Page 125 of The Rough Rider

And he was weak. He had spent so much time trying to rebuild himself after all the bullshit. And here he was, recognizing a fundamental crack in his foundation. One shaped like her. So deep that it could break all of him. He reached behind, grabbing hold of her wet hair and wrapping it around his fist, tugging, pulling her hair back and exposing her throat. Then he leaned in and kissed her right there, and scraped his teeth along her sensitive skin.

“Gus,” she said. Like she always did.

His name. His name on her lips, and not anyone else’s. She wasn’t thinking of anyone else. She was thinking of him. He took his free hand, pressed his thumb against her lower lip and parted her mouth for him. “Look at me,” he commanded. And she opened her eyes. “Say my name again.”

“Gus,” she said.

“Good.”

And this was everything. This moment. Where she gave him exactly what he demanded, exactly what he needed. Where he got to be in control.

Perfection, everything he needed lining up together. Her, and all that need to be in charge.

Because he had spent a hell of a lot of years with no control over his life, and it gave him a thrill to have it in the bedroom.

And there was nothing he wanted more than her.

And suddenly, what he needed... He needed...

“On your knees,” he said.

And she obeyed, while he relaxed his hold on her hair, letting her go, down to the floor slowly. “You know what I want,” he said.

She nodded, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes. Alaina’s eyes.

“I’ve never done this before,” she whispered.

Because it had been about her, every time till now.

And he had to brace himself against the wall, because that damn near knocked him off his feet. She wrapped her delicate hand around his hardened length, then leaned in and tasted him. And damn but it was perfect, and so was she. And as she continued to explore him, growing bolder with each stroke of her tongue over him, everything in his mind went blank. There was nothing, nothing but his need for her. His need for this.

When she took him in deep, his growl was almost enough to rattle the walls.

He rocked his hips forward in time with her movements. Then he grabbed her hair again, and lifted her up to her feet. “Not like that. I’m not done with you yet.”

He shut the shower off and picked her up, carrying her, soaking wet out of the shower and into the bedroom. He moved his hands all over her curves, slick and perfect, then he turned her in his arms, setting her down on the bed on her hands and knees. He positioned himself behind her, testing the entrance to her body with the head of his arousal.

“You ready?”

“Yes,” she moaned, curling her fingers into the blanket. He pushed himself into her, and she arched against him, and he grabbed her hips as he slammed home. And he lost himself. Completely. But he never lost her. The indent of her waist, the flare of her hip, that curly red hair. The sounds that she made, the arch in her spine. It was Alaina, and there was no losing that.

The way she said his name. Over and over again, and it was the only thing that kept him from forgetting who he was altogether. And for a moment he wished he could. For a moment he wished she wouldn’t speak his name at all. So that she could be her, and he could be anyone else. The kind of man who hadn’t experienced everything he had. The kind of man who hadn’t been broken once a long time ago.

The kind of man who hadn’t spent the last twenty years duct-taping himself back together and doing a pretty shitty job of it.

But he was here. And he had her. So he supposed the rest didn’t matter all that much. Or at least right now it couldn’t. Because all he wanted was her. All he wanted was her.

He held her hips tight, pumped into her until he couldn’t think at all.

Until it was nothing but feeling, fire and need, and he knew what fire felt like. He really did. And he didn’t use it lightly here. Because she was scorching him, from the inside out, and he knew that he would never be the same. Because you never were. Not when you’d been burned alive.

And Alaina Sullivan had the power to do just that.

McCloud.

Alaina McCloud.

And it was that reminder. That reminder that she was his, that was what sent him over the edge. On a growl, he spilled himself inside of her, and thank God he felt her go over the edge with him, her internal muscles pulsing around his hardened length. And she was perfect. It was perfect. Everything, in that moment.

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