Page 111 of Into Pitch

I’ve barely come back down when he’s picking me up off the bed, a yelp breaking from me that falls into a laugh as I wrap to his front. My legs locking around his hips as he kisses me. His tongue sweeping in to share my taste before he drags me down fully onto the hard line of his cock.

“I did miss this,” I gasp against his mouth.

He growls and drops me onto the top of the dresser, his hand slipping to behind my knees to keep me pulled close. “I’m sure you did.”

None of it makes sense.

None of it ever will.

And I just don’t care.

“Harder,” I pant as my mouth bumps into his own.

“Gladly,” he snarls and rips me from the dresser. My world spins before we’re bouncing off the mattress. He shoves my knee clean into my shoulder and changes everything about what we were up until this moment. Drilling me into the mattress as the air in my throat closes off beneath the tight grip of his fist.

It would be terrifying if I didn’t think he had control. I would question the black spots at the edge of my vision if I didn’t know he knows how to straddle that line so well. My head presses back into the pillows, my hand slapping the headboard above me to weather how hard we’re meeting.

Just when I think I’m going to shatter beneath him, he rolls us. My hand shooting down to slap against his chest as his own slides up my sternum. Letting me take back just a minuscule of control as I ride him with the same enthusiasm as he had before. The position bringing him deeper into me as I guide his hand right back to my throat.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He rasps.

“You know that perfection isn’t a thing.”

“Sure, I do.” He teases as he pushes up, tugging me deeper into his lap.

“So shut up and fuck me, little fox.”

I’m wrecked.

We’ve had sex before, sure, but what we’ve done the last three days is a marathon sprint for a finish line I didn’t know existed. Every nerve feels raw and I can’t seem to catch my breath from where I’m tangled up on Alex’s chest. My cheek pressed to his skin and my leg slung over his like my body doesn’t know where it ends and he begins anymore.

Three fucking days.

Sleeping in broken stretches. Eating when one of us remembers. Touching like it’s oxygen instead of indulgence. Not frantic, but god damn constant. Intimate in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with proximity.

“What’s going on in that wonderful mind of yours?” He teases, running his fingers through my hair.

“I’m just tired. The good kind.” I whisper, tapping my finger over his heart.

He hums, the vibration rolling through my ear. “You should sleep.”

I shift just enough to look up at him, and the sight of his face punches something through my chest. His eyes are unfocused and fixed on the ceiling like he’s staring at a thought he doesn’t want to touch.

He looks exposed, and I don’t think Alex ever does exposed.

“What?” I ask, immediately wary.

His jaw tightens and I know I’m onto something. Pushing up, I place my hand on the mattress beside his shoulder to look down to him, my hair a curtain that drapes us both.

“I don’t usually let things go this far,” he admits quietly.

My brows furrow. Did he just call us ‘things’?

“Things?”

“This,” he murmurs. “Connection.”

I flinch slightly, ice water down my spine. His arm loosens from around my waist, but he doesn’t move away from me.