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Her orgasms peak and crash, one after the other. But I’m nowhere near done. I turn her around, falling into the seat and planting my feet on the floor. I position her so her soles rest on my knees. Becca bounces and turns her hips as I thrust, each slide in and out accelerating our frantic efforts.

I expect to last longer. But between this position, her cries of pleasure, and the way the sounds of our lovemaking echo in the expanse of the large suite, I don’t. Not this time.

Becca wanted to forget about this day. I wanted her to only know the good we have and passion we’re just barely touching upon.

I spend the night showing her that I only want her to know love and kindness, now, and forever.

Chapter Twenty-One

Becca

Hale is on top of me, gripping the headboard to pound harder.

“More,” I beg. “Please don’t stop.”

I fasten my ankles around his lower back and drive him deeper. He doesn’t need my help; he’s doing well enough. Three orgasms in and another one building, I can barely speak, my body swimming with raw desire.

His speed quickens, giving me more, and more, and more.

We smile wickedly. This sex is hot! I should be pulling away from him to taste his rigid staff. But I take the passion he’s giving me and bask in it, enjoying the much-needed distraction and the unending bouts of pleasure.

He flips me onto my knees, positioning me so my hands grip the frame to keep me situated. His feet land on either side of my thighs as he crouches and increases the speed of his thrusts.

I unravel, allowing the tears of bliss to replace the ones that burned permanent scars yesterday.

I won’t attend the funeral. That’s what I told my cousin, Matthew, and his wife when they chased me out to the car. As much as Matthew wasn’t there for me throughout my life, he seemed to care enough about what Daddy said and what it did to me. For the briefest second, I thought he’d try to talk me out of it or maybe even insult me.

Bitch move, right? Not going to your own father’s funeral?

No, sometimes the bitch is the one dying bitter and alone.

They nodded. I drove away, wishing I didn’t sob the entire ride back here.

I drove along the wooded road, with the emergency brake still engaged. I wish I cared enough to release it, but nothing mattered then, except reaching Hale. Like I hoped, he was exactly everything I needed.

He clutched me in his arms, kissed my face, and allowed me to spill every bit of my misery. As much as I cried, those tears I shed for him, when he told me about his time with his brothers, were more important.

No. Hale is more important. He always was.

My core clenches around him, the spasms quivering my thighs painfully delightful.

“Fuck,” Hale curses, filling me.

The warmth and release he delivers makes me moan louder. “Fuck,” he says, again.

He slows his pace gradually. I wait for him to harden again as he strokes in and out. As wonderfully tender as I am from all our love-making these past few hours, I’m not quite sated.

Trin once told me sex can be healing. I never quite understood her until now. And, my, couldn’t I benefit from more healing?

I don’t expect my arms to be as weak as they are. Hale catches me when he pulls out and my grip on the frame loosens abruptly.

He draws me to him, kissing my neck. “You okay?”

I watch the way his large hands cup my breasts, my skin slippery from the perspiration gathered beneath them.

“You’re just what I needed,” I admit quietly.

My head is heavy from stress and maybe from more than I care to admit.

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