Page 64 of Desperate People

She lets out a broken sob, thighs shaking, and then she breaks.

Hard.

She crashes around me, pulsing and clenching and crying out as I drive into her like I’m carving her name into my soul.

And I follow her, roaring through my release like a man possessed.

Because I am.

Possessed by her.

And there is nowhere else I want to be.

Chapter Twelve-Lucy

Having pussy-breaking sex—a phrase coined by my Aunt Sofia, used in her romance novels that she pens under the name Z. Wolff—with the man of my dreams is officially my new favorite thing in the world.

It’s better than shopping.

Better than Dubai chocolate truffles flown in overnight.

Better than Haagen-Dazs vanilla bean straight from the carton with a gold spoon and my comfiest pajamas.

So much better.

My entire body is still humming, every nerve sweet and strung out, like I’ve been vibrating with pleasure for hours and haven’t come down yet.

I blink slowly awake, still nestled in a nest of silky sheets and heat.

Balor’s arm is heavy across my waist, his chest pressed along my back, his breathing slow and deep.

And I grin.

A full, satisfied smile.

Because this isn’t a dream.

Balor Cruz—brooding, inked, deadly serious Balor—is wrapped around me like a human blanket.

After round two—or was it three?—last night, he carried me into the shower like I weighed nothing.

Like I was something precious.

And when the water hit us, he didn’t just soap me up like it was foreplay.

He washed me like he meant it.

Tender hands, slow strokes, and when he pinned me to the tile with his body moving behind me and my palms flat against the wall—fuck yeah.

I’m getting wet just thinking about it.

My thighs press together on instinct, and right on cue, his chest rumbles behind me.

He squeezes me tighter, his hand sliding over my soft belly, and I don’t even try to pretend I hate it.

He likes my body as it is.

Fluffy, soft, and bigger.

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