Page 63 of Ten Day Affair
I grab her thighs, pull her to the edge. One thrust and I’m buried inside her, tight heat surrounding me so fast it steals my breath.
Her head drops back, a low, guttural moan ripping out of her.
“God, yes. Just like that.”
I grip the edge of the counter with one hand for balance and fuck into her hard. Deep. Every time she gasps, it’s like gasoline on fire.
She pulls me in by the neck, forehead pressed to mine. “You feel so fucking good.”
“Same,” I groan. “Could stay like this forever.”
Her laugh breaks against my mouth, but it’s breathless, needy. “Shut up and move.”
I do.
God, I do.
“Cole,” she cries, and it intensifies every fiber in my body.
We don’t stop. We can’t, we are addicted to each other.
Her heels dig into my back, pulling me deeper, tighter, until we find a rhythm that feels less like movement and more like combustion.
The counter shakes beneath us as my knees hit the cabinet wall holding it up.
Her fingers claw at my shoulders, her moans caught between my mouth and her teeth.
She’s close. I feel it in the way her thighs start to tremble. In the way her breath stutters against my ear.
“I’m right there,” she gasps.
“Come for me, Sam. Fucking let go.”
She shatters. Her body bows, and her legs clamp around me. Her nails sink into my back as she cries out my name again. She's broken and beautiful.
She's mine.
The tension in my spine snaps.
I come hard, buried in her, pulse after pulse, heart pounding so loud I can barely hear her breath over mine.
We don’t speak. Instead, we let the silence settle in the aftermath.
Her forehead rests against mine, our skin slick, our chests rising and falling in time. Her hands soften against my shoulders as one drops to my cheek. The gentlest touch after so much hunger.
“I should move and give your ass a break from the marble,” I mutter, my voice still wrecked.
She laughs, low and warm. “Too late for that.”
Still, I ease out of her slowly, careful not to jar her. I find a paper towel nearby, clean us up as best I can, then scoop her into my arms.
“You don’t have to carry me,” she says, but she doesn’t resist.
“I want to.”
She rests her head on my shoulder, and I carry her through the dark house. The AC kicks on as we pass the hallway vent, cool air brushing over her flushed skin.
My bedroom is shadowed, the only light coming from the moon slanting through half-open blinds. I lower her onto the bed, gently, letting her sink into the sheets while I climb in beside her.
