Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(69)

And he’d never wanted to come home more than right then.

But before he could think too much about what that meant, her hands were on the move, teasing and stroking and distracting, effortlessly so, taking him out of his head and back into his bed—with her. Which was a hell of a lot less scary, so when she nudged him over, bossy as ever, he rolled onto his back to give her all the room she needed to feel.

“Too many clothes,” she said, yanking his shirt up, over, and off. The zipper of her skirt went down and quickly followed. Hooking her fingers in the waist of his sweats, she looked up at him through her lashes. “Your turn.”

Dax wanted to point out he didn’t get to finish giving her her turn, but lifted his hips as told and watched as Emerson freed him and—

“Holy hell” was all he got out before she covered him.

With. Her. Mouth.

That sexy mouth that could be so sharp and oh so sweet. And Dax considered himself one lucky SOB, because his pants were around his knees, his legs hanging off the bed, and Emerson was kneeling in front of him, driving him right out of his head with her gentle licks and not-so-gentle sucks. The perfect mix of give and take that was destined to end the party before it started.

Which would be a shame since she’d brought her cupcakes.

“Emi,” he said, sitting up and tugging her into his lap, facing her so her back was to his front. “I want to do this right.”

More like he needed to get it right. With her. Tonight.

“Those moans told me I was doing it right,” she teased, moving her ass so it was nestled perfectly against him.

“You mean moans like these?” He ran his hand up her stomach to cup her breast, his thumb brushing back and forth across her nipple with featherlight pressure. She bit her lip to hold back the moan. He did it again—she closed her eyes.

But still no moan.

“Stubborn,” he whispered, bringing both hands up to cup her breasts, his thumbs pressing over the puckered surface, then pinching down, ever so gently.

“Oh Dax,” she groaned, her head falling back against his chest, giving him enough primo real estate to nibble along the curve of her neck.

“There’s my girl,” he said, running one hand down her stomach and between her legs. His fingers teased around the edges until he felt her breaths come in short gasps, then up the middle, and finally sank into pure heaven.

First one, quickly adding a second because she was already so wet and ready that a few twists was all it took to feel her tighten—he could also feel her hips pushing against him, straining for control and desperate for more pressure.

He gave it to her, then backed off. Not a lot, but enough so that when he added the third finger she jerked forward and yelled, “Oh hell.”

Really loud, but he still didn’t let her come.

“I do love it when you swear at me,” he whispered against her ear, giving it a little bite. “But ‘Oh Dax’ would make my day.”

She didn’t laugh or give him the “Oh Dax” that he was looking for. Instead she spun around until she was straddling him, hands on his chest, looking him in the eyes. And man, feisty looked good on her—almost as good as she looked on him, with all that sensual challenge flickering in her eyes.

“How about you stop talking and bring me my O, Dax?”

It was an order he was happy to comply with, one that had him going combat ready.

With a salute, he said, “Yes, ma’am,” and together they had that condom on—no ribbed for her pleasure because she knew better—in no time flat. Then she was lifting up, his hands on her hips, and he was entering her in one thrust.

And together they both sighed a hearty “Oh God.”

Dax might have said it again, because she felt that good. That right. So right he didn’t just want to have her in his bed, he wanted her to stay there. Past breakfast, and maybe through lunch, so that when dinner came she could prance around his kitchen in just her tank top, no panties, cooking him up green stuff that was good for him because she was good for him.

Too damn good.

So good that when she started moving he was pretty sure his heart lodged itself in his chest, and when she wrapped her arms around his neck and he buried his face in her hair, he felt as if he were going to explode out of his body. His skin was tight, his lungs pissed off, and everything that was going on inside was too much for his body to contain. It couldn’t all fit, yet with her he did.

He fit so perfectly.

“Dax,” she said and he realized she was doing all the work because he was doing all the feeling, so he rolled them over, tucking her beneath him so he could look into her eyes as it all happened.

“Right here,” he said, moving inside of her with deep, strong strokes. She was strung tight, so close to the edge that he moved faster, never looking away. She met him with every thrust, her eyes boring into his in a way that he couldn’t hide. Anything.

For once it was all out there in the open, and she wasn’t running, closing her eyes, she was taking him as he was, demanding more. Not someone else, just more.

“Right,” he breathed as he withdrew all the way. “Here.” He slid all the way back in, to the hilt, and she cried out his name. And when he felt her first tremor of release, he gave her everything he had and she took it, giving him even more in return.

“Right here,” he groaned as she shattered around him, squeezing so erotically tight that it was too much and not enough all at the same time. All the exhaustion, the pain, and the past coiled into a tight ball in his chest and then exploded, and he came so hard his arms buckled and he managed to pull them onto their sides right as he collapsed.