Page 190 of Tell Me Something True

“Show me,” she whispered, arching her back more, her breasts heavy and aching. Her pussy throbbing. “Make me yours.”

Breathing like a racehorse, he shifted to the side and lifted one knee onto the mattress, setting it next to her hip, then placed his left hand next to her head.

She wanted to cry again. Because, while he was angled over her, he’d made sure that she wasn’t trapped beneath him, leaving her plenty of room on her other side to roll away if she needed to.

And this was even better than when he’d been standing. Because she now felt him, his heat and his knee pressed against her hip and his other leg brushing against her pussy. The slight sting in her scalp when his fingers curled, grabbing the loose ends of her hair. Because she smelled him, the mixed scents of his arousal and cologne and sweat.

Because even though he was masturbating and she wasn’t touching him, she felt connected to him all the same.

So connected, she saw his orgasm build in the way his body undulated as he fucked his hand. In the way his abs tensed, those ridges sharpening. Sensed he was only moments away by his blown pupils and ragged breathing.

And because she felt so connected to him, because she was such a good girl for him, she did what she thought he’d want her to do.

She held his gaze and opened her mouth. Wide.

He groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head.

And then, finally, he let go.

“Mine,” he roared as he came, the first of his release hitting her chin. “Mine, mine, mine.”

It landed on her throat. Her chest. Her breasts.

He covered her in it.

Coated her.

Marked her.

Claimed her.

But he hadn’t needed to make such a mess of her to make her his.

She already was.

She was his.

And she always would be.

Chapter 37

Miles collapsed to his side next to her, the tip of his wet cock sticking to her outer thigh, his breathing heavy.

Tabitha wanted to lower her arms. To slide her fingers through his dark hair. To soothe him as he recovered from his orgasm. To get back some of that connection they’d had only moments ago.

She didn’t move.

Couldn’t. She was frozen, her heart in her throat, her head spinning.

The man had barely touched her and somehow, he’d still managed to shake loose her last remaining truth.

This was her own fault for pushing him. For insisting they move forward.

She’d asked for something big enough, explosive enough to break their old patterns.

And it had blown up in her face.

She knew better than to mess around with the truth, and she’d gone and fucked with it anyway.

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