Page 122 of Illicit Temptation

“So fucking wet.” He sits up and slides back into me. “Christ, Shea,” Trace grunts, watching his cock impale me. “I’m going to come. Don’t worry. I’ve got so much more for you. I’m gonna fuck you all night.”

I’m a dead woman.

Trace fucks me and comes, a growling roar tearing from his throat. The pressure on my clit turns unbearable, and my womb convulses. It doesn’t stop.

“Fuck, there’s so much,” Trace says, emptying his balls inside me as I spasm around his shuddering cock.

I lose track as we sway to his thrusting. My body absorbs each thrust, dancing in perfect rhythm, a beautiful syncing of our bodies.

And our souls.

Trace pulls out and lays his weight on top of me. “You were so good, love.” He curls our joined hands together under his chin, gently kissing the skin. “You fuck your husband so damn good.”

“Trace,” I whisper, choking up.

“Oh no, princess. Don’t cry.”

“I love you.” I waited until I could say it on my terms.

Trace goes stock still, and I feel awful. He’s been alone in these feelings for me for so long. Ever the warrior, I can tell he’s ready to fall apart, but he keeps his shit together.

“I know you do. I didn’t expect you to give in and say so if it meant you’d get fucked harder, though.” He knows me so well.

“What happens now?” I ask, being vague, given the wide berth of problems we have.

“Now, we rest. In a few minutes, I’m going to lick your pussy until you come a few more times. Then I’m going to fuck you again.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Trace

Two days and nights of endless fucking later, I rouse from a deep sleep to Shea jumping on me in bed, her quivering shriek in my ear. “Trace! Wake up!”

I grab my gun and twist around pulling her into my arms. “What, love?”

“Someone’s outside.”

I hold her against my chest and peer out the window to see what the hell she means. My heart rate slows, seeing a man wearing gray cargo pants and a leather jacket get out of a silver pick-up truck.

“Love...” I push my face into hers. “That’s our ride. You’re safe.”

Cursing under her breath, she pulls away from me. “You didn’t tell me he was coming this morning. Or it would be so early.”

“He’s a busy man, I guess this was the only time he could do it,” I say, hiding my frustration that Rowan chose the break of dawn.

After pulling on sleep shorts, I go into the main room and open the door.

“Rowan Masters,” I greet him, my gun still in my grasp, held so tightly, I might have broken a finger as well as my ankle to get to the window to see what had my tough girl shaking in her knickers.

“The cargo plane will be ready to leave in three hours,” he says, and it’s hard not to see Ian when I look in his eyes. Typical Irish twins, he and Ian. “Alo, lass.”

I step in front of Shea, my nerves on edge. My insecurities crawl under my skin like they’re made of barbed wire.

Turning around, I hiss out to her, “Get dressed.”

Fuck, she looks amazing in just my T-shirt. But no one sees what’s mine.

“Trace,” Rowan snaps, knocking me from ogling my wife.

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