Page 35 of Shattered

But it didn’t happen.

Instead, he released her and pushed her arms to her sides. He slowly undid the rest of her top’s buttons. She held her breath, not sure what the hell else to do.

“Relax,” he whispered. And she did exactly the opposite, freaking out even more because he could somehow read her mind. “If this is going to be our last time, it should be fun.”

“Last time,” she echoed like a moron.

He peeled open her top, his eyes scouring every inch of her skin from her mouth to her neck and down to her chest.

“These are perfect,” he murmured, cupping one breast. He squeezed, his thumb flicking over the nipple. Then he bent to lap at the nipple he’d teased to hardness. “Perfect,” he whispered again, the shape of the word closing his lips around the peak.

“Monty,” she groaned. She’d meant to say, “Get on with it,” but he’d turned her brain into mush.

“I know,” he replied, kissing his way to her other breast. “Put your hands on me.”

She did, sliding them over the bare skin of his shoulders and the firm, undulating muscles in his back. How he’d gotten rid of his shirt, she didn’t know or care. The same went for the cool air she felt on her now-bare legs, not sparing a second to wonder how he’d removed her bottoms when she’d been lying on them.

She relished the feel of his large body pushing her into the mattress, of his head lowered so he could feast on her breasts. It was a shocking realization that she likedthisMonty. His burning but patient seduction enraptured her. And itwasa seduction, not fucking. She acted without thinking, wrapping her legs around his hips and thrusting against his rock-hard cock.

“We don’t…” he whispered, one hand sliding up her leg. Probably to pull it off.

She tightened, locking her ankles around each other. “Fuck me, Monty,” she whispered in his ear.

She knew all the places he liked to be touched, the positions that teased him to insanity, the motions that drove him—both of them—to the brink of orgasm.

Digging her fingernails into his hip and biting his neck in the hollow where it joined his shoulder, she got a grip on his balls as she guided him into her. He groaned, but seemed to fight against her.

“I’m wet for you, baby,” she breathed into his ear.

His head arched back, his expression harsh—no, anguished.

“Fuck me, Monty,” she repeated. It wasn’t her normal demand. There was a mournful note in it, not that far from a sob.

Her eyes found his, and she realized they were both in some strange space. They wanted to fuck, but they wanted something more, too. She closed her eyes a moment. She could worry about the existential crisis her libido was falling into tomorrow. Right now, she wanted one last fuck with this man before their marriage officially blew up.

His eyes glowed, and all gentleness left his expression. He slid his hand under her head, closing a fist into her hair to tilt it up. It made her want to shoutYes, but she kept silent, as she wanted nothing to stop him from driving into her.

Fuck gentleness. Or slowness, or savoring, or anything bogus like that. They were carnal people. It had been the only thing that kept them stubbornly together for so long, their only true wavelength in common.

“I’m going to fuck you.” He rasped and slid into her waiting pussy like a key into a lock.

She arched against him, her body moving of its own accord. The fire in his eyes swallowed her, bathing her in heat from her face to her core.

She ground herself against him, her hands turning to claws on his back. He rocked her and pumped, harder and harder. But instead of burying his head in her neck or forcing her face against his shoulders, his eyes locked on hers.

There was nothing stopping her from looking away or closing her eyes, but she couldn’t. As he stroked into her, harder and harder, and her hips bucked against him wildly, their gazes held in a molten beam.

She was aware of everything and nothing else all at once—the rough brocade cover scratching against her back, his slick skin under her palms, the molecules of cold-hot air pulling into her lungs. Then everything and nothing dissolved, leaving only their sexes rocking together, moving in a fluid fusion as the only thing in her awareness. She was lost in his eyes; the pupils growing into a mass with its own gravitational pull. The heat between them was enormous and almost beyond her understanding. She wanted to grip the covers or the headboard, something that would ground her and take her out of the frightening depth of his gaze, but it was beyond her power. All she could do was hold on to him.

And then she was free falling, splintering into a thousand pieces. She saw in his eyes the moment he fell as well, the lines of his irises quivering and vibrating.

He dropped beside her. His hips spasmed against hers as he drew her against his shuddering body. She couldn’t breathe, but it had nothing to do with how tightly he held her. He wrapped a thigh around hers as his cock slipped out of her, and she nestled her other leg between his.

“Shit.” He spoke into her hair. “I didn’t use a condom.”

She tried to laugh, but she had no energy to do it. “I haven’t had sex with anyone but you, and that was a couple months ago.” Her voice had a lifeless quality, as did her body—as if her orgasm had drained her.

“It’s the same for me.” He pressed his mouth into her hair one more time before rolling to his back, alone.

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