Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(57)

His breathing grew ragged. “Gracie,” he choked.

She ignored him, pumping deeper, taking her hand all the way to the base of him. She felt in control. Powerful. Her fingers slid back up and she dragged her thumb over the engorged tip of him.

“Gracie,” he said again. “Not like this . . .”

In response, she squeezed him, her own breath hitching as he pulsed and jumped in her hand.

“Enough.” He grabbed her shoulders and roughly shoved her back down on the bed.

Her pulse hammered in excitement against her throat. She thought that was it. He would ram into her and she was okay with that. She wanted it so badly she burned for it. She would revel in it. She felt like she had been waiting for this forever. And maybe she had. Maybe all these years, she had been waiting for him. She wasn’t burning for it. She burned for him. It could happen anywhere with anyone. This need was for him. The it was something only he had unlocked inside her.

He rose up into a sitting position between her legs and froze, each of his big callused hands gripping one of her thighs. He slid them down and under, lifting her slightly off the bed. He looked down at her, all of him tense, every muscle and sinew locked hard and tight, ready to go off.

“I can’t promise this will last long—it’s been a hell of a long time for me, but you’re going to come. I promise you that.” His thumb worked small, hypnotic circles inside her thighs as his gravel-deep voice pebbled over her. “And then we’re going to do it again . . . slow.”

Her eyes widened. Holding her up with one hand now, he fisted his cock with his other, guiding himself to her opening.

She gasped as he started to slide inside her, a part of her wondering if that were true. Would they do it again? None of her previous partners were up for a second round in the same night. Then all thoughts fled. She panted as he filled her, gliding in slow, stretching her until he was buried in to the hilt. She felt her eyes go wide, shocked at the unfamiliar sensation. She had never felt this. So full . . . so invaded.

“You feel amazing,” he whispered against her mouth.

“I feel you everywhere,” she returned, talking against his lips.

And then the ability to speak was lost because he started moving, holding her hips, leveraging her for himself but angling her in a way that built the friction and made her arch and cry out.

Tears burned her eyes as something snapped. Some invisible, coiling band broke and she came undone, her muscles going limp. Reid didn’t slow down. His hands slid under her and gripped her ass, bringing her right up to that precipice again.

She moaned and he dropped over her, his mouth on her ear as he thrust in and out of her. Fast and hard. “That’s it, sweetheart. Come again for me.”

His deep voice served as its own turn-on. She flew apart again. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly. With a few more strokes he joined her.

Their ragged breaths fogged the air between them. For a brief moment she worried awkwardness would instantly follow. Regret. He would look at her with cold eyes and everything would go back to before. They would return to captive and captor.

Except that didn’t happen.

Reid rolled off her and left the bed to dispose of the condom. Then he returned, sliding under the sheets and pulling her against his side.

He curled her leg around him, his hand splaying over her hip. They were quiet for a long time. She fanned her fingers over his chest, enjoying the sound of his heart against her palm.

“It’s been a while for me, too, you know,” she whispered, her lips brushing the warm skin of his chest.

“Eleven years?” he returned.

She grinned and couldn’t help the little giggle from escaping.

“I’m guessing I have you beat,” he continued, his voice rumbling up under her. “Eleven years ago you were probably in high school.”

“True.” She sobered, thinking about that. Eleven years was a long time to go without intimacy. “You really haven’t been with anyone that long?”

He tensed under her. “I was no one’s bitch if that’s what—”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she rushed to say, her hand smoothing his chest involuntarily. “It’s just you’re so hot . . . and virile. It’s hard to imagine you not . . . doing it.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “There were a few close calls when I first got to prison, but I quickly learned how things worked. I got in with a crew, made friends . . . allies. And watched my back. Every minute of every day.”

“It sounds horrible,” she whispered.

“Yeah, well, prison isn’t supposed to be fun.”

She propped her chin on his chest, looking up at him. “What did you do? To get yourself in prison?” she clarified. “What did you do?”

He paused before saying, “Murder. Sorry if you were looking for something more original.”

He watched her, holding her gaze with an unreadable expression. She didn’t look away, certain this moment was important. Her reaction was significant. He wanted to see if she would flinch. If she would recoil in horror.

Finally, she said, “I don’t believe it of you. You’re not a murderer. Not justifiably anyway.”

A slow smile stole over his face. He leaned up, his hand gripping the back of her head, pulling her in, kissing her long and deep, stoking the fires again. Her body started to wake up, tingles sparking throughout all her well-used parts. She moaned softly into his mouth.