Page 115 of Heart & Hope

He slams into me for another few strokes before lifting me from the bed with one arm, my back against his sweaty chest. He picks up the rhythm again, his choppy breath rasping into my ear. His heated, sticky skin pushes against mine.

“What’s your name, baby?”

A bent smile grows over my slack face. “Ruby.”

“Wrong answer,” he growls and thrusts harder.

Cries slip through my parted lips, his hand pushing the soft flesh of one breast, the other hand rolling the opposite nipple.

Like a fucking god.

How he can concentrate on three things at once and keep his own body in check is awe-inspiring. But something is missing. As if he read my mind, his hand slides up to my throat. I lay my head back on his shoulder in answer. His face is all light, shadow, and gorgeous angles.

The Great Reed Rawlins.

A lazy smile pulls over my face, strung out by ecstasy.

His fingers squeeze around my airway, and I huff a heady moan against his palm.

“Name,” he snaps, raw and gravelly.

Stars creep into the sides of my vision, my center coiling tighter as my breaths shorten even more. Each thundering thrust sends me higher and higher. Lightning cracks, loud and close.

“No fucking idea,” I rasp.

On a huffy breath, he says, “Good girl.”

Every stroke is strong. The bed creaks, shuddering with every rough movement that becomes more and more sloppy. He’s close. I run two fingers over my clit, wanting desperately to go with him.

He slaps my hand away. “Mine.”

The hand that was cupping my breast has reduced to two fingers, swirling over my overstimulated bud erratically. I spiraland explode with a breathy whimper that sends tears prickling behind my eyes. Reed follows with a raw rumble as he spills inside me with each hard stroke.

“Fuck, Rubes . . . Mine . . . baby.”

“Yours.”

Folding me back against his chest, he nips along my neck. “And I’m yours, beautiful. Have been since day one.”

I rest my head back on his shoulder, and he dots kisses to my cheek and down my neck and shoulder.

“You’re gonna need another shower,” he breathes.

“I’ll run the rivers dry if it means we can keep doing that.”

His soft chuckle buffets the curve where my neck meets my shoulder. “Keep wearing those heels and you’ll be in for a lot more showers.”

“Promise?”

Thunder rumbles, softer now, and his smile stretches against my neck. “Ten-four, Captain.”

The devastation on Reed’s face—he’s trying his best to flatten—is breaking my heart. Mack holds him in a tight hug. “Later, gunny.”

The Great Falls airport isn’t much, but the few people who mill around offer sympathetic expressions directed at the army uniform Mack is wearing and the hollow faces of his family who are trying their best to see him off with smiles.

Louisa sets her face in a tangle of grief and forced happiness as Mack pulls her in for a hug, and I swallow back the sob that has sent tears stinging behind my eyes.

Harry stands, hands clasped in front of his waist, by his wife’s side. His Adam’s apple bobs as Mack whispers something to Louisa. She nods as he releases her.

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