Her hands shook as she reached between them and opened his fly. His cock was hot and hard in her hand; she could feel his pulse just under the skin.
“Shit.” He hissed and pressed his face into her shoulder, breath striking hard across her chest. “Baby, lemme get a rubber.”
“It’s okay. I’m on the pill.” In truth, she didn’t want the barrier. She wanted to feel him come inside her; wanted to know that basic physical intimacy between them.
He hesitated, gasping as she worked him with her hand. “Sam…”
“Are you trying to tell me something?” she asked, grinning against his hair.
“No. No, I…I just wanna be careful with you…I wanna do the right thing…”
“Oh, Aidan,” she breathed.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She sank down on him slowly, gasping when he was fully rooted inside, hands spasming on his shoulders. It was the same as last night, that overwhelming sensation of being overfilled.
He stroked her waist, her hips, his breathing choppy. “Do you need to go see Walsh’s old lady at the farm and get some riding lessons?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Brat.” She kissed his ear, pulled the shell gently between her lips. “You mean you’re not an instructor?”
He groaned quietly, and his hands slid down to cup her ass. He pressed her down, until it was almost painful, that deep touch inside her belly. And then lifted. Helped her find a rhythm that left them both speechless.
The chair creaked as he leaned against the back.
Sam hooked her toes in the rungs below and used them for leverage, riding him, loving the way his hands kept tightening and tightening on her bottom.
They struggled and chased it for long moments, working for breath, the room blurring around them. And then they found it, that perfect moment where they fell over the edge.
Sam tucked her face down into his neck to muffle her whimpering, fingers digging deep into his skin.
He cursed and his hips kicked, and he whispered something dirty and sweet that she tucked away into her memory banks to save for later.
As the spasms faded to warm pulses and the blood began to drain from her face, she sat back, braced her hands on his chest and took in the drowsy expression of total contentment on his face. It was beautiful.
“Can I come upstairs?” he asked.
“Yes, please.”
Sixteen
Walsh was awake before the phone rang, staring at the black ceiling, listening to Emmie breathe beside him. Some sixth sense had stirred him from a heavy, ominous dream, launching him into the cold dark before dawn with something like dread crawling up the back of his neck.
Emmie made a startled sound at the first ring, and he’d answered it before it finished. “Yeah.”
“King.”
Fox.
He had six half-brothers and two half-sisters, and each of their voices was catalogued away in his mental file drawers, distinguishable with one word.
This was Fox.
“Charlie,” he greeted, lifting his arm to give Emmie room as she rolled toward him.
“We’ll be leaving here in a few,” Fox said.
