Page 128 of The Plus One Contract

When he finally pulls back, lips glistening, chest heaving, I barely get a second to recover before he’s gripping my hips and flipping me onto my stomach. A surprised gasp rips from me as he yanks me up on my knees. Exactly how he wants me.

“Nathan,” I pant, pulse a frantic staccato as his hands glide over my ass, squeezing, owning.

My limbs are boneless, my mind a fog of pleasure so thick that I barely register the rustle of fabric, the shuffle of movement behind me. Somewhere in the haze, I hear him rummage in his bag, the quiet rip of foil that should make this feel real, but my mind is too wrecked to fully comprehend it.

It’s not until I feel him—hot, thick, pressing against me—that his words finally cut through the static.

He leans in, his breath scalding against my ear. “No more pretending.”

With those words, he thrusts.

I almost collapse from the stretch of it, but he keeps me on my knees.

His movements turn rougher, each push of his hips erratic, driven by something deeper than lust. It’s possession. It’s claiming. He’s branding himself into me, making sure I’ll never forget him.

As if that were possible.

He takes my hips in a bruising grip, hauling me back against him as if he needs to crawl under my skin.

“You feel that, Sienna?” he says, one hand on my throat, his other palm pressing firm on my lower stomach right where he’s buried inside me. “Feel me right here?”

A whimper escapes me, my body clenching around him.

Nathan snarls, lips scraping my jaw. “No one else gets to have this,” he growls, driving deeper with a deliberate, punishing thrust. “No one else fucks you like this.”

His words tear a moan from my throat as the pressure coils, my entire being locked on the sensation of him.

Because tonight—just for tonight—he owns me, and I own him.

We can play pretend about that for a little while longer.

He slides his hand between us, finding that spot that makes me see stars. My hips jerk, legs shaking, pleasure building in thick, shuddering waves.

“Come for me, baby,” he rasps, thrusts desperate and messy. “Come while I’m inside you. Let me feel it.”

That’s all it takes. My body convulses, orgasm slamming through me so hard I cry out, nails biting into the skin of his arm. My vision splinters in white, pleasure annihilating every thought.

He jerks, curses, slamming himself deep one last time. A guttural groan rattles his chest as he finds his release, body shaking, heart thundering.

We both collapse, but neither of us moves for a long beat. We just breathe. It’s ragged, uneven, limbs shaking.

Eventually, he shifts, lifting his head to look at me. Gentle fingers brush damp hair from my face with slow, tender strokes. The intimacy of it feels like a punch to the gut. This was never supposed to happen again, but I don’t let go, and neither does he.

He inhales, then scoops me up with him as he stands. I let out a startled noise, legs wrapping around his waist. My entire body’s sore, thighs shaking, but I cling to him anyway, not wanting to lose his warmth.

He carries me into the bathroom, flicking on the shower. Steam billows around us, and still he doesn’t break the eye contact that’s so unnerving.

This isn’t just sex. We’re both past that.

He steps under the spray, his arms around me as water pelts my skin. The heat soothes the ache, washing away sweat and the mess we made. I cling to him, exhaustion mixing with an impossible tenderness.

He gently sets me on my feet, placing his hands on my waist to keep me steady. His expression flickers with something almost pained when he reaches for the soap before starting to wash me.

I watch him, still breathing hard, my body still trying to figure out what the hell just happened between us.

He wasn’t supposed to be like this.

I wasn’t supposed to let him be like this.

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