Page 112 of Three Reckless Words

Later, we can figure out specifics.

Later.

“Please,” I hiss again, rubbing myself against him. “I want you inside me.”

With a satisfied smirk, he finally grabs his cock and pushes inside, slowly and firmly.

A good thing, too—he stretches me like I knew he would, almost splitting me open. It’s a good pain, the sensation of being filled so completely I can’t breathe.

I need more.

More, more, more, until he’s fully inside me, and he releases a breath that’s more like a torn sigh.

His soul exiting his huge body, maybe.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, brushing my hair back from my face when he’s finally seated in me to the hilt.

“Only if you stop.”

He chuckles, this gritty whisper through clenched teeth, and then his hips start moving.

Oh.

Oh, God.

Now, it’s my turn to feel my soul take flight.

In all my years, all my messy hookups, I have never, ever felt a cock built like a battering ram.

But it’s not just the wonderful way he wields it with every greedy pump of his hips.

It’s the full ensemble that takes me apart shockingly fast.

The weight of him pressing against me every time he goes deep.

The intimacy, the way he looks at my face like it’s the sunrise.

The unbearable, almost killing friction of his cock moving in me.

This time, when I come, it’s an avalanche.

I clench around him, throw my head back, and let out this hitched scream that splits the night.

And I’m only halfway through when I feel him tense, when those bed-breaking strokes deep inside me suddenly stop and he holds his cock so, sodeep.

Archer erupts inside me, pouring himself out with a curse, filling me with a molten heat I swear I can feel through the condom.

Holy flaming shit.

And later, when he pulls out reluctantly and we’re spent, lying there with the dim moonlight streaming through the window, it feels different from the other times I’ve had sex.

It’s hot and sweaty and primal, yes. But as he rolls off me and cooler air dances across my skin, I feel something new.

Without him, I feel empty.

And when he clambers back into bed after disposing of the rubber, tucking me into his side like going back to my room isn’t even an option, the feeling eases.

It’s slowly replaced by this liquid warmth that’s so different from the delirious heat still chasing itself around my veins.

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