Page 112 of Wicked Sin

I like that feeling that he can’t let me out of his sight again.

Way too fucking much.

Stop overthinking this.We need to reconnect. It’s been a long day. Stressful and scary, but done now. We need to fuck the pain out of our system.

It doesn’t sound quite right, of course. It’s probably not right.

I don’t care.

And when he turns and pins me down with the full-force of his attention, once again, I stop thinking about it.

“You,” he says, prowling toward me.

I smile. “Yes?”

“Come here.”

My heart skips a beat as he catches me in his arms and lifts me up. I wrap myself around him, tighter than tight, as he takes me upstairs.

To his bed.

We strip together, working back and forth. My top, his top. His pants, my pants. I ditch my panties as he grabs a condom, and then we’re fused together again, rolling and kissing and biting—oh God, the biting, so good—until he pins me down.

There aren’t any words for this. There’s just raw, hungry need. I need him inside me, I need his weight on top of me, and he gives it all to me.

His gaze is hot and hard as he pushes my legs apart and finds me wet. Ready. The tension ratchets up between us as he teases the heavy head of his cock through my folds, then presses deep inside me in a single, piercing thrust.

It’s right there, on the tip of my tongue. I can feel the words, and they don’t even feel wrong in my mouth.I love you, I want to say. But it’s too much, too soon, and not at all realistic.

I love the kink.

I love the friendship he’s given me.

The safe space.

I crave safety, and Luke has given it to me in spades when he didn’t need to.

Of course I think I love him. Of course I actually love him, because he is lovely. That shouldn’t be confused for long-term commitment.

And God only knows how he feels about it.

So instead of saying something, I kiss him. I give him my tongue, my mouth, my surrender. I kiss him as he fucks me hard and slow.

I kiss him as the arousal shifts inside me, from a gimme gimme feeling to something more heady, more overwhelming. To the twist and climb of an impending orgasm, where all I can feel is the size of him inside me—big, heavy, thick—and the bursts of pleasure that come with each thrust and grind.

I kiss him as I begin to shake.

As he shudders on top of me, his grip getting almost too tight, but still perfectly right.

And he kisses me back.

Fiercely.

Demandingly.

We kiss each other as we come, together, and we kiss each other long after we disentangle our limbs. We kiss until he’s ready to go again, and then our kiss only breaks apart long enough for him to roll me on my stomach. Once he’s inside me again, he finds my mouth.

Never enough kisses.

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