Page 67 of Left of Forever

“You wreck me,” he murmurs. “God, your pussy’s sweet. So pretty all over. My memory never did you justice.” He finally pushes forward more, and I start to pant.

“I’m—” His eyes shiver closed. He grunts and slips in another inch, a tremor racking through him. I let out a tight gasp. “I’m not gonna last, baby. I should get you there first.” I can see the skin at his throat beating wildly. He moves like he’s going to pull back.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” I say, digging my heels into his back and arching off the bed. I use my thighs for leverage, fucking myself up onto him. A low whine escapes me at the perfect pinching stretch.

He finally lets his control slip. Grabs my hips with bruising strength and slams the rest of the way home, his head falling back with a tormented groan.

The sight of his heavy-lidded gaze watching himself thrust in and out of me does more for me than it should, I think. He tries to go slow, and I try to urge him faster, riding up to meet him at the hilt. I can’t catch my breath. It’s pushed up out of me each time he fills me again. My hands come up to soothe my nipples, and he stops to bend over me, wetting them with his mouth, his tongue and teeth between my spread fingers, then balances himself on a forearm so he can kiss my mouth and neck. His free hand startsat my thigh and skims up my body until he grinds against me at a particular angle that makes my spine bend off the bed with a gasp, and then he’s cupping the back of my neck while he works me over. I feel his thighs quaking against the backs of mine each time he stills, as he relentlessly tries to be gentle and slow. A strangled sound leaves him when my nails rake down his back and I feel a pulse start to thrum in my core, and God, I’m so needy for him, I feelmadefor him. My skin was meant for his hands. My core was meant to hold him. Meant to grow for him and make a life for him once. My strong thighs were meant to cradle him to me and hold a piece of him forever. His DNA altered mine, and our souls shaped themselves for each other. Everything in my body and being welcomes every part of him, and fuck, I’m going to come like this, I realize. I’m going to come, and I want him with me in every way; I’m desperate for him to fall apart.

“Let me have it,” I beg in a throaty whisper. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he growls. When his eyes clench shut, I see a tear leak out of one.

He hooks one of my legs higher, pressing my knee up before he starts rutting into me, hot and hard and rough and fast, his control dissolving and his hips snapping against me. It’s too much. It’s too much of everything, and I don’t care. I’d take on anything for him. He’s stunning when he’s unleashed.

I come with a shock, sensation shooting up my spine in a torrent and his name leaving me in a rush. When my eyes open again, his are on me, wide and drunk on bliss.

“Wren,” he says raggedly. “Can I?”

“Yes,” I tell him, a little sob stealing it at the end. “I got you.” I reach up and try to hold on to his arm and end up scratching against him again, our skin slick with sweat.

He immediately comes, and it’s devastating. It’s brokengroans and him chanting my name into the skin inside my knee. It’s his heat pouring into me and his strength thrumming against me. It’s his pulse synced with mine. It’s bare, raw love shining through his glassy eyes and into my own.

He keeps one of my knees wrapped around his hips and tilts us onto our sides, still inside me, his strong arms around my waist. I bury my face in his neck and let his pulse beat against my lips, our chests fighting for space against each other as we try to catch our breath. I can’t tell if we’re crying or laughing or if we’re both doing both, our bodies vibrating with whatever this charge is between us, like we’ve finally returned home to our rightful ports. I run my hand over his chest and the dusting of coarse hairs there. He pets me down my back in the same pattern, kissing my temple and nuzzling against my curls. I try to adjust into a position that won’t make my spine hurt tomorrow, and the movement angles his still-hard cock in a way that surprises a moan out of each of us.

He circles his hips a little and turns his face into mine, making a gritty sound against my cheek. “Need two more minutes. Then, again,” he says.

My laugh cuts into a satisfied hiss when he does it another time, but my indulgent brain is already making calculations and plans for doing this often, and the last thing I’m willing to risk is a UTI.

“Ellis?”

“Mmm?”

“Where’s the bathroom?”

We end up throwing on clothes and walking down a short trail lined in solar lights leading to the shared bathhouse between oursite and the one closest to us (originally our second, which looks to be vacant still when we spot it through the trees). The bathroom itself is fancier than any campground bathroom has a right to be. Heated concrete flooring, slatted pine doors with iron fixtures and hardware. Two stalls in addition to two showers.

I turn on one of the showers after taking care of my other human business, and Ellis watches me raptly when I strip and step into the stream.

“Is it even a campground bathroom if you don’t need quarters for the shower?” I ask, laughing. I feel carbonated. Giggly and buzzing and pleasantly sore. “This has better water pressure than my house.”

He leans against the door, folding his arms and crossing a foot over another. I can see the outline of him growing hard in his sweats. “Better than our house?” he asks.

I lean my head back and act like I need to think about it. “Hmm, actually, no,” I say, turning and letting it spray me down my front. “Our house is just as good.”

I squeak in surprise when I feel his hands on me from behind. I spin around in his arms. “What are you doing? You’ll get wet!”

“That’s the idea,” he says, letting the water rain over him and soak through his clothes. “You saidourhouse. Does that mean you’ll move back home?”

I press my lips together and my body tighter against his. “For the water pressure?”

His head cocks with a predatory smile, and he rakes his wet hair back. “For everything we can do in a shower there,” he says. I’d been trying for coy, and I think I walked right into his setup instead. “How about I remind you?”

CHAPTER 34

WREN

It smells like home.