Page 83 of Heston
She didn’t get the chance to answer before he slid home again, so, so deep. She closed her eyes. Heston and she werehere. They werenow. Only them. Sweating and earnestly striving to stay together—as one. Locked in each other’s arms forever.
London was afraid to blink. If she did, her nearly overflowing tears would stream down her temples, and Heston would stop, and—
His forehead dropped to hers, which meant he’d seen and now he’d back off. But he didn’t. Instead, Heston took her mouth by storm, kissed her long, hard, and thoroughly. They breathed the same air. He feasted on her lips and tongue and… gradually, the fear that had interfered with their pleasure subsided. Heston was right. All she had to do was focus on the feel of his muscularthighs flush against her backside and his cock, hot and thick, inside.
A voracious hunger flared for this man. For his heart. Her body knew his, and right then, his body was keeping her soul alive.
Fireworks crackled with heat. The rub. The friction! London squeezed her eyes shut as pure, hedonistic pleasure rolled up her spine. The fierce masculinity Heston offered was her undoing. She crashed, just fell into the moment and came in a blinding white light. A new life. A new beginning. Together. There was nothing else worth chasing or remembering. Nothing but… this. Just them.
They were going to make it.
“Three!” Heston huffed triumphantly.
Dazed, London opened her eyes. Her breath caught at the sight of the man crouched between her legs. Dark, shiny hair hung into his eyes. Tiny beads of sweat dotted his brow as he chased his release. He hadn’t found his release yet, but he was hilt deep and pushing deeper, the veins on his lower abdomen dark and pronounced, his callused fingertips digging into her butt cheeks. Heston owned her and that was everything she’d ever wanted.
At last, London understood what Heston Contreras owning her meant. Not servitude. Not domination or that he thought he was better and smarter than her. Not this man. All London saw was Heston’s unadulterated adoration of her. This was him worshipping her body and loving her as a woman. His woman.
Heston withdrew gently, then slammed home, making her very feminine boobs bounce and her too-big womanly ass jiggle. He spread his much larger, harder body over hers, leaned forward and, still cupping her butt, he took her mouth sweetly. Earnestly.
Heat speared her body. Her toes curled. The erotic sounds of steaming hot male flesh slapping wanton female flesh was the music her heart needed. She loved giving herself to Heston. Always had. Wanted so badly for him to come with her. This would make four—for her. The first for him. The knowledge that he’d held back to satisfy her was too much.
“We’re going to make it, Hes,” London whispered, listening to the music of her man’s body loving hers.
Heston Contreras was magnificent. He was darkness, but he was also light. Her light. The epitome of strength, but also gentle. Best of all—he was here and he was hers. His pace quickened. He knew what he was doing. With his fingertips digging into her hips, he slammed forward. Tilting his chin upward, he stilled, then roared his release to the ceiling.
He was planted so deep, London wasn’t sure where his body ended and hers began. They were both humming the same melody of sex. Of love.
The pad of his thumb traced the sweaty crease where their bodies were joined. “What a view,” he panted. His warm hands smoothed beneath her, gently mapping the curves of her butt. “This pretty ass is mine, London. All mine. So you need to get over yourself. Because, where this ass goes, I will always follow.” He landed a soft smack to her hip.
That love tap was precisely what she wanted. His hands on her again. In love and in play. That was all those play spankings had ever been about. Not pain. Just them playing. Like naughty kids.
With a grumbly grunt, Heston rolled to his side and took her with him. They settled with their legs tangled, her back to his front, both of them warm and satisfied. Sated.
London pressed her backside against his pelvis, needing to stay as close as she could to the man who’d brought her back to the land of the living. Heston reached down and pulled the sheetover them. She snuggled deeper into the protective curve of his body, loving the smell of his sheets and the scent of sex in the room.
“I’ve always loved you, London,” he rumbled in her ear, easing one arm beneath her neck and the other over her chest and between her breasts.
Her first inclination was to tell him again how sorry she was, but London resisted. Instead, she gave Heston the same thing she needed to heal. “I’ll always love you. Thanks for having my back.”
She could feel his lips curl into a smile in the crook of her neck. “I have your front, too, babe.” He tweaked her nipple to prove it.
That did it. London felt it coming. Knew it was probably inappropriate but did it anyway. She tipped her head onto his broad shoulder and—she laughed. Giggled like she used to after she came, back when they were still new and everything was perfect. Because everything was perfect again.
“That’s my girl!” Heston exclaimed happily, nuzzling his nose into her hair. “I knew you had it in you.”
Crazy man. What he said. How he said it. Of course she’d haditin her. Anditwas a good eight inches of pure Heston. London laughed harder. He laughed with her. They laughed like kids. Because they were kids again, kids who played exceptionally well together.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Heston lay on his back with London gathered under his arm long after she fell asleep. He was wide awake, on guard for no other reason than she might need comforting. Although she hadn’t been sleeping with him, he knew nightmares hounded her every night since she’d come home. He meant to intercept the next one before it got out of hand. That was his job, to protect her from everything, even herself.
Except for the scented plug-in glowing in their bathroom, the house was dark. He’d bought this place as a fixer-upper when he’d first moved to Virginia. Back then, it provided distraction, manual labor, and almost… helped him forget about London. At least, it helped him try to forget. He knew now there was no way he could ever move beyond the love they’d had for each other then. Theirs was a love story for the ages. It would be again. He’d make sure of it.
The way his fact-gathering, very logical, extremely anal mind worked frightened him sometimes. Like now. It kept telling Heston that London would run again, that she’d survived too much neglect as an infant and child at the uncaring hands of her parents. That those years of abuse had a cumulative effect on her, a bow wave of potential dysfunction, so to speak. That everything would catch up with her one day, that she’d fall back on the survival skills she’d been forced to learn as a child, and that everything Heston did wouldn’t be enough to save her. Or them. Obermeyer and his asshole buddies had hurt London more than she realized. Heston worried she’d need more than he could offer. Once bitten, twice shy, and all that.
She moaned in her sleep and splayed her slender fingers over his chest, then up his neck and under his chin. Her hand was damp and sweaty. He needed to tell her Lancaster and his son were dead. That Alex planned to hire her. Maybe then she’d be able to put the incident at Turkey Run River behind her.
Anxious for all the unknowns facing him, Heston eased out from under London and stepped into the bathroom. Closing the door, he settled on the edge of the tub and thumb-dialed the one person in the world he knew would understand.
