Page 58 of The SEAL's Duchess
He didn’t move—couldn’t—as she stripped him down to want and the truth he couldn’t dodge, that this wasn’t like anything else.
She lifted onto her knees, giving him room to shove his jeans down. Then he dug into the pocket with fingers clumsy from need, the foil packet crinkling loud.
Her brows arched. “Planned ahead?”
“Fucking Caleb,” he muttered. “Don’t ask.”
Her laugh slid right through his chest—light and easy after the storm of everything else, it cut through the intensity wound tight inside him.
He tore the wrapper with his teeth, rolled the condom on with shaking hands.Actually fucking shaking.
Three years of celibacy. Three years of convincing himself he didn’t want this, didn’t need this. And now Ivy was about to blow all of that to nothing.
She rose higher, and when she sank down onto him, they both gasped.
Christ.
Tight. Hot. Wet.
The slow, deliberate way she took him had his vision whiting out at the edges.
He let her set the pace, too damn aware of her bruised ribs. She started slow, deliberate, every roll of her hips driving the breath from his lungs.
It wasn’t just his body she was taking. She was reaching into the parts of him locked down since Miranda left.
Her nails dug into his shoulders as she adjusted, rolling her hips, testing, and then again, harder. She panted and bit her lip as if she was holding back a sound.
“Fuck,” he ground out, his hands clamping to her hips.
“Let me,” she whispered, voice rough with want.
Two words.Let me.
She was waiting for him.
So he did. He let go.
Her rhythm grew more sure, faster, and his control fractured. He bucked into her, a groan tearing out of his chest, brutal and helpless. His fingers dug into her flesh, hard enough to leave prints.
She leaned down, kissed him messy and gasping, teeth hitting his. All that was left was surrender. She saw it. He knew she did because her eyes darkened with understanding.
“That’s it,” she murmured against his mouth. “Let me see you.”
Her pace picked up, and he was gone. Lost in her heat, in the sound of her breath, in the way she refused to let him hide behind the careful control he’d built his life on. She rode him as though she was his and he was hers.
Maybe that was exactly what this was.
She clenched around him. Head back, mouth open, his name ripped from her—and fuck, that was it.
His hands slid up to cup her breasts, weight and softness filling his palms like they’d been molded for him.
Her skin was damp with sweat, glowing in the firelight, and every grind of her hips turned him inside out.
She was so goddamn beautiful it hurt. And he couldn’t look away.
Ryder followed her.
A primal sound ripped from his chest.
