Broken Hearts (Hearts 2)

I lifted her as I stood and she sighed, pressing against my body. Her head on my shoulder. I held her like that for a second, soaking it in before I set her down on her feet and took the pants off her. I crouched, letting her rest against me as she stepped out of the legs, and then she stood naked in the bright sunlight through the kitchen windows. The sun had moved across the sky since I’d woken up from that nap.

The day, this day—our day—vanishing. Second by second.

Without warning, I put my hand over her pussy and her legs buckled, sending her falling against me. I pressed the heel of my hand down over her clit, and she arched into me. My girl wanted pressure. And I wanted to watch her come.

“Here,” I murmured, stepping away and leading back to the chair. “Over the arm.”

She looked at me like I wasn’t making sense, and I simply lifted and shifted her until she was straddling one of the long thick arms of the chair. Her hands behind her back and the round curve of her ass were so fucking beautiful. I pushed on her back until she was leaning forward, her body against the back of the chair, and I smiled when I heard her gasp.

Her legs shifted back and widened, and I could see the clenched muscle of her asshole. She arched into the chair, grinding her pussy against the arm of that chair. I slid my hands from her shoulders down the narrow-fluted curve of her waist to her ass, palming it in both hands. Pushing her and pulling her against the chair.

“Is this . . .” She groaned. “What you want?”

Hardly. Not even a little. But it was what I could have.

“Ronan,” she sobbed. Her head pressed against the chair, the muscles in her body starting to tremble and shake. “I want you inside of me. I want—”

I smacked her ass, shutting her up. These were the things we couldn’t say. My handprint was pink against her creamy skin. She stilled for a second, as if processing how she felt about it. But I knew. I knew this wicked girl’s heart.

“Don’t,” she whispered, her body back in motion. “Don’t stop.”

She got another smack on the ass for that, and her breath started to hitch. Her hands in fists behind her were opening and closing like she needed something to hold onto. And because I couldn’t resist and because I knew she would love it, I carefully pushed my thumb against the clench of her asshole.

“What . . . what are you doing?” she asked.

“Let me in.” I leaned forward, whispering it against her hair. I was close enough that her fingers brushed my cock and I hissed, so close to coming. Her touch was nearly too much.

“How?” she whimpered. “Please. I’m so . . .”

“Relax, princess. Just . . . relax.”

My thumb slipped inside of her and she made a high keening sound. Her body’s pulses against the chair became fast. Awkward. Sweat tricked down the sweet valley of her spine, and her hands so close to my body were more temptation than I could resist. I moved forward, curling her fingers around me.

We found a rhythm that I could have lived off of, but the end came fast. We’d burned too hot for too long, and that seemed poetic on our last day. Seemed right.

I felt her coming first, those beautiful contractions inside of her body. The trembling gaining power and conviction. I let go of my control, coming in hot spurts against her ass. A roar and a scream filled the air and it was both of us together. Loud and primal and full of madness.

Finally, she was limp against me. Against the chair. I stepped back. Untied the shirt. Watched her shake out her arms as I helped her to her feet. Her cheeks were flushed, and she winced slightly as she moved. I felt the bite of regret and responsibility and the slow poison of inevitability.

I was only ever going to hurt her.

“You all right?” I whispered.

“I don’t . . .” She shook her head, so befuddled and lost and sex drunk that I was instantly awash in tenderness for her. I lifted her in my arms, and she didn’t fight. She only curled up against me, trusting me against all better instincts.

I pushed open the bedroom door wider with my foot and set her on the bed with the still rumpled blankets.

“Where are you going?” she whispered as I straightened.

“Be right back,” I whispered back.

In the bathroom, I washed my hands and gave myself a stern look in the mirror.

Don’t be a fucking edjit, boyo, and my father told me. And he would know.

I brought back a warm washcloth and wiped her face and her neck where sweat had pooled. She turned her face into the cloth and my hand and sighed with a bone-deep pleasure.