Page 101 of Justice for Radar

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, and he thrust inside me, hard, my hips barking against the edge of the mattress, the slip and slide of him against my walls making my knees weak.

His first few thrusts were hard, and deep. Absolute in a way that screamed that he owned me, and he did. Heart, mind, and soul – our bond growing stronger every day.

“Mm, you feel so fucking good,” he declared, and I very nearly melted from the praise.

“Yeah?” I asked, breathy.

“Mm-hm, I’ve been thinking about you all fucking day, baby. Just like this, balls deep inside you,” he whispered, his body flush against mine, his cock moving inside me as he ground back and forth against me.

Oh, God, yes!I lived for when he did this. His cock hitting all the right spots, edging me closer and closer.

“You like that?” he demanded.

“Yes!” I gasped. “You know I like it, you know I love it!”

“Yeah, I like it too, I like it when you write for me, I like it when you moan for me, tell me you were a good girl while I was gone and I’ll make you come for me,” he said.

“I was a good girl!” I gasped after a moment or two of just indulging in him, feeling him, reveling in having him home and inside me.

“Were you a good girl?” he teased.

“Yes!”

“You drank your water?”

“Yes!”

“You ate your meals?”

“Yes!”

“You touched yourself?” he asked.

“Ye- No!” I cried, falling into his trap.

“Yes?” he demanded.

“No!” I cried.

“Yes?” he asked again.

“No!”

He laughed and bowed over my back and leaning over me, hand back in my hair, hand delved down deep in front of my body between me and the bed he touched my clit.

“That’s my good girl,” he growled and he drove into me, riding me, and teased my clit with his fingertips in just the way I liked until I came wailing, trembling so badly I would have surely fallen had he not been holding me up against the bed with the press of his own body.

God, yes! I lived for these moments. I lived for these times we were together. I lived for doing the whole domesticated bliss thing with and for him. For learning how to cook his favorite things from him in the kitchen, just like his mother used to make. For laying against him on the couch as he vegged out after a long day at the computer tracing criminals. For being patient with him as he worked on withdrawing from the whole bounty hunter thing and turned toward his passion which was private investigation. For being his rock at the end of the day as much as he was mine each and every day.

I lived, I laughed, and I loved every moment of this with him and with his club – the extended family I had always wanted but had never had.

I loved how after he made me come this way, he stripped slowly and lovingly out of his denim and leathers. How he stripped me carefully and sweetly out of my own clothing, and how he took me all over again, fucking me slowly, sweetly, teasing another orgasm from me, before taking his own.

Finally, it was my everything to lay beside him, limbs tangled, head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and the tale of how this last manhunt or investigation went.

It was everything to have him play with my hair, to kiss my forehead absently during the retelling, and listening to the soothing comfort of his voice as he made me laugh, made me quiet, and made me think things through and figure out the little puzzle or lesson held in each hunt.

“What about you?” he would always ask. “What did you get done?”

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