Page 67 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
I love this.
The ease. The fire. The way we move like we’ve been doing this for years and will continue throughout eternity.
Who is this American girl?
And how the hell did she become my everything so fast?
We move like our bodies were made to sync like this. Her breath catches against my neck, fingers scraping down my back, our rhythm deepening with every roll of my hips.
“Promise me,” I breathe, dipping my head to suck her nipple into my mouth, teasing it with my tongue until she gasps.
She brings one leg up around my waist, and I grab it, holding it there, burying myself even deeper inside her.
“What am I promising again?” she pants, teasing me with that damn edge that drives me wild.
“Never leave,Americana.”
But she still doesn’t answer.
Her silence flips a switch in me.
I slide out, flip her onto her stomach in one fluid motion, then thrust back into her from behind. Her back arches, her long dark hair spilling like silk across her shoulders.
“Shit!” she screams, voice cracking under the force of it.
“Funny,” I growl, slapping her ass, the sound sharp, satisfying. “You’ve got no problem screaming everythingbutwhat I’m demanding of you, wife.”
I reach for her hair, gather it in one fist, like I’m about to tie it up—but I don’t. I wrap it tight around my hand, yank her head back gently but firmly, and fuck her harder, deeper.
I’m no longer making love to her.
Now, I’m fucking her with purpose, with ownership, with the full weight of the promise she still hasn’t made.
Finally—the words.
I hear them, broken and breathless, as I grab the headboard, knuckles white, using it for leverage while I drive into her with no mercy. Hard. Deep. Unrelenting.
Breaking her in.
Breakinguswide open.
“I promise,” she whimpers, voice trembling like her legs, like her will.
I lean down, bite her shoulder, then soothe it with my tongue—marking her and marveling at her all in one breath.
“Again,Americana,” I growl against her skin. “Say it again.”
“I promise…I won’t go,” she gasps, every word laced with desperation, surrender, truth.
“You’ll stay?”
She’s screaming now—louder with every thrust. From the stretch. From the burn. From the way I’m demanding more than just her body. I’m fucking the vow out of her, thrust by thrust.
Pleasure and pain crashing into each other as I wreck her with everything I am. And she gives it to me. All of it. Her body, her word, her fucking soul.
Mine.
Chapter twenty
