Page 12 of A Forbidden Arrangement
Every thrust is deliberate, pushing her right back to the edge. Her nails dig into my skin, her hips rolling up to meet mine like she can’t help herself. The sight of her like this, taking me without holding back, has my control slipping fast.
She sucks in sharp little gasps and tightens around me.
“That’s it,” I murmur against her mouth. “Come with me.”
Her eyes squeeze shut, her whole body pulling tight, and I let go, grinding deep and hard as she falls apart again. The pulse of her orgasm drags mine out of me, hot and hard, until there’s nothing left but the sound of our breathing and the weight of our bodies pressed together.
I stay there, still inside her, holding her like if I let go, she might disappear.
Her breathing is still ragged, chest rising against mine, skin damp with sweat. I release her hips and smooth my hands down her wrists to ease the ache from how tight I’d been holding her, rubbing slowly to bring her back down. I press my mouth to her temple, feeling the faint tremor in her body that tells me she is still mine in this moment.
“Easy,” I murmur, brushing damp strands of hair from her face. “You’re alright.”
I pull out slowly, watching her wince at the loss, and reach for the blanket at the foot of the bed. I tuck it over her, making sure it covers her from shoulder to toe before I settle beside her. My hand curves around her waist, holding her in place against me.
She looks up at me, still dazed, and I tilt her chin until her eyes meet mine. My thumb strokes over the smooth skin of her hip, marking the shape of her for memory. “You’re not going back to him.”
Her chin dips down in a sleepy nod.
When her eyes finally close, I keep mine on her. I watch the slow rise and fall of her chest, the slackness in her mouth. She thinks this was a one-night mistake. She thinks she can leave in the morning. She has no idea she is already mine.
Chapter 6
Dahlia
The first thingI feel is heat. It’s everywhere, sinking into my skin, wrapping around me in a way that makes me want to burrow deeper into it.
There’s a weight against my back. Solid. Unyielding. Xander’s chest is pressed to me, his legs tangled with mine, his arm slung over my waist as if I might try to leave in the middle of the night. His hand is splayed wide, the rough heat of his palm branding me through the thin cotton sheet. Even in sleep, he holds me like I belong to him.
The steady pull and release of his breathing ghosts against the back of my neck, warm enough to raise a shiver that has nothing to do with cold. I can feel the faint stir of each exhale along my hairline, the way his chest expands and compresses against my spine, keeping me in a rhythm that almost feels like it belongs to both of us.
I should move. I should start my day. Instead, I lie there, caught in the weight and heat of him, and let myself soak in the feeling for just a little longer.
The slow, relentless way he pushed inside, the way he knew exactly how to make me come apart. The way he held me after,chest solid against my back, quieting my head like nothing else has in years.
The room lies in that deep gray that settles just before dawn. I shift, careful not to break the way his arm is draped across my waist. In the dim light, his face has lost its hard edges, smoothed into something almost boyish. Dark lashes rest against his cheeks. His lips part just enough for each warm exhale to fan across my skin, stirring the fine hairs there.
The sight hooks something deep inside me, the kind of tug I’m not ready to examine.
How many people have seen him like this? Felt his weight pressed along their back, known the heat of his skin in the quiet hours before the day begins, to watch him soften?
A twist of heat coils low in my stomach, sharp and uninvited. I have no right to feel it, but it lingers.
For a moment, I let myself imagine staying here until the sun rises, letting the weight of him keep the rest of the world away. It is almost easy to believe this is more than one night.
But the thought unravels fast, replaced by something colder.
Bradley.
My stomach plummets, and acid stings the back of my throat as last night comes back in brutal clarity. The way his face went pale when I caught him, the split second of guilt before the denial came.
I used to feel bad for wanting more of his time, telling myself I was selfish for missing him. But it had been my gut warning me. Late nights. Sudden changes in plans. His phone always out of reach. I press my palm into my forehead, fighting against the growing headache. The signs were there, and I still clung to him like an idiot.
And then his voice, tinny and furious, spilling out of my phone while Xander held me open and panting. The venom in his words, like I was the one who had destroyed us.
Xander had made him listen. Had pinned me down and given me something Bradley never had. In the moment, it had felt intoxicating, like justice I could feel in my bones. Like claiming a part of myself I didn’t know I had lost.
Now, in the dim quiet, the memory burns hot and sweet all at once.
