She goes to her hands and knees, that perfect ass in the air, the swollen, glistening folds visible and a lure to dive in and lose myself. The sudden longing to have all that beautiful, thick hair on my skin surges within me, and I loosen the strands from her top knot, growling as I twist my fist in them, savoring the silken caress
“Knox.” Eden glances over her shoulder. “Please. Fuck me.”
The request is gasoline poured over a ten-alarm fire. Scattering kisses down her spine, I circle the base of my cock, align it with the entrance to her pussy…and sink inside. Slowly. Steadily. Until I’m surrounded by her. Branded by her.
Owned by her.
For Eden, this is probably no more than a taboo scratching of an itch. For me, though. For me, it’s a gift—an unforeseen gift that I’ve done nothing to deserve, but am too hungry, too desperate to turn away. I clench my jaw to trap any wayward words—or confessions—from escaping as I pull free of her body, dragging through her muscular walls that clutch at me, as if trying to prevent me from leaving her. When only the head remains just inside her, I push back in, groaning.
Pleasure strikes at the base of my skull, sizzles down my spine, and culminates like an electrical storm in my balls. One stroke. One goddamn stroke, and I’m so ready to blow, I’m shaking with the need. It’s like bathing in fire while soaking in the coolest, most welcoming pool.
Her back arches, head thrown back, all that hair sticking to her damp skin. I should close my eyes, because looking at her will have me filling this condom with the next thrust. But I can’t. Not when I’m hoarding every second of this for when she’s again off-limits to me. When I’m alone, with only my hand and memories for company.
Abandoning her hair, I clasp her hips, and plunge deep. Over and over, I drive into her, savoring each plunge, each suck of her flesh releasing and welcoming me, each cry that breaks on her lips, each shudder that courses through her.
I shift my hands lower, cup her ass…spread the cheeks, exposing the tiny hole I teased earlier. Just like then, it lures me, and I want inside so fucking bad. Dipping a finger to where we’re connected, I slide it through her soaked folds, and draw the drenched tip around the entrance.
Unlike last time, I don’t wait, but slip inside. Again, she stills, tenses, pausing mid-stroke so only half of my stalk is buried inside her. Her harsh, loud pants echo in the room, and I continue to press forward, inching more and more of my finger in her ass.
“Relax, baby,” I murmur, damn near choking on the groan as I slowly fill the narrow channel. It’s so small, so tight, I would have to work to stretch it so she could take me. My hips jerk at the thought, shoving more of myself inside her. She keens, low and deep, and electrical charges trip through me, marching up and down my spine, lighting me up. “Relax and push back against my finger. You can take me, just like before.”
Her head drops forward, her hair a dark curtain over her shoulders and hanging around her face. She does as I instruct, shifting backward, taking my cock and my finger. Watching it, I’m like a horse with blinders, unable to look away, completely focused on the sight of me sinking into both entrances. Jesus, how could I have gone twenty-nine years and not experience such mind-numbing pleasure? Before, sex has been about the finish, the orgasm, the oblivion. But now? Now, it’s about the journey and the ending.
About Eden.
Flexing my hips, I thrust into her, and push the rest of my finger deep into her. Her scream rebounds off the walls, and the piercing sound shatters my control. I fill both parts of her again and again, riding both her pussy and ass hard. And she takes it, fucking craves it as she backs into me, harder, faster, her sobs damn near incoherent. Shifting my free hand from her hip, I sweep it down her lower belly and between her legs, seeking out and locating her clit. One stroke, two, over the bundle at the top of her sex, and her slick muscles clamp down on me.
“Fuck,” I growl just as she comes, shaking, crying, her walls rippling around me, milking me. I drop down over her, pressing my chest to her spine, my palms bracketing her head. My hips snap back and forth, pounding into her, taking, claiming…
The orgasm barrels through me, snatching the air from my lungs, goddamn blinding me. It’s pleasure, agony, ecstasy. An abyss that I catapult myself into like an Olympic diving champion…or a suicide jumper.
And as I sink to the mattress, my arms wrapped around this woman who I’ve craved and loved for five years, fuck if I can tell which one.
Chapter Eleven
Eden
I curl my legs under me on one of my dining room chairs, cradling a cup of coffee between my hands, warming them. At seven o’clock in the morning, the heat hasn’t started to rise yet, the chill of the night still clinging to the hours after dawn. The low murmur of voices from the television I turned on after leaving the bedroom an hour ago keeps me company, providing much-needed background noise.
Much-needed because it keeps me from tumbling down the rabbit-hole that is the man fast asleep in my bed.
Unable to stop myself, I glance in the direction of the hall and room that I just spent the last few hours becoming a woman I didn’t know existed. He drew something out of me—something a little scary, a little confusing, a whole hell of a lot exhilarating.
Maybe it’s because we’re fucking behind our family’s backs, and it’s wrong, forbidden, and taboo. Maybe it’s the fact that he ripped away my inhibitions. Allowed me to do anything I wanted, no matter how dirty, how out-of-my-perceived-character, knowing no judgment would come from Knox. I can be free with him in a way I could never be with anyone else.
Including Connor.
I rub a palm over my heart, the ache there as real as if a sore, pink, newly healed scar marred my skin. Maybe because of my youth, because it’d been my first real relationship, because of my insecurities with my past, I’d become who Connor wanted me to be. No, that’s not fair. I’d become who I believed he wanted me to be. His cheerleader, his support, the good, obedient wife whose only goal was to please him. Oh God, I loved him. I still do. And I would like to think as we grew older—as I matured from that nineteen-year-old girl who had seen too much in her life but was still so painfully naive and innocent—that we would’ve done so together, and he would’ve appreciated the woman I’m evolving into. We’ll never know.
It doesn’t change that in that bedroom, with Connor’s brother, I discovered a side of my sensuality that emboldened me, empowered me.
I don’t really know what to do with this woman.
I don’t really know what to do with the man who showed me I like a little bit of dominance and a lot of dirty.
Guilt crawls under my skin, a place where the hottest of showers can’t reach. How can I expect anyone else to accept what I did with Knox whenI’mhaving the hardest time doing it? The sense of betrayal—that Knox unleashed a need in me that my own husband never had—snakes around my heart, slinks through my veins so even the coffee smells and tastes bitter in my nose, on my tongue.
Setting down the cup on the table, I rise from the chair and cross the floor to the window that looks out on the street. The cool air in the apartment slips under the T-shirt I’d grabbed and pulled on.HisT-shirt. Part of me itches to jerk it off; wearing his clothing imbued with his scent is too intimate. But the same impulse that had me tugging it on in the first place stills my hands, an impulse I don’t understand and am too much of a coward to question.
