Page 78 of Salvaged Hearts

System overload.

Luckily for me, he seemed to regain his impeccable control because he shifted, robbing my breath as he set a pace hellbent on destroying me. Each slide and snap of his hips shoved me closer and closer to that edge again, and I clung onto him. My life vest in a tempest sea. Like he was the only thing between me and the abyss determined to swallow us.

My fingers hesitated when I scraped over the puckered skin of scar tissue down his spine. Inexplicably, tears welled in my eyes, my mouth popping open as I felt the evidence of that pain. The reality was that he very nearly hadn’t survived.

He smiled—a little too stiffly, but still authentically—before whispering, “It’s alright.”

“How?” I breathed, thinking of what he must’ve gone through. Thinking of that agony and hating the man that caused it. Something so simple, so often overlooked, and so unspeakably selfish.

“It brought me here. It brought me to you.”

“Grey,” I breathed for what must’ve been the millionth time.

“God, I love the way you say my name. Don’t stop.”

With that final demand, he returned to that ruthless pace, and I flattened my palms against the warm, broad plains of his back, needing him closer.

Pleasure overwhelmed my nervous system, made more intense as he wrapped a hand around my neck, thumb forcing my chin up so our eyes met. He captured me in the intensity of those dark hazels, like a butterfly in a spider’s web.

My mouth popped open, the pleasure screwing up my face as victory curved his parted lips in an endearing open-mouthed grin.

I’d expected sex, but Greyson was taking more than I’d prepared to give him. In true Hart form, he was seizing what he wanted and doing it without remorse.

My pleasure.

My body.

My sanity.

With every thrust, he carved a part of me out I’d never meant to let go of. Seeming to see or sense the fear tainting this nirvana, he ran his thumb over my jawline, still holding me captive as he panted, “I’ve got you, Alice.”

Nodding was all I could manage because the truth was, I didn’t know how to articulate the war in my body.

He smiled softly, thrusts deepening as he demanded, “So give me what I want, baby.Let go.”

The next snap of his hips sent me hurdling right over the edge again. Hell, nobody had ever made me cometwice. They certainly hadn’t told me I was a good girl or beautiful or to give them more—all kinds of dirty promises pouring from his lips until my pleasure finally claimed his.

His body went rigid a beat before he slid free, straightening abruptly so that he towered over me. Pulling the condom off, he fisted his cock, and my eyes went wide with surprise.

Scrambling, I reached for him, knocking his hand out of the way to replace it with my own.

One, two, three firm pulls were all it took before he painted my belly and chest in thick ropes of cum. Spurt after spurt, he came as hard as I had, body seizing with jerky little movements as he dropped his head back with a guttural groan.

Tears filled my eyes again, but in the next beat, his mouth was on mine, his hands cradling my face like something precious. And I was once again consumed by Greyson Hart.

16

Are We Running a Marathon?

ALICE

“Leigh?” I yelped, dumping my bag by the front door and rushing across the condo as it slammed behind me. At some point, it stopped feeling likemycondo and started feeling like hers, but that was a problem to think about later. Like. When I wasn’t smack-dab in the middle of a midlife crisis. “Leighton!” Glaring at the empty pot of coffee and the obnoxiously bright red seven o’clock on the stove beside it, I rushed for the kitchen. “Leighton Alexandra, I know you arenotstill sleeping at seven am on a Tuesday!”

In the next four seconds flat, I dumped the coffee grounds with the finesse of an NBA player making a shot, slammed the basket back in, replaced the liner, and rotated for the grinds container. The suction on the lid had just broken when I heard her shuffling feet and a mumbled, “Fuck. Right. Off.”

“I will not,” I retorted as I scooped in more than the advisable amount of magic ground beans.

“Thelastthing you need is coffee,” Leighton croaked, collapsing into the bar stool by the island, hair unkempt, pajama shirt askew, drool stain smearing her cheek. She was almostenough of a hot mess for me to forget that was the stool I sat on when Greyson proposed to me. But not quite.

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