All of Me (Confessions of the Heart 2)

I should have known better.

I should have known better.

But none of that seemed to matter when he kept sliding along my bottom, grunts coming from his mouth. He dragged me by the hips farther from the wall and bent me over.

He shoved himself into my pussy.

So deep I swore the man destroyed me right then and there.

“I want to keep you,” he muttered in some kind of frenzy, so low and garbled I wasn’t sure I’d heard it right.

But that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because I felt it. Felt that ferocity. The energy that wound and climbed and claimed.

He started to pound into me.

I couldn’t stop from watching him through the mirror, his cock drawing almost all the way out before he pounded into me again.

Over and over.

His body so strong and massive and in control. Big hands clenched down possessively on my hips, fingers sinking in.

He dragged me back to meet him with each trust.

All those scars lining his back flexed and curled, hidden in the ink, haunted memories that couldn’t be found. Demons howled as they dragged me into his darkness, the words written on his side gnarled and disfigured.

Never had I seen such a beautifully broken man.

And I wondered if he saw mine, the silvered stretch marks that were close to invisible on my bottom and hips. My marks treasures. My pain. My perfection.

Those arms came around to my front, and with one hand he gripped me by the chin as he tugged me up against his chest.

Fingers went to work on my clit.

Playing me.

Coaxing me.

He continued to drive into me from behind, this position leaving me a hostage to the power of his hands. No longer was I on solid ground.

“What are you doing to me, Grace?”

This time, he sounded almost angry. As if I was weaving my way into him, the way he was weaving into me, and he hated me a little bit for doing it.

I reached back and clung to the back of his neck while he held me up with the force of his body.

Pleasure gathered so fast.

A flashflood from out of nowhere.

I screamed his name when another orgasm ripped through my body.

Potent and wild and unending. Surging and possessing the same way as the man possessed me.

Before I could make sense of it, he had my hands planted back on the wall, and his hand was on his dick.

He stroked himself as he came all over my bottom, grunts tumbling from his mouth.

I guessed it was the first time that night that reality caught up to me. Still, I watched it play out like a horror story. Through a screen of steam that fogged up the mirror. Me losing absolute control. Forgetting myself. Letting this man who was little more than a stranger take me with no barrier between us.

He grunted and shook, then burrowed his fingers even deeper, freezing, those crazy-colored eyes blinking frantically as if he too had to break himself from the fog of passion that made us do stupid things.

He seemed almost horrified himself as he reached out a trembling hand and let his fingers swim through the mess he’d left on my body.

“Shit,” he cursed, a low, guttural wheeze, his throat bobbing. “What the fuck?”

Then he was cleaning me off, hurrying like he could erase the evidence, before he cut the showerhead and stepped out. He took my hand, helped me out, and wrapped me in a fluffy white towel. Without saying anything, he picked me back up and carried me to his bed.

Gently, he laid me in the middle of it, his brow knitted up when he did.

As if maybe he weren’t in control of his actions any more than I seemed to be.

Both of us lost.

Wanderers who’d forgotten their way.

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered, voice urgent. “I’m clean. I swear to you, I’m clean.”

I gulped, having no idea what kind of promises to make him.

Slowly, he set a knee on the bed, hesitation taking over his movements as he climbed to hover over me.

Caging me in.

As if I were the wild one that needed to be tamed.

Those eyes searched my face.

Almost painfully.

“What’s wrong?” The question felt raw in my throat. And I realized I was already in too deep when a ripple of terror washed over me at the thought of what the answer might be.

His throat bobbed, and he was watching me as if he was in shock, the words choked as he forced them out. “I’ve never had a woman in my bed before. In my personal space.”

My fingertips fluttered across his strong chest. “Do you want me to leave?”

There was no shame in my question. No rejection. Because I saw no hardness in his eyes. I only saw stark vulnerability vibrating with the power of the man.

He grabbed me by the hand and pressed my knuckles to his plush, soft lips. Mouth open as he kissed each one. “No . . . what scares me most is that I want you to stay. That I want things with you that I’ve never wanted before.”