Page 51 of Just This Once

“Look at this,” he whispers, almost to himself, his left hand gripping my hip so tightly I know I’ll have marks tomorrow. Then he’s at my entrance, and he spits, a long drop of saliva hitting the seam of my ass. He mixes it with my own arousal to coat his length, and all at once, he thrusts in, wrenching the breath from my lungs. When I can inhale once again, I moan at the perfect fullness of him. Like he was made for me. Or I for him.

I’m not sure which or if it even matters. Only that nothing has ever felt as right as this.

He rocks back and in again, hitting me so deep, I gasp, my hands scrambling for purchase on the rough wood of the table as he mutters curses behind me. Something about “sweetpussy” and “fucking good.” I can’t concentrate with how amazing it feels, how the intensity of our connection overpowers everything else. All logical thought ceases, leaving only animal desire.

And suddenly, images of all those nature documentaries I used to watch with Jake flood my brain. Lionesses stripping the flesh from prey. That’s how I feel now.

Vicious.

Feral.

Like I would do anything for Dante.

Tear anything and everyone to pieces.

Even myself.

“Please, please,” I whine, pushing back against him with each of his thrusts. And I’m so close to the precipice that all it takes is a look over my shoulder at him, with the bottom of his T-shirt between his bared teeth, lines bracketing his mouth as if he’s in pain, but I know he’s not. There is a sheen of sweat on his flexing stomach, and he releases a soft grunt with every plunge of his cock.

My lion.

The orgasm hits me like a freight train, and I fall to the table, shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me. I smother my sounds with Dante’s sweatshirt as his thrusts become erratic, and then, suddenly, he pulls out. A moment later, warm ropes of liquid hit my back as his left hand settles beside me.

We both breathe heavily in the silence that feels too still after the frantic hurricane of lust that passed through here. Eventually, the cold starts to actually be too much, and I straighten up on shaky legs. Dante hands me a new roll of paper towels from one of the drawers he stocked for me, and I clean myself up, while he rights his clothes and picks up myruined shirt from the floor, including each button that he pockets.

“You’ve worn this a few times,” he notes as I finish zipping up my pants.

“It’s my favorite.”

“I’ll get it fixed.”

I start to argue that it’s a few years old and not worth it—I think I found it on the clearance rack at Old Navy—but he stops me with a quiet, “Arms up.”

He puts his hoodie on me, and I bury my nose in it, soaking up the scent of him. Then he tugs me close, smoothing my hair and cupping my face. “You okay?”

I admire the angle of his cheekbones, the shape of his mouth, the scruff on his jaw. “Yeah. I’m great.”

“You sure?”

It’s unlike him to be so insecure. Normally, he’s overly confident, arrogant even, and I arch my brow at his question.

“I don’t want you to regret this in the morning.” The ache in his voice makes me want to wrap him up and never let go. Dante has an aura about him, a shield like mine, except his is made of laughter and smiles. I arm myself with sarcasm and resting bitch face, while he puts on this sunshine facade every day. And I don’t know why, but I do know there is so much more below the surface. A man wanting to be loved. To be chosen.

“I’m not going to regret this in the morning,” I say, and his throat works on a swallow.

“Good. Because I will never regret you.” He inhales through his nose, his thumbs stroking my cheeks as his tongue drags along his bottom lip. Like what we just did is only the appetizer. “I remember you telling me over and over it would only be that one time.”

I roll my eyes. He would bring that up.

“I hope you don’t tell me now that you needed one more to get it out of your system.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, sticking my hands into the front pocket of his hoodie, refusing to admit I doubt he’ll ever be out of my system. Or if I want him to be.

Instead, I say, “You should know better than to give a girl your hoodie.”

“Why? You plan on stealing it?” When I nod, he grins. “Start a collection. I want you to.”

Then he leans down to kiss me, slow and sweet this time, his tongue teasing mine, anchoring me to earth with his playfulness. I never expected to fall for anyone. Let alone a giant golden retriever of a man. Yet, here I am, tripping over my heart.

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