Page 92 of Taking Denver

She looks wild, beyond herself. “It’s what I want.”

My lips brush hers once more. “That’s my good girl.”

I pull her off the desk and turn her, bending her over it and kicking her feet apart. She clings to the wood, and I remove my belt.

“No one else will ever make you feel like this, Denver,” I say, my voice low and dripping with want. “No one.”

It’s true. No one has ever made me feel like she does, and I know she feels the same. This isn’t love. It’s too raw to be love. It’s unbridled, dangerous passion, an unrelenting need to devour the other so you can be whole.

I free my cock, gliding the tip across her entrance, both of us slick with need. I inch forward, easing myself into her, and she gasps, her fingers clasping at the edge of the desk until her knuckles whiten.

I watch, inch by inch, as she accepts my thickness. I groan, my head dropping back as I ease myself deeper. “You always take me so well.”

Denver trembles, clawing at the desk to keep herself steady. I sink further into her, the wonderful, encapsulating feeling of her tightness overwhelming me.

“Ranger—”

My breathing is unsteady as I lean forward and kiss her shoulder. “Yes, my love?”

I worry I’m hurting her. Demanding too much after a terrifying evening. Expecting too much when so much has happened.

“Fuck me,” she whispers. “Give me everything.”

That’s my fucking girl.

I don’t start slow. I’m not gentle. I power into her, and the desk shakes.

“I’m so proud of you. You’re so powerful. So fucking beautiful,” I whisper, slamming into her. I press my palm into her back, crushing her breasts into the wood of the desk.

“I need to see you.” She gasps the words, and I pull out and lift her, turning her to face me. I sit her back on the desk, and she pants, her cheeks flush as she gazes down at my cock, shining with both of our arousals. I sink into her again.

She frantically unbuttons my shirt, pushing it over my shoulder, revealing the wound. She gazes at it, her cheeks flush, and leans forward, running her tongue across the heated pain.

“Fuck.” My voice feels like it comes from beneath us, a rumble of thunder through the ground.

Her tongue is coated in my blood and she drinks it down, sucking on the agony and making it sweet.

But even the sheer ecstasy of this moment is nothing compared to when I kiss her.

It’s like the freshest air, the first breath after being submerged in the coldest water. I breathe her in, my hands possessive as they drag her closer, my mouth dominating hers. She grips my open shirt, kissing me back with equal passion.

The kiss is danger and desire, the final round of Russian Roulette, the spin of the cylinder both a fear and a delight, where surviving isn’t what matters—it’s the thrill of the game.

I break the kiss. “Tell me that you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

“Will you always be mine?”

“Yes,” she whimpers. “This is all I’ve ever wanted.”

I groan. “Say it again.”

“This is all—” She cries out, fingernails pressing into my shoulders. “This is all I’ve ever wanted. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

My hands move to her hips, and I grip them, holding her in place to fuck her faster. A pot on the desk tips over, scattering pens across the surface and onto the dead men below. I kiss down her neck, biting, sucking, marking her, all the while never stopping my quick, precise thrusts.

This needs to last forever. This feeling is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

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