Page 10 of Montana Justice

I arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping my lips. He reached behind me, unclasping my bra with practiced ease, and when it fell away, he groaned low in his throat.

“So beautiful,” he said again, his hands replacing the fabric, skin against skin now.

The sensation was overwhelming. I’d never been touched like this—with reverence, with desire that felt clean instead of dirty. When he bent his head to take one nipple into his mouth, I gasped and threaded my fingers through his hair.

He lavished attention on my breasts, his tongue and teeth making me writhe against him. Heat was building low in my belly, an ache I’d never felt before. When he slid his hand down to cup me through my jeans, I nearly came apart.

“Lachlan,” I breathed, my hips moving against his palm.

He popped the button of my jeans and slid the zipper down slowly. He slipped his hand inside my panties, and when his fingers found me wet and ready, he groaned against my breast.

“Christ, Piper. You’re so wet.”

One finger slipped inside me, and I cried out at the sensation. He added another, his thumb finding my clit in a way that almost made stars explode behind my eyelids. I was grinding against his hand now, chasing a release I’d never experienced with another person.

“That’s it,” he murmured against my ear. “Let go for me.”

His fingers moved faster, deeper, and when he curled them just right, I shattered completely, my body convulsing around his hand as pleasure crashed through me in waves.

I was still shaking when he kissed me again, his fingers slipping out of me to work my jeans down my legs. He lifted me and carried me into his room, laying me on the bed, his hands everywhere—skimming over my ribs, trailing down to remove my panties.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice rough with desire but his eyes serious. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. At any point you want to stop, just say the word…”

Instead of answering with words, I reached for his belt buckle. His sharp intake of breath when I freed him from his jeans made heat pool between my legs again.

He eased back to grab a condom from the nightstand, rolled it on, then moved back toward me, almost predatory in nature, but in the best way.

When he stopped suddenly, gaze glued to my torso, I knew he’d spotted the purple bruising along the side and back of my ribs on the right side.

“What happened?” His fingers hovered over the marks.

“I’m clumsy,” I said, the lie coming automatically. “Fell down some stairs a few days ago.”

He studied my face for a long moment, and I could see him processing, questioning.

“I promise, I’m fine. A lesson in not trying to carry too many bags of groceries at once.”

Evidently, that lie had enough detail to make him think I was telling the truth. Finally something my father taught me coming to good use.

I wrapped my hand around him, and any lingering concerns he had seemed to dissolve under the heat building between us. He moved over me, once again kissing his way down my body.This was different from anything I’d experienced before. He touched me like I was something precious, his hands and mouth worshipping every inch of exposed skin.

When he finally slid inside me, I gasped at the exquisite feel of him stretching me. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him deeper. He groaned my name, his forehead pressed against mine as he moved inside me with slow, deliberate strokes that built heat low in my belly.

I’d never felt anything like this—the stretch and fullness of him, the friction that made me gasp and arch beneath him. When he reached between us to touch me where I needed it most, I shattered completely, crying out his name as waves of pleasure rushed over me.

He followed me over the edge moments later, his body going rigid as he buried his face in my neck.

Afterward, he held me against his chest while our breathing returned to normal. His heartbeat under my cheek was steady, strong, hypnotic. For the first time in my life, I understood what peace meant.

“Come on,” he murmured eventually, pressing his lips to my hair. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

The shower was another revelation. Endless hot water, soap that smelled expensive, and Lachlan’s hands in my hair, working shampoo through tangles with infinite patience.

When I turned in his arms under the spray of water, when I kissed him with streams running down our faces, he lifted me against the shower wall and loved me again with the same devastating intensity. This time, I cried out his name without shame, let him hear exactly what he was doing to me.

We dried each other afterward with fluffy towels. He found me one of his T-shirts to sleep in—soft cotton that hung to my knees and smelled like his laundry detergent.

He put us in bed and pulled the covers around us both and gathered me close. I pressed my face into the curve of his neck, breathing him in, memorizing everything about this moment. His scent. The sound of his breathing. The weight of his arm around my waist.

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