Defy (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 3)(52)
Pausing to take in her desire-drugged expression and the beautiful darkness of her eyes, I realize that, after this moment, nothing will ever be the same again.
I enter her partway, and she’s pure f*cking perfection.
Her muscles tighten around my cock, and I can feel the aftershocks of the two powerful orgasms I gave her that sent her reeling.
Time to make her spiral out of control.
Pressing my hand to her thigh, I push her long, lean leg up until her knee is almost to her breast. Then with my other hand I guide my cock, stroking it up between her silken slit, letting her get used to the feel of the piercing.
Teasing the opening of her *, I begin to enter the nirvana that awaits.
She’s so incredibly f*cking tight. I pace the penetration so as not to hurt her with my girth.
Holy Christ, the sensation is overwhelming.
I ease in slowly, watching the emotional connection become physical.
When I die, this is the way I want to go.
She purrs and moans between shuddering breaths. “Oh my God, yeah! You feel so amazing.”
At her declaration, I sink the rest of the way inside her. I fill her completely to bursting.
“Oh, Ryder!”
I’m incredibly deep as I thrust in and out of her gorgeous *!
I find her sweet spot and she freezes, letting my dick massage her. Rachel cries out as I shatter her inch by inch. “Oh my God, how the f*ck can you be this amazing!?”
She grips the headboard as I piston into her faster and harder. The vision of her bare body beneath me, her tits bouncing to our rhythm, her soft, creamy legs spread out to receive me and my dick being swallowed by her * is pushing me to my endgame.
Her inner orgasms drive me into a frenzy.
I need to make this last. Quickly I try to think about something to desensitize, like baseball stats. But it doesn’t work. She brings her slender fingers up to my waist.
“Come closer, Ryder. I want to feel you cover me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I’m f*cking thunderstruck as I lay over her. My senses heighten as my emotions overcome me.
I’m consumed with awe and reverence.
Balanced, with my weight supported by my elbows, I make love to her gently.
Make love. I’ve never even considered the idea of what that might be or feel like. I’ve only ever f*cked. I’ve f*cked long and hard and good; I’ve never made love before today.
I cradle her beautiful face and silken hair in my hands—how is she so powerful and so delicate all at the same time?
How does she have this effect over me?
Her eyes, her deep, rich, earthen eyes hold me, mesmerize me. Her lips engage mine and she breathes against them, “Ryder.”
Her fingers squeeze me everywhere at once—my arms, my back, my waist—skimming my ink, pressing seductively into muscle and branding me wherever they touch.
I realize that the word love isn’t strong enough to convey what I’m feeling. I don’t know what other people experience when they fall headlong into the force of another person, all I do know is that it’s never happened to me until her.
I fought the emotions when I had to leave her in Shreveport—putting them aside so I could think straight. I struggled for weeks to leave her alone once I knew she was safe, to not contact her, to not give in to the building pressure in my soul.
But she’s made me a believer, converting me from an emotionally dead, unfeeling, closed-off skeptic to a man willing to expose his wounds and hold his hands out for the healing I feel in her touch.
It’s pure.
Authentic.
None of my combat or spiritual training can stand against it—and truthfully, at this moment, I have no desire to fight it.
And although I loathe the conditions that brought us together, I’m eternally grateful she’s come into my world.
I’d die for her.
My dick explodes inside of her, pulsating, while her satin milks me delirious.
Overcome with the highest satisfaction and deepest gratification, I lovingly lay beside her, gather her in my arms and hold her.
No words need to be spoken—we both feel the power coursing between us.
Soon, I listen as her breath softens and becomes even as she falls asleep, emotionally and physically, there in my protection.
And protecting her is a mission I will not fail.
Rachel
When my eyes open, the soft late afternoon sun sets its glow over the walls. Ryder is hanging from his knees over a bar that spans the bathroom doorway. He’s shirtless and barefoot and only in a pair of blue denim jeans. His arms are folded over his chest in an X as he comes halfway into a hanging sit-up—the ripple and bend of his stomach and back muscles as they flex taut with the action mesmerizes me. He throws quick, rigid jabs, twisting at the waist. Sweat drips from the back of his neck, and his shorn hair glistens.
He’s beautiful—I’ve never known any man like him.
His cell on the bedside table rings, startling me. He sets his hands on the floor, brings his legs down and is swiftly on his feet.
When he notices I’m awake, he touches my leg with a “Hey” as he grabs the phone.
“Axton.” He listens then says, “One fourteen” before ending the call.
My eyes search him quizzically—that’s our room number.
“My partner is coming up,” he tells me. “I think we need the numbers, and Miguel won’t know him.”