Page 196 of Holding On To Good

Sliding his hand under her hip, he angled her up to take him deeper. Set his other hand on her throat, this time the touch gentle as he smoothed his thumb over the fading redness.

Her tears spilled over, running down her temples to disappear into her hair as he pumped into her again and again, his tempo increasing with each breath.

He saw her release in her eyes first, the green of them hazed with pleasure just before she tightened around him. Mouth open, body arched beneath his, she came without a sound, her eyes locked on his.

Letting him see her at her most vulnerable.

At her most beautiful.

He tumbled over the edge with her, giving her the same trust, the same vulnerability she’d given him by keeping his eyes open and on hers.

Letting her see what she did to him.

He came long and hard, wanting to fill her. Wanting to become a part of her.

Until she couldn’t rid herself of him.

He wanted to marry her. He wanted to get her pregnant and watch her belly swell and round with his baby.

He wanted her in his house each day. In his bed at night. He wanted kids and dogs and their business.

He wanted every day with her. All the nights.

He wanted what he’d always wanted, what he’d always been too prideful or stupid or too chickenshit to go after.

Her. Forever.

He collapsed on top of her, arms shaking, legs tight. He didn’t move. At first because he couldn’t, and then, after he’d caught his breath, after the world came back into focus—the air-conditioned chill of the room, the scent of their lovemaking, his dog whining out in the hall—because he was afraid to.

Afraid if he moved, she’d slip out from beneath him and disappear.

That had always been his greatest fear. A life without Willow in it in some way.

Which she always would be. They lived in the same town. Ran a business together. Had history and friendship to tie them together. There wasn’t a scenario he could imagine where she wasn’t a part of his life.

He wasn’t going to lose her.

He’d make sure of it.

But he couldn’t keep her trapped beneath him forever, not when he was more than likely crushing her, so he rose onto his elbows, his heart stuttering to realize she was still crying.

“Hey,” he murmured, the sight of those silent tears streaming from her closed eyes ripping him apart. Leaning his weight to his left, he brushed his right thumb across her damp cheek. “What’s this?”

Shaking her head, she pushed at his chest, wiggling to the side in an attempt to get out from under him.

No, he couldn’t keep her trapped beneath him. Not when she was so anxious to get away from him.

The moment he rolled to his side, she scrambled off the bed. By the time he got to his feet and rounded the bed, she was yanking on her panties, her skin still tinged pink, her pale hair sticking out from where he’d pulled on it.

That mark he’d left still visible on her throat.

His chest constricted. His stomach turned and he had to swallow thickly, twice, before he could speak, but even then, his voice was ragged. “Did I hurt you?”

Stepping into her pants, she shook her lowered head.

It wasn’t enough. He needed the words.

And yeah, he knew how fucked up that was when he never seemed to have the right ones—or enough of them—but he had to hear her say she was okay.

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