His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(82)
Author: Shayla Black

He nipped at her bottom lip with his teeth. “Breathe again. That’s it. Inhale. Yeah . . . Now let it out.”

As she did, her body loosened. He thrust the rest of the way inside. Her swollen pussy enveloped him, a snug clasp that robbed him of equilibrium and the ability to give a shit about anything but plowing into her and making her come again.

Joaquin withdrew, and the shudder of sensation rattled down his spine. He groaned, cursed, gripped her tighter. Holy hell, she was going to fucking decimate his self-control.

He cupped her chin and took her lips again, needing to be inside her in every way. His tongue plunged deep in rhythm with his cock. Under him, she shook and arched, writhed and flushed again.

He had to make her come once more. God knew how long he was going to last in this sugary-snug pussy.

Fitting one hand under her ass, he tilted her and slid down a fraction. When he braced on his knees and shoved up again, the head of his cock dragged over her most sensitive spot inside. He pressed onto her clit. She mewled, her fists clenching, her legs lifting to cradle his hips. Fuck, he’d never seen any woman sexier.

He sank deeper, prodding the end of her passage. Her cry of bliss was almost as much reward as the ecstasy zipping through his body.

“I’m . . .” She couldn’t catch her breath. “I’m going to—”

“Come, baby girl. Yeah. Fuck. Do it.”

Her back twisted and her face contorted. He kept pushing into her, the pace slow and punishing, scraping her insides with every thrust. She screamed like a wild thing, arms tugging at her cuffs and rattling the headboard. Those strong muscles in her thighs squeezed him, as did the clasp of her pussy. Pleasure didn’t just sizzle and burn. It turned nuclear, boiled his veins, charred his restraint, and wiped away his ability to give a crap about anything except sharing this orgasm with her. Next time—and there would be one—he’d go slow and find a way not to pound into her with every ounce of his strength. He’d love her a lot more gently. Right now?

“Fuck!” His balls felt heavy and tight as tingling sparked. The telltale escalation of sensation spiked to something stratospheric. Joaquin squeezed her tight, wondering how he could prevent himself from losing his fucking mind. When he blew, he already knew it wouldn’t be like any previous climax.

He’d rather forfeit his next fifty years than give up his next thirty seconds with Bailey.

As soon as the thought hit his brain, along with the tangy-sweet whiff of her pussy and the womanly scent of something floral and exotic, he lost it.

The pressure inside him gave way to sexual agony. A scream claimed his throat, scrubbing it raw. He planted even deeper inside her, picking up the pace, thickening, then releasing with a blast of ecstasy.

In that moment, he realized that he’d lost his head so thoroughly that a condom had never crossed his mind. That alone stunned him beyond words. He’d never, ever forgotten to glove up. But that wasn’t all. He’d also given Bailey far more than his seed. Something in his chest twisted and clawed, yanking at him, beating at him. He looked down at her, her softly parted lips, the wonder in her blue eyes, the jut of her juicy nipples.

Mine, mine, mine . . .

Yeah, all his. Attachments had never been his thing, and he wondered if this need to clasp her to him forever would pass.

As he poured himself into her in a shocking, seemingly endless orgasm, he sincerely doubted it.

*   *   *

BAILEY listened to the sounds of Joaquin in the shower, her head racing. After withdrawing from her slowly and uncuffing her, he’d left her body a mass of head-to-toe tingles. She’d climbed out of bed and darted to the shower. Her tears had just started to flow when he opened the bathroom door and charged into the room.

In fact, he’d ducked into the shower with her uninvited.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her.

Joaquin stood too close. Emotionally, she felt as if he’d scraped her raw. Having him in her personal space now just slammed her psyche with a frightening vulnerability all over again.

She pushed back, but he didn’t give an inch.

“Bailey . . .” he warned.

“Nothing.” She didn’t know how else to answer him. “Tonight—the party, the picture, the sex—it was too much.”

His face softened. “If I came at you too hard, I’m sorry.”

The contrition there told her that he meant it. “It was just intense. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I wasn’t either,” he admitted. “I meant to be gentler.”

Bailey shook her head. “That wasn’t what you needed. I don’t think it was what I needed either. It sure wasn’t anything like my last time.”