Page 52 of Choosing the Rejected Mate

Her climax rolls through her with a broken cry.She clings to me, shaking, her body pulsing around my cock so tightly my vision whites out.I thrust into her through it, losing rhythm, losing control, losing every thought but her.

“That’s it,” I praise, even as my own release climbs fast and brutal.“Good girl.So beautiful.Fuck, Holly, I’m going to come.”

Her legs tighten around my waist.“Yes.”

One word, my undoing.I bury my face in her throat, careful not to bite, and come hard, my body jerking as pleasure rips through me.I groan her name against her skin, holding her tight as the world shatters down to breath, heat, and the feel of her wrapped around me.

For a long moment, neither of us moves.The bakery is quiet around us.

Somewhere, a pipe knocks in the wall, and Holly laughs weakly against my shoulder.

I lift my head.“What?”

“I just had sex on my prep table.”

I glance down at the table.Then back at her.“We sanitized first.”

She bursts out laughing, and I fall a little harder.

I clean us up carefully, because apparently food safety is now part of foreplay.Holly blushes the entire time, which is adorable until she threatens to smother me with a dish towel for smiling.

Afterward, I carry her upstairs despite her protest.

“I have legs,” she says.

“I noticed.”

“I can walk.”

“I also noticed.”

“Then why are you carrying me?”

“Because I want to.”

“That is not a reason.”

“It is.”

She grumbles, but her arms stay around my neck.

Her apartment is small, warm, and deeply Holly.Books stacked beside the couch.A chipped mug full of pens.A blanket with tiny moons on it.A plant on the windowsill that looks like it’s surviving out of spite.

I set her on the bed and pull the blanket over her before she can complain.She looks up at me, suddenly quieter.

The laughter has faded, and the fear creeps back in, not sharp this time, but present.

“What happens now?”she asks.

I sit on the edge of the bed, leaving space.“Now you sleep.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.”

Her fingers worry the edge of the blanket.“This wasn’t claiming.”

“No.”