Page 271 of Unexpected Heroine

I drag it out as long as we both can stand, teasing her until she’s exactly where I want her—desperate and eager to comply.

With my tip barely inside her, I swirl my hips, edging her further. After placing a kiss on her ankle, I hoist up the other leg and squeeze both calves firmly against my chest. As I move her legs closer together, her channel narrows, making her tighter.

One powerful slam turns into two and three. Her tits bounce and jiggle with the force of my thrusts.

Then I stop again.

Eyes locked on mine, she juts her lower lip. “Please, babe. Please. Oh my god. Please, please, please.”

She called me babe again. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve heard that before today. It’s another one of those gifts I never thought I’d receive again.

Gently this time, I inch in, not even halfway before withdrawing. “What is it, Lettie? Tell me what you want.”

“You. Inside me. Get all the way inside me. I can’t take the teasing anymore. Please fuck me. Hard and fast. Don’t stop.”

My lips find her left ankle for another delicate kiss. I bend at the waist to get closer to her. Not all the way since I bet her ribs are still sore.

“Sugar bear, I’ll fuck you exactly like you want, and I’ll do it immediately after you do one thing for me.”

Her face relaxes, head tilting back with relief. “Oh my gosh. Yes. What?”

“Tell me you’re mine and I’m yours. Tell me this isn’t just fucking. This means something.”

Her cheeks fill with air for a second before she slowly lets them deflate. “I want to do that, but I won’t cave to sexual manipulation.” She skewers me with a severe glare. “You said you would take care of my needs, remember? Right now, that’s all I can agree to. We haven’t fixed our issues yet.”

My shoulders roll forward, and my head tilts down. A tightness starts in my chest, quickly sinking to the bottom of my gut.

Fucking hell. She’s right.

I’ve been so blinded by my desire to reclaim her that I failed to realize what I was doing.

Sex isn’t a tool. This isn’t a game.

Lettie might still love me, but I’ve hurt her too much for her to give in this easily. I haven’t earned her heart yet. Her warmth. Her devotion.

I can’t force her to forgive me and wipe the slate clean. No matter how much I want to.

I’m not a fucking monster.

Knowing this now, I have two choices. Neither of them appealing to me.

Choice one, I simply fuck her, removing all traces of this ownership power game I’ve unwittingly begun playing. Essentially, let her use my body the way I promised so I can see to her physical needs. But in the process, I must remove my heart. It can’t mean what I want it too. Not if she’s not in it for the same reasons.

Choice two, the sex ends. For now. If I can’t give her my body and nothing more, then I shouldn’t be doing it at all. She’s been clear about what she can give. I have no right to demand more.

Her breathing evens out, breasts no longer heaving. They’re no less enticing, though.

The idea of leaving without finishing this act—even if I’m the only one of us who views it as making love—is beyond painful. It isn’t merely the physical release I crave so ardently. It’s the emotional reconnection. The healing, soothing the ever-present ache I’ve had since she left me. In fact, the ache was there long before. It wasn’t as acute, but it was there.

Not just since she was taken and hurt.

It’s always been there.

Because I wasn’t me. I was James Harris. A figment of imagination. A work of fiction.

The last time I was inside her, she wasn’t making love to me. It was him.

It fucking sucks, yet I know which choice I have to make.

---