Bait: The Wake Series, Book One(124)

I ground against her as she rode me from the bottom through her pleasure. Then a carnal male drive took over and consideration was simply a thing of ten minutes ago.

My fists balled the sheets under the pillow she laid on, and my other hand held her hip as I set a punishing rhythm, losing any precious control I thought I had.

Her hands were everywhere, gripping my back and grasping my shoulders like she couldn't get a good enough hold on me. My hand slid under her ass and lifted her to an angle that sent fire up my spine.

“Ah, I want you to come again, Blake. Can you do that for me?” I hissed air through my teeth, feeling my back starting to tense and my ab muscles beginning an all too familiar twitch. “I want to come inside you while you're screaming my name.”

Her center clenched and then I brought my hand between us and ran my hand over her quickly, parting my fingers around where we met. She came off the bed, her arms around me tight and the force pushed me back onto my heels.

My words and my ejaculation came at the same time.

“God, you’re here. Ah, f*ck, Blake. Fuck, Blake!” We held on to each other so tight, chest to chest, hanging on for dear life.



I lay there that night, with the whole world in my arms. Biting my tongue to keep from telling her how much I loved her again. It was all I had, but it never felt like enough. I thought about it and came to the conclusion that that was what love was. Never having enough of something. Always wanting more. Being greedy with your heart.

The wind blew in through the long, sheer curtains from the north and it ran across the flowers in the garden out back. The scent reminded me of why she was here. Reminded me of what I'd lost.

Blake had fallen asleep merely minutes after we came after the third round, which ended only a few minutes prior. It was almost light outside. She lay on her belly in the crook of my arm with one of hers stretched across my chest. I rubbed my hand up and down her side, her skin was velvet on my battered palms.

Every so often she'd startle, but only waking enough to squeeze me, letting herself know I was still here—I thought–and then she'd fall back into her slumber. It filled me with hope.

I watched the curtain move in the wind and it finally lulled me to sleep.

I was visited by the reoccurring dream I had often about Blake's wedding. In my dream, I stood at the altar with her and Grant.

It changed though. Sometimes I'm the priest. Sometimes I say their vows with them, like a third party. But it was always the three of us standing there. In this particular version, the priest asked Blake to kiss her husband and she kissed me.

When I woke up the next morning I didn't feel the dread I usually did. I felt like maybe she was going to pick me. As my eyes blinked open, the first thing I saw was the small tattoo she'd had done on the back of her neck.

She was rolled away from me and slept peacefully. Her side rose and fell like the tide. After we'd exhausted ourselves physically and emotionally last night, she'd swept her hair up into a messy bun on top of her head. Still held up with the elastic, her hair was just so that I could see the ink through the few wispy pieces that had slipped from the hold of the hair tie overnight.

The hook wasn't very big. I wondered how they'd even made the lines so fine and faint. It was delicate and not very noticeable at all. My initials stuck out—at least to me—plain as day. Knowing that she'd marked her beautiful skin with my brand did something inside me.

It made that possessive voice, which I always tried not to pay attention to, louder.

She is yours and her skin bares the mark that proves it.

Instinctively, I pulled her warm body flush against mine and I held her like that until she began to stir, waking up. Her body relaxed into mine and fit into every void my body left for hers. Her ass tucked into my hips, my legs were traced with her legs, one of her feet slipped in between my calves. The soft cool skin of her shoulders and back perfectly paired with the hot skin on my chest.

I had one arm under her and her head lay on it, her fingers woven into mine where they met. My free arm wrapped around her flat stomach, my hand almost reaching from one side to the other of her.

I felt her belly rumble. She was hungry and she'd lost a lot of weight since I'd last seen her body. Her hipbones were sharp, the definition of her ribs showed, her clavicle more distinct. She didn't look unhealthy, but for someone who worshiped food the way she did, it was a clear message she'd been going through something, too.

The thought of her being hungry, or ill, after recently losing my mother the way we did, lurched at my gut.