Page 107 of Ashley & the A-Listers

With Dylan.

Ashley grinned, stroking Dylan’s back and sides, and urged him on as he fucked her.

Each thrust shifted her on the bed, and she couldn’t help but chuckle, happy and delirious over her bond—her mate.

The press of him inside her, above her, around her, within her was intoxicating in ways she didn’t know were possible.

Her legs were still shaky from the first two orgasms, and Ashley could do little else than curve a leg around his back, arching into him.

He mouthed at her shoulder and held her close as he drove into her, his breaths ragged and hot against her skin.

“Dylan,” she panted, the syllables of his name broken by a thrust. She felt it, the knot of him swelling at his base, the nudge of it against her.

She tensed, but he made no moves to press harder against her. His pace stayed the same, but he shifted, adjusting his angle. He paused for a moment, laying the gentlest of kisses to her skin, her new mark.

Then he unthreaded his arms from around her and planted them on either side of her head.

His gaze was dark, lips curled. “Happy now?”

Ashley nodded, and felt the same burst of satisfaction from him. There was no hiding from each other any longer. There was no more bare one could be before another person than through their bond.

“I am, too,” he said softly, and kissed her as if they’d kissed a million times, and not as if Ashley could still count them on one hand.

Dylan began to move again, and with his new leverage he drove his hips into her, grinding low and deep so his knot brushed against her clit on every thrust.

Her nails bit into his shoulder blades as she hung on, sucking her lower lip between her teeth to muffle herself.

She was floating on the high of the bond, and each surge of him inside her only took her higher.

It was heat and pressure and a promise turned corporeal as it swelled and threaded through her until the only thing she could feel was Dylan.

She rocked into him, chasing his knotagainsther if she couldn’t have it inside of her. Pleasure flared through her, settling low, the warmth expanding, pressing like it neededout.

“Dylan,” she warned, holding onto him as if he were the only thing anchoring her here.

“Yes,” he breathed, hips stuttering for a split second before his rhythm returned. “Come on, come with me.”

As if it were his permission she sought—in his dreams—that was all she needed. He thrust into her, ground his hips as if heknew,brushing his knot against her in just the right way to set her off.

She came, and it was everything it always should’ve been.

23. THE GAME

DYLAN

Dylan came to consciousness with a face full of dark hair, Ashley’s scent bright on his palette, the echoes of copper on his tongue.

He clutched her closer, peace welling within him for the first time in… years.

Then he recognized the echo, felt the dull, barely-there ache in his shoulder, and his eyes snapped open.

His face was buried in the back of Ashley’s neck as he spooned her, hair sticking to the shadow on his cheeks and getting in his mouth.

He inhaled once and sucked in a lungful of her scent, and something in his chest loosened as he realized he’d always carry a little part of her with him.

He squeezed her tightly and just as he was about to pull away, a repetitive chime sounded from a phone nearby.

Ashley grumbled, twitched, and froze.

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