Page 118 of Not Your Average Vixen
“What?”
She glanced at the door. “We have to be quiet.”
He joined her on the bed, and she straddled him as he sat, looking him in the eye.
He bit back a grin. “We both know I can be quiet. You, on the other hand—”
But when he expected her to throw a zinger right back, she wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her forehead against his.
“Soren, did you mean what you said?” she asked, her voice quivering.
He stroked the back of her head. “About what?”
The breath caught in his throat. What was she asking? Was it about the promise?
Yes, he’d promised her he wouldn’t meddle with the wedding—well, he didn’t explicitly say the wordsIpromise, but he’d implied it.
She pulled back. “About me underestimating myself?”
Relief washed over him. This was a topic that gave him no pause.
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and allowed his thumb to linger and caress her cheek.
“You’re extraordinary. I’ve never met anyone like you. And I don’t think there’s anything you couldn’t do. You’re a force to be reckoned with, Bridget Dasher. And you’re everything I never thought I deserved.”
She pulled back and captured him with her mahogany gaze. “You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be loved.”
Loved?
The word strung with divine, beautiful pain as if he’d been convicted and pardoned at the same time.
He’d never considered finding love.
Not until her.
His heart hammered in his chest. “How do you do it? How do you make it seem so easy?”
She stroked his cheek. “I told you back in Denver, I’m not your average vixen.”
“There is nothing average about you,” he whispered against her lips as he thrust inside her.
Bridget gasped and tightened her grip as she welcomed his hard length, and he kissed her with the burning intensity of a man on the brink of redemption. Their bodies came together in a torrent of need and desire. Thrusting and bucking, the friction between them awakened a need deep within—primal and raw. He flipped her onto her back, taking complete control, just as he was on the edge of losing total control.
“Open your eyes,” he bit out between long, deep thrusts.
She complied, and he gazed into the pools of deep mahogany. And a realization struck.
He’d never had a real home—never had a place where he truly belonged. But here, in her eyes, he could see forever.
“I see you, Soren,” she whispered, her words like grains of magical fairy dust floating in the air.
He worked her body, changing the angle of penetration to go deeper, to make her feel everything. And that’s when he lost himself. There was no telling where his pleasure started, and her pleasure ended. They were one body, one soul. He increased his pace, and she tightened around him. Meeting her release and writhing in ecstasy beneath him, she dug her nails into his back as he swallowed her wild cries and kissed away her lusty moans. And then, he couldn’t hold back. Suspended in a place where only he and this extraordinary woman existed, he surrendered to wanton oblivion, flying over the edge. The power of his release sent tremors through his body. Wave after wave, they rode the tumultuous sea of mutual satisfaction until, in a tangle of sweaty limbs, their bodies stilled.
He cradled her face in his hand. “I don’t want to let go of you.”
Had he heard any other man utter something so goddamn sappy, he would have laughed his ass off.
But here, with her, he meant every corny word.
