She lifted her head, wearing a lazy, relaxed smile, her eyes unfocused and soft.
Jesus. For him, Christmas had come early.
And it was the best fucking Christmas ever.
“You done?” When she didn’t answer, he growled, “You’re done,” as he slammed his hips up, knocking her off balance. He dragged her up the bed, settled between her soft thighs and plunged inside her only stopping once he hit the end of her.
“You’re not,” she breathed, wrapping her fingers around the back of his neck and giving him her baby blues.
“Fuck no. You ain’t, either.”
She’d already had it hard, now he would give it to her soft. He would take his time and appreciate everything about her, starting with her mouth and ending with his face between her tits.
She didn’t try to take control of the kiss this time and she let him set the pace. With a tilt of her hips, she accepted him completely. And when he couldn’t concentrate on their kiss anymore, he buried his face between tits that were now his as he drove slow and steady into her slick, hot sheath.
Her pussy squeezed him, rippled around him so strongly, he could even feel it through the wrap. He wished he didn’t have to wear it, but the harsh reality was, he did.
He learned from his past, even though he hoped Cassie was his future. But there was no guarantee of that. Because of that, he wouldn’t risk it. He wasn’t going to have a misstep destroy what he wanted with her before it even really began.
Her nails scoring the skin of his back brought him back to the bed, back to being inside her, where he never should have left in the first place. He lifted his head only enough to see she had covered her own mouth with her hand, her eyes were closed, and her head tipped back in a pool of blonde hair.
When her eyes popped open, they caught his and with the way she tensed, he knew she was about to come again.
Without a wrap, he’d feel that warm gush. Without a wrap, he’d feel even the smallest of responses around his dick.
“Gonna come,” he managed to warn her before snagging her nipple into his mouth and sucking it deep as he drove inside her one more time, finally letting go. And when his mind finally unclouded and his dick stopped twitching, he stayed right there, planted inside her to the root.
“Fuck,” he panted after releasing her puckered, swollen nipple. He drew his tongue across the very tip, then tilted his face up to hers.
She wore a smile again.
And that smile twisted everything inside him even tighter. So tight, he’d never be able to loosen it. Never be able to be free of it.
But she’d never be his completely until she herself was free.
He was determined to help her before this, but now?
Now, he couldn’t fail.
Not again.
Chapter Sixteen
He might have slightly purred as she combed her fingers through the long wiry hairs of his beard. She was doing it mindlessly with her cheek pressed to his shoulder and a small curve to her lips.
The urge to take her mouth was strong, but he liked what she was doing and didn’t want her to stop. If she wanted to pet him the way he petted Jury, he wouldn’t do anything to disrupt that.
Until she asked, “How long have you been growing your beard?”
That simple question pulled him out of his euphoria, and the deep satisfaction that had seeped into his bones quickly evaporated.
It wasn’t her fault.
She didn’t know.
Almost no one did.
Seeing and feeling the length of his beard was simply a reminder for him. “Since I lost my son.”
With a sharp intake of breath, her fingers stilled. “I’m so sorry.”
He squeezed them gently. “He didn’t die, if that’s what you think.”
She lifted her head. “Then I don’t understand. How did you lose him and what does one have to do with the other?”
He normally didn’t talk about it because every time he did, he got angry. Every time he did, he was overwhelmed with regret and frustration.
And of goddamn helplessness.
She went to sit up and he pulled her back down, pressing her head back to his shoulder. He combed his fingers through her hair. Unlike his beard, her long hair was soft and silky against his skin.
“Decided not to cut it ‘til I saw him again. Just a reminder of what I lost. Think of him every time I look in the mirror and see it. Reminds me of just how long it’s been.”
His long beard wasn’t the only reminder of what had been his and who he had lost. His son’s name, Henry, was tattooed down his right side. If he couldn’t be with Ry in person, Ry could be with him always. And he didn’t want one day to go by where he didn’t think about him.