Letting my thoughts drift away, I raise up and begin to move on top of Holden, rocking my hips, taking him in deeper. His hands go to my thighs, gripping and guiding, as I let my head fall back. Lost in him.
I should be exhausted, completely and utterly, unable to speed my rhythm, deepen our love making. But within seconds, we’re meeting each other with heavy, powerful thrusts that nearly make me climb over the edge.
Holden sits forward and wraps an arm around my waist. “No, you don’t. Not yet . . .” And then I’m brave, stopping his advance as I lift off him.
“Trust me,” I say, and he smiles, slow and sexy. My heart flutters.
Turning myself to ride him backward, I brace my knees on the bed and lower myself over him. He releases a hiss, and then his hands are on my shoulders, pushing me down hard on him.
One of his hands cups my breast, the slat between his fingers pinching my nipple, and he applies just enough pressure to make me feel it deep in my core. Pulsing. It travels into my stomach, my back. Through my whole body. That ache and charge, a flowing current.
My hips work harder, rocking and slamming against him as he thrusts to meet me each time. His fingers dig into my skin as he tightens his hold on my shoulder, his forearm anchored across my chest. His other hand moves between my breasts, giving each one attention, or maybe in an attempt to try and feel every part of me at once.
I’m becoming just as desperate as I try to take all of him into me, needing every inch of his impressive cock inside me. “Holden . . . there . . . fucking harder . . .” And when the ache builds to the point of pain—when Holden is growling and driving in as far as he can, my body screaming for release—I tumble. Falling over the edge, my body pulsing with shock waves of pleasure.
“Shit . . . Sam . . . you feel fuck . . . too good . . .” He tightens his hold around me and thrusts deep as he comes. I feel him; warm, pulsing, hard, pressing against my walls. It heightens my orgasm until I cry out, and then I’m sagging against his chest. Our labored breaths in sync.
He sweeps my hair aside and presses his lips to my neck. Then he falls to the bed with me in his arms. It’s bliss. Pure, exhausted and spent.
As I roll to my side, he holds on to my leg, draping it over him. Then he slaps my ass and then rubs it. I laugh. “I don’t know which part of you I love more.” His words zing right to my heart.
I look up and rest my hand over his heart, on the branches covering it. “I can tell you which part I love the most . . .” I slip my hand between us and roam down teasingly. He chuckles, and I stop, unable to control my laughter.
“Oh,” he says. “I figured that out. But if I’m going to keep up with you, I need to hydrate.” But then, his smile falters, his face turning serious as he runs his hand over the top of my ass cheek. “What’s the anchor for?”
Holding his gaze, I say, “Tyler.”
He nods once against the pillow. “His anchor.” Nothing in his voice betrays that he feels anything but understanding.
“Yes. I was his anchor.” Palming his chest, I push up to kiss him, loving the feel of the metal against my lips. Then, lying back down, “I wanted a reminder that I grounded him here. But wanted it somewhere no one would see.”
“Because you branded it there.”
A bit of shame swells in my chest. “Well, I wasn’t leaving the house. So going to get a tattoo was out of the question.” I breathe in deeply. “Crafting the design and heating the metal wasn’t hard. But, it was painful. And now, I kind of wish I’d gotten it inked.”
His eyebrows raise. “I can fix it for you.” My heart tightens, thinking of how he did just that with his scar. “If you want. I mean, I’m no tattoo artist. But I have been known to doodle here and there.” He winks.
Holden fixing my brand with ink, for me, for his brother, means more to me than he could ever know. “All right,” I say. “First, though. Hydrate.” I smile before rolling out of bed.
My thighs, stomach muscles, back and shoulders . . . just about every part of my body aches. But the pain is a good one. Holden worked muscles I didn’t even know I had. I smile to myself as I tug open the bathroom door and reach for the light. Then deciding I don’t want to add aggravated eyes to my list of ailments, I leave the light off, waiting to adjust to the faint light coming from the hairdryer cord.
As the bathroom lightens from black to gray, my eyes taking in the shower curtain and toilet, I turn to the sink and grab a cup. I reach for the faucet, and freeze. The room is suddenly brighter, a dim white light filling the small space.
My heart twists in my chest as Tyler’s aura appears, and then Tyler.