Page 170 of Beat of Love
His Venus. His goddess of love and beauty.
His woman wantonly splayed out before him, waiting for him.
He met her stare, brilliant green and brimming with unspoken emotion, and slid inside her, joining them physically.
Melding their souls spiritually.
Becoming one with her.
Slick. So fucking slick. He pulled back, and pushed in again, deeper this time, taking a moment to savor the feeling of her surrounding him, holding him captive. Reality exceeded his wildest dreams. “Fuck, Red. You feel so damned good.”
Taking hold of her left leg, he brought that up to his shoulder and, clamping his hands on her thighs, he anchored her to his chest. And started moving, thrusting into her, harder, faster, over and over. His grunts were guttural, her cries wild. The need in him intensified, tightened. “Close, Red. So close,” he gasped.
“Almost,” she gasped back. Moving a hand down, he brushed his thumb over her clit. She convulsed, eyes closed. “Yesss.” A deep flush stained her chest. “More. Harder. There’s more.”
He thrust harder; his movements taking a violent, uncontrolled turn.
A rutting beast, out of control.
This. Her. Twenty years … no,eonsin the making.
His balls tightened. Need surged. “Mine,” he called out.
Brandy-Lyn wailed, and she clamped around him, yanking his orgasm right out of him. It was electrifying, intense pleasureshooting through his body, through his convulsing cock, and emptying into her.
His mind blanked; sight faded; sound stopped.
He toppled forward, collapsing over her.
Seconds, minutes, hours — who the fuckcared? — consciousness returned. “Red. You alive?” he grunted into her neck.
“Hmm.” Something dropped onto his head, raked through his hair. Ah, her hand, fingers.
“That was…” He trailed off, unable to express how overwhelmed he was.
Her nails scraped lazy circles on his scalp. “Yeah,” she sighed.
Rafferty was content to stay exactly where he was, breathing her musky scent, tasting the saltiness of her damp skin.
Feeling the pulse of her vein in her neck against his lips.
The beat of love.
An unbidden memory flooded in. That of a blonde woman hooked up to multiple machines keeping her alive. And later, wires removed, holding her in his arms, feeling the life seep out of her, watching her exhale her last breath.
Charlie’s death had been his fault. His complacency had left her vulnerable, giving his enemy the opportunity to strike. And he had no right, no fucking right dragging Brandy-Lyn into the fresh disaster he’d plummeted in.
There was a woman out there. A true psychopath seeking revenge.
But an impulsive move made in a moment of desperation had dragged her right into the fucking horror show called Rafferty’s Life, placing her squarely in the crosshairs of danger.
Reckless. Selfish.
Those were two words of the many his brother flung his way. And Aidan was right. He was that and so much more. His chesttightened, and he dragged in a breath, but it hurt, burning his lungs.
Fuck, he even turned the air surrounding him toxic.
With a shuddering groan, he lifted his weight from Brandy-Lyn and fled to the bathroom.
