Page 70 of The Chance

Navy blue eyes pop wide and terrified, unfocused and darting around until they finally settle on me.

“Mac,” he croaks out on a rasp that yanks my heart strings, and he shoots upright, crushing me in his arms. “Fuck, you’re okay.”

He’s shaking and clinging to me and my eyes burn for real when he keeps repeating the same thing.

You’re here. Fuck, you’re okay.

Like it’s arelief.

“I’m here,” I reassure him, my arms draping around his shoulders, my unbandaged hand finding his hair and fisting the strands. “I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs thickly into my neck, his lips dragging over my already too-fast pulse.

His words ease into a kiss along the thick vein, his tongue sneaking out to run the line down to my collarbone.

I shiver when his path leads back up to behind my ear, his breath still rushing out of him like part of him is stuck in the dream.

“Tell me you’re real, Vida,” he rasps. “Fuck, show me you’re real.” His teeth clamp onto my earlobe, sending shockwaves straight to my balls, and my grip tightens.

“I’m right here,” I murmur into his hair, mouth dropping open when he continues assaulting my neck.

His arms loosen their strangling hold on me, and I’m prepping myself to release him when his hands find my ass and squeeze.

“Show me.”

The ache inside my chest ignites when he drags my hips forward, grinding us together.

“Please.”

It catches, burning hotter than orange coals at the thick plea cresting his lips.

“I need to feel you.”

That feeling becomes a raging inferno that obliterates all that I am and replaces me with a version that grinds right back against my bodyguard’s rigid cock.

All reservations vanished, vanquished alongside my need to reassure him.

“Tell me how,” I mutter, leaning back just enough to catch his blown gaze.

“More,” he breathes, his fingers dipping into the waistband of my shorts and tugging until my ass is free and his palms touch skin.

Gasping, I tug his hair when his fingers inch closer toward my crack, press my open mouth against his as the tips knead around my sensitive flesh, dipping closer and closer to the rim.

“More.”

A tip taps my hole, and I nearly shoot from his lap.

My gasps feed down his throat, his tongue snaking out to capture them and drag them back into his mouth.

I’m half aware that I should remind him about lube for that wandering finger when he pulls away, making me whine at the sudden chill that sets in.

“Open,” he demands on a pant against my mouth and before I can ask what the fuck he means, he’s shoving that finger between my lips, chasing the taste of his salty skin with his tongue.

Together, we wet the digit with sloppy kisses.

I’m not prepared when he pulls back just enough to shove a second one in, fucking them both in and out of my mouth.

It’s provocative and downrightdirtyenough that I nip at the pads and shiver when he pulls them free.

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