The Wedding Rescue, Book Three(13)

We stood there kissing for what felt like forever. When he finally turned and lowered me to my back on the comforter, I was more than ready for him. But then, I’d been ready since before I’d unzipped my dress. I opened my legs, inviting him into my body, lifting my arms in welcome.

After the violence of the fight with Peter, and Dylan's anger that I was hurt, I expected his touch to be rough. Demanding. I wasn't prepared for tenderness. Dylan moved us up the bed until I was cradled in the pillows and fell to worshiping my body with determined focus.

His hands skated over my skin, stroking, rubbing, paying just as much attention to my rib cage and my elbows as he did to my breasts. He took his time, exploring every inch of me, lavishing attention all over. I squirmed under his weight, more eager for his cock with every second that passed. By the time he shifted to press his hard length against me, I was desperate, wild with need.

He pushed his way inside my slick pussy, taking my mouth with his as he moved in long, slow thrusts. Dylan was taking his time, but I came in a blinding flash, helpless to resist the way he stretched my aroused flesh, the way he ground into my clit when he went deep.

Dylan let me break our kiss to cry out my pleasure. When I was done gasping and moaning, he took my mouth again. Echoes of the orgasm began to build back up as he continued to move inside me in the same deliberate pace.

No one had ever kissed me the way Dylan did. I felt every emotion through his mouth—passion, possession, need, and affection. All of it swirled through me, drawing me into him. The second orgasm was almost on me when he stopped moving and broke our kiss.

I opened my eyes to see him glaring down at me, his eyes clear and bright in the light from the living room.

“No one touches you but me. Never again.”

I blinked up at him, resisting the urge to thrust myself on his cock, still buried inside me.

“I should have been there,” he said.

“You were.”

"Not soon enough," he growled.

“I'm okay,” I assured him. “It won't happen again."

"No. It won't." Simple words, but they felt like a vow.

"Dylan." I reached one hand up to his face and rubbed the furrows between his eyes. "It's okay." He jerked his face away from my hand.

"You don't understand. You're mine. Mine. No one touches you. No one hurts you. No one scares you. No one. Not ever."

I didn't know what to say. He was right, I didn't understand. In less than two days he'd gone from propositioning me for the weekend to declaring ownership of me. How had this happened? If he meant it, if this was real...

He must have seen the uncertainty flickering in my eyes.

"Say it," he rasped out, his voice guttural. "Now. Say it."

Meeting his intense green eyes, I whispered, "Yours. I'm yours."

“Mine,” he said again and thrust hard into my pussy. “Mine.”

Taking my wrists into one hand, he hauled them over my head and pinned me to the bed, fucking me hard, his deliberate, gentle touch transformed into an aggressive claiming. Under the force of his body taking mine, the base of his cock grinding into my clit, my nipples scraping his chest, my brain scattered. I could think about what this meant later. All I cared about at that moment was Dylan. His heat, his passion, and his need for me. He was all I’d ever dreamed of in a man.

No, he was more perfect than my dreams. He was everything. The blistering heat of my second orgasm took me under. I wrapped my arms and legs around Dylan’s body, digging my nails into his back and rocking up, my pussy squeezing him as tightly as my arms. I heard him groan, felt him stiffen as he emptied himself inside me. Then I passed out.





8





Leigha




I opened my eyes to a dark room, momentarily forgetting where I was. I shifted to sit up, and the arm tightening on my waist brought me back to reality. I was in Dylan’s penthouse. We’d crashed after the most intense sex I’d ever had. And I thought Dylan had said some profound things in the middle of it. About me belonging to him. Not weekend fling kind of stuff.

Just as I wondered why I was awake, I heard a ping from the side of the bed. My phone. Someone was texting me. Glancing at the clock, I saw it was after two in the morning. Who would be texting me? Belatedly, I remembered the weird messages I’d gotten earlier. I’d thought they were a mistake, until I saw my name. It had been stupid to hope they’d go away if I ignored them. I’d just wanted one night of a fairy tale with Dylan. A night when nothing could go wrong. Peter had almost ruined that, but punching him had been a fantasy for a while, so his offensive behavior turned out to be a blessing.

Easing out from under Dylan’s arm, I left the bed, grabbing my phone from the bedside table on the way to the bathroom. Maybe it was just one of my friends drunk texting me from a bar. It was Friday night. That didn’t happen often, but it did happen. I checked the display on the phone. It was not a friend.