with pleasure.
I’m going to be brutally sore come morning between the silks and this wilder workout, but right now?
Now, the only thing that matters is this mess of limbs and so many hot, rampant kisses I know I won’t last.
Every tight pitch of his hips brings me closer, a merciless, machine-like friction designed to ignite the fuse in my core.
Oh, hell, I’m going to come again, just as soon as he—
“Tory, fuck,” he pants. “Gonna come inside you, baby girl.”
“Yes!” I hiss, the last coherent word I get out before it happens.
My whole reality shatters as he pins me down, kisses me with thunder on his tongue, and throws his full force into me, pushing my ass deep into the mattress, right before his cock swells and molten heat washes over me from the inside out.
Call me marked. Wrecked. Ruined. Reborn.
Call me a thousand outrageous names and filthy adjectives and they still won’t be enough to describe the moment Quinn Faulkner floods his seed into me with a snarling crescendo, a wave of tense muscle, and this animal relief carved across his face in sheer release.
I don’t come this time.
I go supernova.
The sensation rocketing through me as my release joins his can’t be anything less than unadulterated, sexy nirvana.
Instinct binding me to this beautiful beast of a man who strains through every jerk of his body, filling me to overflowing, each thick rope he hurls into my depths making me come a little harder.
Even when he’s done, he stays rooted in me, kissing me softly again and again, playfully drawing my tongue out and then chasing it back into my mouth.
I’m almost crying when I run my hand across his cheek, loving his rough stubble, loving this, loving him.
The only man who’s ever been worthy of my heart.
The only protector I’ve ever had.
Of all the amazing things that unfold tonight—and keep unfolding when we slip apart—resting in each other’s arms, I know what blindsides me the most.
It’s this undeniable sense that life will never, ever be the same.
Sorry, Gran.
Turns out those flings, affairs, and yes—even nighttime nibbles, ugh—come with major cases of feelings, altered lives, and so many unpredictable ripple effects I’m already trembling.
16
Almost Goat To Eden (Faulkner)
By the third evening since I started taking Tory Three Names to bed, you’d have to beat me off her with a crowbar.
I swear to God, I’ve never wanted to give pleasure as bad as I want to deliver it to Tory in buckets.