His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(111)
Author: Shayla Black

Joaquin lifted her up from his lap and guided her to face him before he eased one of her thighs over his lap. As she straddled him, he probed until he found her wet opening, then gripped her hips. He surged up on one violent thrust, shoving his way to the end of her passage.

Bailey gasped and blinked at him with a helpless stare. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, nails digging. “Joaquin . . .”

“More? Softer? What is it, baby girl?”

“More. Not softer. I felt you everywhere inside me. The tingles prickled up my thighs. The ache behind my clit is killing me.”

“You want to come again?”

She nodded feverishly. “Please.”

“We’re going to do it together, so you’ll need to wait for me.”

She winced, as if she knew the waiting would be its own form of torture, but she swallowed her protest back. “All right.”

“Good. I want to hear you, Bailey. If it feels good, sigh, scream, call my name. My goal is for you to run out of breath.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off with another plowing thrust. All she managed after that was a high-pitched cry that almost didn’t sound human. Her walls tightened on him. With a lazy thumb, he slid a few circles over her clit, gratified when she repeated the sound, only this time it sounded like even more of a wail.

Her sound raged through his blood like a fever. Urgency jacked his system. His fingers bit tighter into her hips as he crashed up into her again. This time, she met him, slamming down for another slow, deep stroke. As he withdrew, the sensations were so acute. Peeling off his skin would affect him less. She danced like lightning through his body as they fell into a rhythm. He spiked up, she gyrated down. Together, they made a kind of bliss that sent his eyes rolling into the back of his head and a long, loud groan falling from his lips.

Tighter and tighter, her pussy clamped down on him, signaling her rise to orgasm. Even if he hadn’t felt that, Joaquin would have known by the flush of her skin, the bite of her fingers in his scalp, the helpless begging in her blue eyes.

“I’m so close,” she mewled.

“Good. So good, baby girl. Yes . . .” Joaquin could barely wrap his head around a coherent sentence right now. The pleasure steamrolled all thought. He couldn’t breathe fast enough, couldn’t get deep enough. He couldn’t be with her enough to stop wanting her—ever. The thought seared across his brain and jolted down to his cock. “Now!”

Joaquin seized her lips, certain if he couldn’t take her in every way possible at once that he’d lose his damn mind. He plunged his tongue in, danced around hers, and captured her screams as she let go.

Her hard, staccato pulses all around him launched him like a rocket. He surged inside her again, releasing a torrent of need and flooding her again, this time right against the opening of her womb. No doubt, they were playing a dangerous game—and he just didn’t care. If he could be with her always, so much the better.

Their rhythm slowed, along with their heartbeats and breathing. She collapsed on him, clung, head on his shoulder, embracing him like he was the lone pillar holding up her life. Joaquin didn’t want it any other way. He was in no hurry to withdraw, shower, and leave as he usually did with a lover. No, something primal inside him wanted to stay as long as he could and plant his seed deeper still until she was ready to take him again.

Something inside urged him to tell her that he loved her.

What would she say to that? Did he really know what love was? Maybe. Kind of. Who the fuck knew? All he could say was that Bailey hit him on the most profound level, and he couldn’t imagine her not being in his life.

So how the hell was he going to manage when LOSS and McKeevy came calling? He refused to think about losing her. He hadn’t been there to protect his father or Nate, but by God, he’d stay with Bailey every step of the way to keep her safe.

Gripping Bailey tighter, Joaquin kissed his way up her neck, down her jaw, back to her lips. “I can’t do without you.”

She froze, looking at him as if she understood the gravity of this moment, as if it bound her to him as much as he felt bound to her. “You don’t have to, I swear.”

*   *   *

THEY didn’t sleep much that night. Joaquin woke her up twice more to make love to her, each time slower and more tender than the last. At the end, he curled his fist in her hair and looked straight into her eyes as he glided his way deep inside her, sure and straight and inexorable. He took; she yielded. But he gave back, too, in devotion and pleasure.

Now the sun peeked out behind the hotel’s blackout drapes, waking Bailey from her hard sleep. As she rolled over and peeked one eye open, Joaquin sat on his side of the bed, a map spread across the sheets, phone in his hand. He peered from one to the other and frowned.