Page 76 of Taming Her

She didn’t hold back and cried out with each rush of air shoved from her lungs. Long gasping cries of pleasure. He was hitting her G-spot just right, the way no one else ever had. She was going to come from it. The pressure was dense and deep, growing so fast.

He carried on fucking her, his flesh slapping against hers, dragging her onto his cock each time he bottomed out, as if he couldn’t get deep enough.

Ava’s mind spun with the heady rush of being consumed by him this way. It was so damn sexy. They were like animals, seeking pleasure in the midday sun; nothing else mattered except finding that satisfaction.

Her orgasm grew, it was there, ready to overspill and shoot her into ecstasy.

She tensed, held her breath, then came. A gush of molten heat rushed from her pussy, her pelvis spasmed, and her pussy gripped him like a noose.

He grunted, the first sound he’d made, and pushed on, dragging out her G-spot orgasm deliciously.

His cock swelled to near impossible hardness, ramming into her with even more power behind each lunge. He held her within a steely grip and let out an animalistic growl. He filled her with his pleasure, not letting up as he pushed in, pulled out, time and time again.

Her breaths were hard to catch, her hair came loose and swung wildly

And then he stilled. His fingers were pincers on her waist, his cock pulsing inside her.

She was hot. A drip of sweat ran down her cheek.

Releasing her, he pulled out, leaving her pussy hot, wet, and empty. His body heat left her.

She twisted to look over her shoulder.

He stood, dragged up his shorts, then stepped past her. Raking his hand through his hair, he walked back to the laurels, then onto the hidden pathway through them.

Gone.

Disappeared.

Her pussy was still being blasted by aftershocks, each one squeezing his pleasure from her and onto her thighs. A long drip escaped, seeping and tickling down her flesh.

Still she stared at where she’d last seen him. Her breaths were coming in short sharp pants, the warm air washing over her bare ass and damp pussy.

She felt used in a delicious, ‘I’m his’ way. She was Griff’s property. Far from hating that, she loved it. He’d used her, left her satisfied and wet, then walked away.

She knew he loved her, he’d told her as much at the club. Yet he treated her like an object—an object he ruled and owned.

And Ava wasn’t complaining. Never in her life had she had such a wonderful warm sense of belonging—belonging in the cottage, the garden, and most of all belonging to Griff.

Chapter 16

Griff felt sick. It had been brewing all day. It wasn’t anything he’d eaten; it was because tonight was the night.

He was back on the beat with a stand-in partner while Rex recovered, which was always going to unsettle him. But the real issue was the night would be a test of whether he and Ava actually stood a chance in the real world—and not just a few weeks existing in their own summer-hazed bubble.

And what an amazing bubble it had been. He’d been strict, he’d had to be, but his methods had worked. She was a different person already. Her focus was clear, and her thoughts sharp. Oh, he knew she would always need a firm hand, she was a rebel at heart, it was what her childhood had done to her. Bad behavior delivered attention, even if it wasn’t always from the right people or it was negative attention.

But Griff wouldn’t tolerate behavior that, in the long run, did her no good. He wanted healthy, happy, thriving Ava at his side.

At his side.

Yes, that’s what he wanted most of all. Her, at his side—well, okay, he liked her writhing beneath him, and on her knees in front of him, and even over his lap. But mostly he just wanted her there when he woke up and when he went to bed.

But did she want that too?

He’d told her he loved her at the club. She’d never said it back. On occasions though, he’d thought he’d seen it in her eyes when he’d kissed her, when he’d stepped into the room and she’d smiled at him, when he made quiet and gentle love to her in the mornings when the birds had just started their chorus.

She’d worn his collar at the club, then removed it when they’d gotten home. He’d let that go; he should have been the one to give her permission to take it off.

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