Page 89 of It Happened on a Sunday
He breaks off when I scream. But I can’t help it. He’s pulled his fingers out of me, and it suddenly feels like I’m spiraling alone through the unknown, every piece of my body out of my control for the first time in my life.
“Sloane? What—”
“Don’t go!” I clutch at him, my body straining against his even as I try to pull him closer. “Don’t go, don’t go, don’t—”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, shifting my weight to rest in just one of his strong arms. A rustle of foil, another few breaths, and then he’s finally where he belongs.
He goes deep, so deep I swear I can feel him in my soul. I cry out at the feeling of fullness.
At the feeling of him inside me.
At the feeling of finally, finally, finally having all of him.
At the sound, Sly wrenches his mouth from mine. His eyes—wild, dangerous, pupils totally blown out—meet mine.
“What?” I gasp, clutching at him. “Why?”
“You all right?” he grinds out in a voice so deep and harsh I can barely understand him.
“Yes!” I slide my hands down to cup his ass. “More. Please. Ineed…” I arch forward even as I pull him against me.
“Fuck!” Sly snarls, burying his face in the bend where my neck meets my shoulder. He bites down hard enough to have me gasping.
He feels so good. This feels so good. Like it was always meant to be. Like he’s a part of me, a lost puzzle piece that’s finally found its way home.
The thought somehow sends me higher, has my nerves firing and my blood boiling even as it terrifies the hell out of me.
I ignore the terror for the pleasure—the incredible, unbelievable, mind-bending pleasure—as my body goes off like an explosion, the walls inside of me shattering at the exact same instant, until the only thing holding all my broken pieces together is Sly.
Sly pressing his mouth onto mine.
Sly pressing his hips against me.
Sly pressing my name through his tight jaw as he finally lets go.
Wave after wave of ecstasy rolls through me, burying my every broken barrier until I’m incoherent, insensate,incandescentwith pleasure. Until I no longer care about any moment that isn’t this one.
For a woman who’s spent the last five years just trying to keep her head above water, it should be terrifying to feel herself going under. And maybe it would be, if Sly wasn’t right here with me.
But he is, and for now, that’s enough. In fact, it’s more than enough. It’s everything.
And so is he.
Chapter 39
Sloane
When it’s over and we can finally breathe again, Sly carries me into the bedroom.
He lays me on the right side of the bed and kisses me on the forehead. “Don’t move,” he tells me before finally shedding his jeans and crawling onto the bed beside me, pulling me into his arms.
I go willingly, burying my face against his chest. My body and mind and heart are blissed out from the most overwhelming orgasms of my life. I breathe Sly in, loving the salty, earthen scent of him. Loving even more the way he’s holding me, like I’m made of diamonds—strong but priceless and worth every careful second of his attention.
For the first time, I understand the sentiment, because right here, right now, I feel the same way about him.
Several minutes pass before Sly slides a finger under my chin and tips my face up to his. It’s the first time our eyes have met since he dropped me on this bed, and I realize he looks as dazed as I feel.
I reach my own hand up to stroke his hair off his forehead, and he turns his head to kiss the inside of my palm.
