When she arched and twisted in wanton invitation, he couldn’t hold back. He put on a condom and sank into her swollen, juicy depths. She trembled around him, her inner muscles like a slick fist around his cock.
He cursed under his breath. “You feel amazing.”
“So do you.”
His control slipped. All he wanted to do was pound into her, rut like an animal. But she deserved so much better. He held back and pulled her nipple into his mouth, trapping and suckling it. She whimpered, then cried out.
“Please,” she begged. “I want you so much.”
Damn it. He squeezed his eyes shut as the tight reins of self-control snapped. He’d meant to go slowly, steadily, so their breaths mingled and bodies glided along each other until they went crazy. But he couldn’t resist her impassioned urging.
He pulled out until only the tip of his cock remained, then slammed into her, hilting himself. He watched carefully, making sure he wasn’t hurting her—he was so much larger—but she merely clutched him and met his thrust with a sharp inhalation that he knew wasn’t from pain.
All right.
He drove into her over and over again, angling himself to make sure he hit her most sensitive spots. He wanted to make her come with a hard, primal fucking, with his dick buried deep inside her. He wanted her to become addicted to him, just like he was to her. He couldn’t even pretend he’d been doing things for a reason other than his desire for her.
Even with her under him and crying out with pleasure, he wasn’t fully satisfied. He wanted her in ways that made his heart twist, like there was a shard digging into it.
A strong climax gripped her, and she shattered in his arms, her inner muscles milking him. He was so damn close; all he had to do was let go, but he couldn’t. He wanted to see her come again.
Before she could descend from her high, he increased the speed and depth of his thrusts, angling up so he rubbed her G-spot every time. When another orgasm crashed through her, he finally emptied himself inside her.
Even as physical fulfillment burned through him, another kind of hunger gnawed in his gut. And he knew he’d finally done something he’d sworn never to do—want someone’s heart.
* * *
When Dane returned to bed after cleaning up in the bathroom, Sophia curled around him, wrapping him in her arms and resting her head over his heart. He generally didn’t care for women clinging to him after sex, but somehow it was okay—even enjoyable—with Sophia.
He pulled her closer; she pressed a kiss to his chest. His heart was still beating too fast. Or maybe it was the effect of having her near him like this. He’d assumed that she was like a splinter under his fingernail—something that nagged at his attention but would be easy enough to get rid of. Now he knew that wasn’t true.
“Do you want to go on a getaway this weekend? We can stay until the end of the next week,” he asked, drawing a sheet over them. His calendar was full for the coming week, but he didn’t give a damn. He wanted to go away, just her and him, with no one else in the way.
“Mmm, sounds nice.” She looked up at him. “Where?”
“Paris, maybe?”
The skin between her eyebrows furrowed, and she lowered her eyes. But then she laughed. “We can’t go that far. Don’t you have to go to Mark’s wedding?”
“They don’t want me there, trust me.”
“Who said that? Mark or Hilary?”
He frowned. “Oh, they’re saying they want me there, but trust me, they don’t. Paris is vastly more entertaining. Food. Culture. History.” He paused. “Romance,” he added, with an exaggerated French accent.
She giggled. “Come on. You can’t skip your brother’s wedding.”
“Sure I can. They’re used to it.”
“How many weddings have you skipped?”
“No actual weddings so far, but I don’t bother to attend most of the family stuff. They don’t expect me to show these days.”
“That’s sad,” Sophia said quietly. “I don’t have siblings, but if I did, I’d spend as much time as I could with them.”
“Forget siblings.” He kissed her, trying to drag her mind away from his family. “You. Me. Paris. Didn’t you say you wanted to travel? I don’t think you’ve had much time to do that over the last three years.”
“No, but I’ve been to Paris already. I don’t really want to go back.”
He had an odd feeling she hadn’t meant to say the last part. “Why not?”
She sighed. “That’s where I had the car accident that ended my competitive career.”
“I’m sorry.”