Page 38 of Wicked and Bound

She couldn’t fit all of him, not in a single thrust. But they moved together, driven by the need to not merely join but to connect. He couldn’t hide his clawing need to be one with her any more than she could deny the yearning firing her blood to feel him deep. His expression—like he’d die without her—sent her desire spiraling to a euphoric place where she could only feel him, could only taste his passion, could only smell his lust, could only hear his ragged demands mingling with her pounding heartbeats.

Everything between them dwindled to this moment where all she knew was Nash and the insane ecstasy straining for freedom inside her, about to rip off its chain.

“Oh, my god!” She flailed, frantic to get her arms around him, to pull him close. “I’m… I’m?—”

“Going to come? Fuck.” He pummeled his way inside her again. “Fuck. Yes… Yes! Do it. Now!”

Haisley couldn’t have stopped the orgasm from sweeping over her if she tried. The sensations converged between her legs, then burst, pulsing the drugging opium of ecstasy through her body. It ricocheted from her fingers and toes back to her pussy, which throbbed and contracted and lit up with the kind of pleasure that not only had her screaming her throat hoarse, but dismantled every bit of the facade she’d constructed since she’d been forced to the island.

As Haisley’s orgasm subsided, it wasn’t a blissful glow that took its place. Under Nash’s shuddering, growling body was therawest form of Haisley. No defenses. No pretenses. No way to stop the gush of tears as he let go and exploded inside her.

Gradually, his harsh thrusts slowed, then stopped. His heart raced against hers as more tears spilled.

What the hell had just happened? What was he thinking? And where did this leave them?

Haisley closed her stinging eyes and turned her face away, even as she felt her pussy still clamping in gentle aftershocks around his slowly softening cock.

Nash grabbed her chin and tugged. “Look at me.”

She was afraid to. He’d stripped her so bare… What would he see in her eyes? Her confusion? A love that defied explanation? Or the shattering secret she’d been keeping from him for two long years?

“No.” She didn’t dare. Everything between them was already complicated enough.

Haisley felt his disappointment before he slowly withdrew and rolled away, leaving her trembling and exposed.

“Shower. Now.” He hauled her to her feet, his touch much gentler than his voice.

She stumbled to the bathroom on shaky legs, the mirror reflecting a stranger back at her—wide-eyed, pale, marked by his hands, claimed by his body.

Nash followed, turning on both the water and the sound system to cover their words before he shoved her in the shower stall and followed.

He planted his face in her neck. “I’m sorry. Gray was?—”

“Don’t.” She jerked away, shaking her head. “Don’t touch me.”

She couldn’t take it without falling apart.

His eyes hardened, not with menace but with a firmness that willed her to understand. And logically, she did. But tonightproved that no matter which face he wore or which persona he portrayed, he had entirely too much power over her.

It terrified her almost more than anything else.

“Stop fighting. Stand still.” He grabbed a bougie bottle of shower gel and washed her from shoulders to toes before he whispered in her ear, “Let me make you feel good.”

Before she could say a word, he covered her pussy with his soapy hand and rubbed until she gasped and clawed, clinging to him as she fell over the edge of ecstasy again, shuddering in his arms.

As she came down from her second soul-stripping surrender, she closed her eyes, focused on the spray pelting her burning skin and not his achingly gentle, excruciatingly perceptive touch.

By the time he turned off the shower and wrapped her in a towel, she felt drained. And so very lost.

Back in bed, Nash pulled her against him. She stiffened, terrified he’d get under her skin and steal more of her soul. But she didn’t resist. She couldn’t. Appearances had to be maintained. But every point of contact felt amplified. His hand on her hip, meant to look possessive for their audience, felt like a brand. His breath against her neck made her want to scream. To sob in confusion.

Damn it, she was breaking apart, splintering inside. He’d seemingly used her body like a prop in his performance, and she’d still given herself over to him with barely a whimper. He certainly hadn’t tried to moderate, much less explain, before he’d stripped her down and seduced her. Why didn’t she have any defenses against this man?

Because, no matter what, he owned her heart.

God, was this what their relationship had come to? Him, stripping her down to her naked soul while he made all the decisions about her body, her safety, her life? This violation felt more invasive than his catfishing. Far more. That had beenabout getting close to her. This had been about using her, however noble his intentions. And yet…she’d still given all of herself—body and heart—to him.

She was a fool.

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