Page 52 of 11 Cowboys
With one hard, hot slide, he fills me, thick and perfect,stretching me until I gasp into his mouth.
He freezes, forehead pressed to mine, body trembling as he fights for control. Maybe the fog has cleared, and he’s realized what he’s doing. Maybe he’s going to pull away.
“Fuck, Grace,” he groans.
“Don’t stop,” I breathe, wrapping my legs tighter around his hips. “Don’t you dare stop.”
And then he moves. Every hard, punishing thrust sends me spiraling, gasping, clinging to him, and we lose ourselves in it. The wet slide of my post-orgasmic pussy, the anger, the heat, the frustration, the chemistry that’s been gnawing at us since the second we met—it explodes in this frantic, desperate rhythm.
I rake my nails down his back, hips rising to meet every brutal snap of his. I kiss him like I want to consume him, like I can swallow the tension and the guilt and the want and somehow make it clean.
The knot inside me coils tighter, tighter, tighter. He presses his hand over my mouth, stifling my cries, whispering hotly against my ear.
“That’s it, darlin’,” he growls. “Take it. Take my fucking dick,” and as I shatter, twitching beneath him, he slows, but only for a beat.
Jaxon lifts his head, sweat dampening the curls at his temples, those dark, fathomless eyes boring into mine like he isn’t done with me yet, and this isn’t nearly enough.
He pulls out slowly, and I moan at the emptiness he leaves behind, then he flips me onto my stomach with a sharp, effortless motion. His hand sprawls across the back of my neck, firmly holding me there like he needs the control, or he’ll come apart.
“On your knees,” he mutters, voice ragged. “Now.”
I obey, half-drunk on release, body lax and humming with everything he’s done to it. I brace my arms and lift my hips, and when he sees the slick mess between my thighs, he lets out a sound I feel in my spine. Low. Possessive. Rumbling.
He doesn’t ease back in. Heplunges, hands gripping my hips hard enough to brand me, dragging me back onto him like he needs me to feel how far gone he is. I cry out, my forehead pressing into the sheets, every inch of me stretched and filled andshaken.
He fucks me like a man trying to burn something out of himself.
Hard, deep, and unrelenting.
As every slap of skin-on-skin echoes through the room, his fingers dig in harder, and I whimper from the force of it and theoverwhelming needhe pours into every thrust.
“You feel that?” he growls. “This is what you do to me, Grace. You ruin me.”
I can’t answer. My mouth is open, but there’s no air. No thoughts. Justsensationand the sharp ache where he slams into me. My scalp stings where his hand tangles in my hair and pulls my head back so he can see my face.
He leans down, chest to my back, breath hot against my ear.
“I can’t be gentle with you,” he whispers, voice shaking. “Don’t ask me to.”
“I won’t,” I gasp. “I don’t want gentle. I wantyou.”
And it breaks him.
His pace turns brutal and savage, each stroke slamming into that sweet, raw place inside me until I’m sobbing his name into the sheets, eyes squeezed shut, fingernails clawing at the mattress.
Pleasure ripples through me again, so violent, blinding, and absolute that my whole body locks, convulsing around him, and still—still—he doesn’t let up.
“Jaxon—” I choke, twisting to look at him.
He growls something that might be my name, and then he’s spilling inside me, hips jerking, his abs tense, arms trembling as he pours himself into me with a sound like a surrender.
We collapse together, breathless and undone. His lips press to the tender place at my nape, his breath gusting hotover my skin. His hand finds mine blindly in the wreckage of damp sheets and sweaty skin, and he squeezes.
It’s a quiet, broken thank-you.
The storm inside me isn’t gone. It never is. But the ache feels a little quieter. I close my eyes and try to catch my breath, focusing on the moment and not what comes next, because what comes next is always a disappointment.
Jaxon shifts, bracing his forearm against the mattress to keep from fully collapsing his weight onto me. His breath is ragged against my throat, warm and uneven. I feel his heart hammering against my ribs, a brutal, frantic rhythm that matches my own.
