Page 108 of Tender Heart
He slams into me. When he’s seated fully, he hesitates.
I turn my head, looking back. His finger falls from my mouth as it opens.
“Take me, then,” I hiss.
I’m so wound up, every inch he takes, every thrust I am sure will tip me over the edge. Rolling my hips, I try to take him deeper. To move. Something.
With a sharp tug on my hair and a hand under one arm, I’m pulled to my knees. “So needy, baby girl.”
My head falls back onto his shoulder, and his hand in my hair loosens.
“You make me that way.”
With a feral groan, he thunders into me.
Slick need coats my inner thighs, running down my skin. Each powerful thrust is perfect. Delicious.
I move a hand, letting my fingers fall over my clit.
The bed rocks, creaking as it shunts over the floor, the headboard hitting the wall. The slightest brush of my fingers over that sensitive nub between my legs, and I’m trembling.
“No,” Cal growls, his hands finding mine. He raises them over my head, holding my wrists with one hand, the other returning to my hip.
He thunders into me. His hot breath hits my neck. Every inch of me is a lit fuse. Sweat trickles down my stomach, rolling down my spine. A hot tongue licks the bead from my neck, and I shudder. The flicker of something sublime explodes in my center and I whimper. Breathlessly, I cry out.
“Don’t you dare, Evie.”
I lean back into him and his movements slow.
With a brief kiss to my neck, he whispers something I don’t understand.
“Beannachd leat, a nighean milis.”
He’s turning me around before the next heartbeat. I fall back onto the bed. Gripping his cock, he pumps his release over my stomach. The low rumble seeping through his parted lips as his eyes burn right through me takes the tentative breath from my lungs.
Something is off. A tiny crack in our happiness facade. The one we have carefully curated, despite the unspoken rule we wouldn’t be something meaningful to the other. Ships in the night that even the Fresnel above us couldn’t find.
“No, Cal . . .”
His face curls with something painful and involuntary. He’s off the bed a second later.
I lie, watching him walk to the bathroom and fail to draw a useful lungful.
Never have I ever been so desperate or so floored by a silent plea. It screams volumes.
He’s already pulling away.
And it’s my fault.
Twenty-Nine
CALLUM
The little pout on Evie’s face as she chops ingredients for dinner tonight pushes a smile up on mine. I jot down the metrics from the weather for this week, scanning the pattern that cycles through the spring and summer seasons.
She’s been pissy at me all day.
I know why.
