Guilty Needs(45)

When he pressed back against her, nothing separated them. He wrapped her in his arms and turned them, pressing her back to the wall. Bree lifted one leg, hooking it over his hip while he palmed her ass and pushed against her. She caught her lip between her teeth and whimpered as he entered her. Hard and thick, his cock stretched her, cleaving through her * with unrelenting force until he had buried himself inside her.

Colby reached down, hooked his arms under her knees, lifted her, opened her. She cried out, her lashes drifting down as waves of sensation threatened to swamp her. “No…don’t close your eyes,” he whispered, pressing his brow to hers. “I want to see you. I need to see you.”

Dragging her lashes up, she stared into his eyes. He rolled his hips against hers, his movements slow and minute, as though he couldn’t bear to pull too far away. She clenched down around him, her hands clutching at him, desperate to keep him close. Inside her *, he was rigid, blistering hot, scalding her—marking her.

He shifted his angle and when he rocked forward again, he brushed against her clit. Bree slammed her head back into the wall and cried out.

Against her neck, he muttered, “I love you.”

“Colby,” she pleaded, sliding her fingers into his hair. “Please…”

His cock throbbed, swelled, jerked. Sobbing, she rocked against him. He swore, his body tensing. The hands gripping her thighs tightened and for one second, he stilled within her. He shuddered and like a dam breaking, he exploded. His mouth covered hers, his tongue delving deep. He surged within her, falling into a hard, driving rhythm that had her screaming against his lips.

For the second time in his life, he knew he had totally lost control, but this time he didn’t care. The need inside him no longer felt like some guilty secret he had to hide. What she felt for him was something real, not something born out of loyalty and promises—real. When she keened out his name, when her hands fisted in his hair and her body arched into his, it was real.

And even though she hadn’t said it yet, he knew it. She did love him. He could taste it on her lips, feel in the way she moved against him, see in the dazed, stunned way she gazed at him as he told her. “I love you,” he muttered again, lifting his head just long enough to tell her and see that stunned, shocked amazement dance across her face.

She came apart in his arms, her * clamping down on his cock and milking him, pulling him along with her. Burying his face against her neck, he climaxed with a groan. She shuddered against him, turned her mouth to meet his. Then she said it.

“I love you.”




Alyssa couldn’t see them very clearly now.

And she couldn’t draw close, either.

It was like looking at them through a cloud and with every passing moment, it became harder and harder to see them.

It was for the best though.

A weight felt like it had dropped off her shoulders and she felt free.

She was done.

Done.

Behind her, something stroked her back, something warm, inviting. Slowly, she turned away from Bree and Colby and found herself staring at rays of light that chased away every last shadow.

It’s time.

The words weren’t spoken, but she felt them nonetheless.

A smile curled her lips and she nodded. It’s time.

And without another look back, she moved toward the light.





LOOK FOR SHILOH’S LATEST…

Headed For Trouble

He was more than six feet of sexy, bearded Scottish trouble.

Not the trouble she was looking for…

yet he proved to be everything she needed.

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Read on for an excerpt from Headed For Trouble





Ian Campbell had left Scotland for a couple of small reasons, and one rather big one. The small reasons were varied—he liked to try new things, he’d always wanted to run his own pub, and he’d never been one to turn down a chance at an adventure. Living in America for a time could definitely be that.

The rather big reason was simple.

Money.

He’d been offered a fat sum to come across the pond and run this pub, and if all went well, then he could even buy it. It had been a hard choice to make, he wouldn’t lie.

More than once—once a week even—he wondered if he’d done the right thing, and considered going home. He could. He’d have to start over, but he wasn’t afraid of hard work and he wasn’t afraid to start over, either. He’d had to do that more than once in his life, that was certain.

But then he’d crawl out of bed, get himself a cup of coffee—or better yet, three. Ian Campbell wasn’t a pleasant man without his first cup of coffee in the morning. Once he was awake, he’d go to his balcony and stare out over the river.

This place was thousands of miles from Braemar, the small village in Scotland where he’d lived for the first thirteen years of his life and just as different from the house where he’d lived after his mother died and he moved to Aviemore to live with his grandparents. He’d lived there from the time he was thirteen until he was eighteen, in a house where raised voices and flying fists had him desperate to leave, and even more desperate never to return.

Nobody here looked at him and whispered as he walked past.

True, it had been a long time since people had done that back home.