Page 35 of Dirty Ginger

She heard the rattle of his belt buckle, the thud of his wallet hitting the floor and the crinkling of the condom wrapper open all before she heard the clicking of his cowboy boots as he moved in closer to her. The heat of his body and the strength of him infused the air as he captured her chin in his grip.

His low groan shivered down her spine as he slid between her thighs, finding her soaked and ready with his hand. He growled in her ear before he was filling her. Inch by inch, he stretched her until she was utterly filled by him.

His hand slid to the back of her neck, holding tight, but the grip felt right, dominating in the best possible way as his other hand gripped her hip. And something even more than that. Something so familiar and perfect and safe that she never wanted to let go of it. He pulled back, inch by inch, just as slow, letting her body mold to him. And only when he moved in slow and easy, both their soft moans echoing each other, did his fingers tighten on her neck and hip.

Then he unleashed himself.

His intensity felt like years’ worth of buildup and desperation on the very edge of exploding. She bit her bottom lip, desperate to keep from screaming against the pleasure pulsating within her. Her legs began trembling with the force of his cock pumping hard and fast inside her, building more and more pressure until those trembles turned into hard quakes.

“You’re quivering on me,” he growled against her mouth. “It’s so damn hot.”

“Please,” she managed.

His thrusts never stopped, one after the other, driving up into her, as one hand came to her breast. His fingers tight against her nipple. The other hand went between her thighs, the pressure she craved suddenly met by his finger pressed against her clit. She froze against the intensity, and she fell into his touch.

All that pleasure built to uncontrollable limits, and she clenched her teeth, sex, everything against the rising euphoria.

He grunted. Deep. “Jesus, you’re tight. Fucking hell…”

But she wanted her turn. She pushed on his chest, sending him back and jumped off the counter, spinning around, remembering how much he used to like taking her from behind. She heard the low rumble from his chest at the view of her wiggling hips. He slid behind her and she found the tip of him, and she slowly took him in, inch by inch, his throaty moan echoing hers.

She sensed him widening his stance as she began to move, slowly dragging herself over his smooth hardness. Until she found a rhythm that brought pleasure. Skin slapped against skin, and their moans danced together as she took him deep. She sped up, moving harder and faster, but failed to get there. She whimpered against the rise of the pleasure, but the cliff was so far away.

A deep grunt rose from low in his chest before he slapped her bottom, bringing more heat to where she wanted to soar. She gasped as he threaded his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back so he could murmur in her ear, “Finish with me.”

Then he did the most unexpected thing of all, he unleashed himself in a way she’d never experienced before. Not with any man, not even with Beckett before. Pounding thrusts had his sac brushing against her, pleasure building in places she didn’t know pleasure belonged.

His fingers tightened on her hips, and he went even harder, sending her right over the edge, shattering her body until she couldn’t remember where she began and he ended. His cock grew harder and bigger inside her, making her eyes water as the pleasure became blinding as his thrusts became harder. Faster. Urgent. Wild. Yes, this felt good, anything this good couldn’t be bad, couldn’t be wrong. Beckett was big, filling her, stretching her, and when as he went faster and harder, becoming unhinged, his raspy moan echoed hers.

Until there was no beginning to the pleasure and no ending, only wave after wave of pure satisfaction as she broke apart around him, vaguely aware of his bucking and jerking as he followed her over the edge.

Then the doorbell rang.

“Shit,” she breathed.

He nipped her shoulder, still deep inside her. “We can ignore it.”

The doorbell rang again.

“I’m expecting a delivery today for ingredients for those samples,” she said. He cursed and slowly withdrew. She spun around and quickly dressed, but first enjoyed his desire-filled gaze. “More later,” she told him, when he silently watched her with a heated stare, burning her up where she stood.

His brow arched. “You bet your pretty ass we’ll do this again later.”

She questioned her sanity walking away for that when she hurried to the front door. She got there on the third ring, but nothing could have prepared her for who stood on the other side.

“Hey,” Luka said.

She noted the bruising still looked terrible, and his nose was in no better shape. “Luka, um, hi,” she managed. But in that second of seeing him again, everything felt wrong. She felt wrong. The pain on his face felt wrong. The shame in his eyes felt wrong, wrong, wrong.

The door was gently taken and pulled back as a re-dressed Beckett settled in next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Hello Luka,” he said, cool and collected, even though his gaze was deadly. “What brings you by?”

Luka went ghost white. He glanced between Amelia and Beckett before he cleared his throat and said clearly, “I came by to let you know that I dropped the charges.” To Beckett, he added, “I did that for her, not for you.”

Beckett snorted. “You did that so you could take her money, don’t kid yourself.”

Luka’s lips parted, but Beckett turned his back to Luka. Surprising her, he took her chin and kissed her. Not a small peck goodbye, but a hard, dominating kiss that left her a little winded when he backed away. “I’ll see you later.”

Amelia wobbled a little. “Um, yes, okay, see you later.”

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