Page 71 of Rejected Moons (Rejected Moons 3)

And I do try sincerely. I trace my fingers over his lean, ropy muscles and do my best to forget the ways he’s different from Nate. I wrap my thighs around him, dig my heels into his ass, and for a moment, I’m able to forget the different shape of Nate’s body. I breathe in his unique pine scent, surround myself with everything that is Milo, and do my best to let the past fade away.

I can tell Milo is trying too. His forehead is pressed to mine—he’s staring directly into my eyes, and his eyes are as hypnotizing as always. It would be working if I didn’t keep blinking.

Our bodies move rhythmically, almost automatically, fucking without thought, and thatisa relief. The stress of knowing that everyone in this world is going to come for us just because of what we are is overwhelming. It feels good to lose ourselves in each other, to set aside that fear, even though I can’t forget the fact that Nate betrayed me.

At least right now, while I’m with Milo like this, I’m not afraid.

He gathers my wrists in one hand and pins them above my head. This is something I love about Milo—he’s so much taller than I am, and his limbs are so long. He’s able to hold my arms straight above my head, and I don’t have a hope of freeing myself. I just stare up at him, captive, mesmerized.

With his other hand, he reaches down and catches my leg behind the knee, pinning it up. He slows a bit, letting me adjust to the new angle. It’s just a little bit painful, but not unpleasant, and I realize that this is what I’ve needed. A sensation that’s physically overwhelming to the point that it doesn’t allow me to think about everything else I’m dealing with.

“Keep going,” I breathe.

“You’re okay?” he whispers.

“Yes. I want more.”

He nods and thrusts into me hard.

My head falls back on the ground. My arms tug against his hold of their own accord. My leg tightens. Everything is somuch.

Then he’s kissing along my collarbone, pausing to form his mouth to the shape of it for a moment before bending down to my breast. He sucks at my nipple hard. This hurts too, and I let out a high, keening cry, but at the same time, I’m arching up into him, letting him know with my body that I like it, that even though it hurts I want him to keep going.

He does.

It has never been more clear to me that Ibelongto another person, nor have I ever wanted that more than I do in this moment. He bites my nipple and it sends a jolt of pure pleasure through me. I hitch my hips up into him, fucking back as hard as I can now, chasing an orgasm that I can feel beginning to build.

Still, when it finally crashes down over me, it feels unexpected. I start to scream—the pleasure is so intense that it’s almost violent—and Milo’s hand presses over my mouth, silencing me. I sink my teeth into his palm as he fucks me hard now, his thrusts so rough that I’m actually sliding backward in the dirt. I stare up at him, awed by his strength.

When he comes, it’s with a low growl in his throat that seems to bubble up slowly—quiet, but forceful. Then he rolls off of me so that he’s lying on his back beside me, staring up at the sky.

The idea of moving is laughable right now. I lie still, trying to connect with the various parts of my body, letting the feeling come back to them.

My wrists are sore from where he held them. My hip aches from my leg being pinned up the way it was. I think he might have drawn blood at my breast.

All these pains are delicious. I feel marked.

Victor rejected me. He doesn’t want to have any claim on my body. And Nate—Nate never thought of me as his. He was always using me as a means to an end.

But Milo—Milo wants me. Milo claims me.

He seems to have recovered a bit because he rolls back toward me and presses slow kisses against my skin. He traverses my body slowly, lingering at the places he was most rough—my breasts, my hip, each of my wrists.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I got so carried away. Are you all right?”

“I liked it,” I assure him. “It was good.”

“Yeah?”

“Really good. I like it like that.”

He crawls up my body and kisses me deeply.

I feel safe. Protected. Cared for.

It’s not something I’ve allowed myself to feel very often. It’s not something I ever imagined I could get from a lover.

He runs his hand slowly up and down my back. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, Emmy. You’re safe with me.”

---