He jerks my hips forward, angling himself at my opening, and then pulls me violently down the length of his cock, slamming my pelvis into his and filling me completely. I gasp at the delicious torture of the invasion, wanting more, needing more, but unsure if I can even handle this much. My lower belly muscles ache as I suck in a huge breath, my eyes meeting Grainger’s.
“You actually think I would fuck some random bitch while you were with the mafia? Gidget, I couldn’t eat. I barely slept. I was a goddamn wreck.” He moves my hand from the headboard back to his shoulder and gives me this imperious look that makes me hot all over in so many different ways. “Ride me. Now.”
It’s a command that I want to obey, but my body seems frozen; my heart has stilled.
“You waited for me,” I whisper, but he’s shaking his head and letting out a harsh, angry laugh.
“Waited? Gidge, I fought like hell. I spent every spare moment I had helping to organize that fucking raid.” He narrows his eyes on me, and I hate that he can look so tough, so badass, when he just nearly died. There’s so much fire in him; it calls to the fire inside of me, too.
We are both as wild, as unpredictable as those wildfires eating away at the Oregon landscape.
“Thank you,” I tell him, and the words seem to surprise the shit out of him. He opens his mouth like he’s about to respond, but like, he’s fucking Grainger, so I don’t want to hear whatever else he has to say, just in case he ruins this moment.
I rise up on my knees, dragging my silken pussy up his shaft. The delicious friction between us burns like a fresh spark on dry tinder. Only … there’s nothing dry about this. It’s so slippery and wet between my legs, I might be worried that I started my period if I weren’t … I exhale and reach down, grabbing the hem of Sin’s shirt and yanking it over my head. I toss it aside as Grainger makes this low, dark sound in the back of his throat, reaching out and running his palms up my sides to cup my breasts.
He isn’t gentle, kneading and caressing them with every ounce of strength in those powerful fingers. His grip is insane, those corded forearms of his bunching with each movement of his hand as he palms my breasts and lifts the heavy weights.
I drop my hips again, sliding back down his length and making his breath hiss out in a rush.
“Faster,” he snarls, digging his fingertips into my milky skin. I’ve still got a few marbled bruises here and there from the bomb blast, but it’s nothing compared to the ones on Grainger’s chest and arms, barely visible in the dim lighting of the room. All we have is the vague dimness of a night-light that leaks under the door from the hall, and the effused light of early morning as it brightens up on the other side of the wood blinds.
“No, Cade,” I tell him, looking deep into his eyes. “I’m not letting you push yourself past your limit.” I lift up again and then slowly, to the point that it’s almost agonizing for me, slide back down him again. My eyes drift to the space between us, where it’s clear even in this low light that our bodies are joined together. There’s no mistaking the sounds of it either, the wet slide, the moans, the heaving panting. Up and down, over and over and over again.
I can feel him beneath me, his strong thigh muscles quivering as he tries to hold himself back from the edge.
“Fuck this,” he growls out and then I’m being flipped onto my back and Grainger’s on top of me.
“Grainger,” I murmur, even as he drives his hips deep and hard against mine, grinding his pelvis into me. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Shut up,” he grinds out, dropping his head to lick and kiss the edge of my mouth, refusing to allow full contact between our lips and tongue. He’s teasing me, and I love it. I also hate it.
He powers into me hard and fast, and I spread my legs wide, welcoming him in, bringing my thighs toward my chest. My hands grip his ass cheeks, digging my coffin-tipped nails into his skin as he moves with a ferocity that I didn’t quite expect.
“I hate you so much,” he tells me again, and then he puts his lips right up against the side of my throat and bites me hard enough that I cry out. “I love you so much.”
And there it is.
The words hit me like a punch to the heart, and I’m groaning and writhing and thrusting up to meet him. I’m thinking about that moment in the resuscitation room where I almost lost him, and then I’m reveling in the raw, masculine strength of him above me, driving into me, claiming me.
