No Gentle Giant (A Small Town Romance)

Whimpering and shameless.

Yes, I beg for more, moving with him, rising to meet his every thrust.

Yes, my heart breaks every time I’m empty, and yes, my body sings each time he fills me, deeper and deeper.

Yes, I think I scream my way through the whole O that hits, gifted by his pummeling hips—I scream so loud I’m sure it wakes up Ms. Wilma across the inn’s grounds.

And very yes, his next kiss claims me for life.

His body overwhelms me.

His voice falls ragged, wondrous, worshipful as he whispers my name, filled with his own plea.

“Felicity...Fliss...I can’t fucking hold,” he snarls between bruising my lips with his. “Come with me.”

One command and I’m no longer on the same planet.

I’m lost, so lost, and I never, ever want to be found.

I never want this to end, even as I open myself to Alaska, taking him deeper, aching to feel him explode with guttural cries.

Our rhythm becomes a fever, slashing hips and sinful breaths, and just when I’m about to lose it again—I feel him swell.

I feel the full Alaskan wild about to break and spill and flood me.

His last brute thrust stops at the edge of my womb, his cock swelling, suddenly hotter and bigger and meaner than ever before.

The last thing I see is how beautiful he looks a split second before the deluge begins. His release must brand his soul with that expression, a mask of the most exquisite torture, this trance that says I’ve given him so much more than trouble.

Gone.

Before I can even make out the white-hot fire of his seed pouring into me, riding every spasm he gives, I’m in full surrender.

Giving myself to this glorious man with absolute trust, with something like love, letting him take control and guide me into shattering, breaking, falling apart, and then dissolving into him.

I don’t know what this is, and I don’t just mean the psyche-splitting sex.

I’ve never had anything like this.

Is it so very wrong to want to keep it for more than one unforgettable night?

Is it selfish to ask Alaska Charter to stay, to be with me—if by some miracle there’s a life after dealing with Paye?

I don’t remember falling asleep.

Actually, I don’t remember anything after the most explosive, sheet-ripping passion of my life.

Alaska wore me out and wrung me dry, and I have only the vaguest recollection of his arms around me, shielding me as I passed out so hard I slept straight through the entire night.

Now the morning light beats down on my face, practically lancing my eyes, and I wince.

“Doesn’t that thing come with an off button?” I mutter.

Alaska rumbles against my back—and when he rumbles it’s something you feel reverberating all the way through you. Especially with his body wrapped snug around mine, one heavy arm and an even heavier leg draped over me.

I smile. The thick fur of his chest scratches against my back and his beard mingles with my hair, filtering his breaths against the back of my neck.

I get chills.

Little chills of pleasure.

Especially with the possessive way his arm tightens around me.

“Perhaps,” he growls, lips moving against my skin, “a window that high facing east was a minor design flaw.”

“Pretty sure that was on purpose knowing Charming Inn. Apparently, some people like waking up with the sun. Ugh.”

“Not a morning person?” He chuckles sleepily.

“Why do you think I had to get so good at making coffee?” I groan.

But that brings home another harsh reality.

The real reason I worked so hard to learn how to make good coffee—at first, before it became a thing just for me, a thing all its own—still stings.

Memories come back and claw me in the face.

The way my father would smile at me when I’d whip up a brew just the way he liked, keeping him awake on those long flights.

And everything that happened in the final chapter of his life.

The threats hanging over my head.

The gold, the danger, the double vendetta Paye must have against me now.

We’re just waiting for disaster, even if we’re also frittering away time in an oasis of our design.

Not to mention the glaring fact that I can only bring misery into Alaska’s life, no matter his assurances.

Biting my lip, I shift slowly onto my back, facing him.

He’s stunning in the morning light.

Sunrise rose and gold splash over him like pastel paints, softening the harsher planes of his face, making hints of light shine in his beard and gilding his kiss-reddened mouth.

His eyes are soft and sleepy. His shoulders broad and deliciously hard with corded muscle.

He owns a body made to serve and protect—and no, I don’t care if that slogan’s for police.

What would it take to break him?

Then again, do I want to know?

Isn’t that what I’m so afraid to find out?

“Alaska...” I touch my fingertips to his lips, struggling for words.

“Don’t.” He kisses my fingertips. “I know what you’ll say. Fliss, I’m here and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be, so let’s not fret and enjoy it.”