Page 68 of The Lightkeeper

She tipped forward to reach the handrail, a small cry tumbling free when the angle put me right back against her G-spot, a rush of her desire soaking me on contact. She didn’t need more instruction after that. Desire drove the movement of her hips up and down along my length. Faster. Wilder.Recklessly.

My fingers curled into her fleshy hips, wishing for the strength to try and slow her—stop her from fucking me so hard she’d hurt herself, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t control myself around her—even to just keep her away, knowing I would hurt her in the end, too.

“Aurora.” Her name repeated from my lips like waves crashing on the shore.

Over and over, she sank down onto me, each time hitting that sweet spot that made her cry out. I knew I was sinking too deep—hitting delicate parts inside her that deserved more care—but she was so slick, there was no avoiding it.

I found my hips thrusting into the downward drive of hers as release barreled through me. I watched her, feeling like I could die from the pressure building inside me, from the pleasure of being inside her, but I needed her to come first. And I knew she would. The way she pounded me into her G-spot didn’t take long to send her spiraling over the edge.

The handrail supported her as she fractured with a loud scream, and I followed her over the edge, pinning my cock so deep inside her that it felt like my release pumped all the way into her stomach. Her chest. Her throat. I filled her with everything I had… and for a moment dared to wonder if it could be enough.

Her eyes peeled open, and she looked down at me, blissful exhaustion hazing her features.

I reached for her arms, peeling them off the rail, and pulled her to my chest.Our heavy breaths collected in the lamp room, the windows fogged from the heat. Thankfully, dawn had broken, so the light no longer needed to beckon through the glass.

“Is it always like this?” She curled against me.

I gritted my teeth. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Chapter Sixteen

Aurora

Technically,there was no comparison.

I’d never had sex before, so logically, I had no other experience or data to compare. But still, I couldn’t stop myself from believing wholeheartedly that Kit wasn’t like any other man that existed. And that sex with him… well, I just knew I’d never experience anything like it again.

Maybe that was why we were ravenous. Because we both knew it wasn’t normal. Maybe it was his not having sex for a decade and me not having sex… ever… that made us unable to stop.

For a week after that night, we’d hardly left the lighthouse. I’d say we barely left the bed, but that wasn’t true. We left the bed. We just didn’t stop having sex.

On the floor. Against the wall. In the stairwell. On the kitchen counter. In the shower. In the lamp room at midnight, the beaming silhouette of our tangled limbs all the way to the horizon.

Each time, I thoughtthiswould be the time the pleasure finally killed me. But it didn’t. I’d shatter—wholly, trustingly—in his skilled hands, and then he’d carefully put those pieces back together.

And that was all I wanted to do for him.

I found myself drawn to the sight of his back—his scars. Not because the injured flesh was jarring, but because the knowledge of what he’d endured and survived was mesmerizing.

He was afraid of pity. Afraid of disappointment—for himself and those he cared about. But I didn’t pity him. Just like I didn’t pity the sea star that had regenerated a leg. Yes, maybe it didn’t look the same as the others. Maybe it didn’t quite function like the original leg had. But it had created something wholly new from a position of extreme trauma.

Just like Kit.

I wondered if maybe he’d just let himself embrace what he’d been through—embrace the darkness rather than trying to fight it—he could understand his wounds. Heal himself.Be with me.

I bit my lip and slid the coffee machine forward on the counter, hearing Kit stride from the bedroom into the kitchen.

Neither of us talked about the future. About what sex meant. About relationships or complications. We avoided it like we had our very own lighthouse warning us away from the shores of that conversation, warning that the rocky crest of reality could obliterate the amazing…thing…we had right now.

But every day, we drifted closer, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.

“We’re out of coffee,” I murmured, staring at the empty bag of grounds. I’d used the last of it yesterday but avoided mentioning it because leaving the lighthouse felt like it would be the first pinprick in our fragile affair.

Kit came up behind me, his hand snaking around mymiddle.

“I don’t need coffee to get up,” he muttered against my neck, his hand sinking between my legs.

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