Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)(47)

She nodded. “Yes, we do. And all I know is that I don’t want this to end.”

He pulled her closer, held her tighter. “That’s enough for me to fly across an ocean for you.”

He dusted her lips with his—a soft, sweet kiss that was both gentle and thrilling at once. On his lips, she swore she could taste his happiness, and she kissed more, taking some of it for herself.

They chatted in bed, talking about friends and family, work and music, photographs and security. Every now and then a small shard of latent guilt stabbed at her, but she pushed past her nagging worries. She wanted to savor these moments with Michael. This time with him was the sweetest thing she’d experienced in a while, and she’d rather revel in it, especially after so long of having felt the opposite.

Soon enough, their lips found each other again, and they kissed, slow and lazy, the kind of kiss that made her wetter and him harder, that led to fingers slipped between legs and dirty words like, Get on your hands and knees. I want to take you that way.

She didn’t need to be asked twice. She wanted to be f*cked that way by him, with her palms flat against the navy blue comforter, her knees sinking down, and her ass in the air. Michael ran a hand down her back, inch by torturously slow inch, each touch making her wriggle and writhe.

“Mmm,” he murmured, his big palm tracing her flesh, pushing her spine low, forcing her to raise her ass higher. “Look at you. Look at my Annalise. So f*cking wet. So f*cking hot. So needy for me.”

Like a sparkler igniting, those dirty words set off a fresh wave of desire. Heat pooled between her legs as she lowered herself to her elbows, her breath coming fast. “I do need you. I need you in me, Michael.”

He dragged his fingers through her sex, and she moaned, closing her eyes, giving in to the fevered rush in her body, surrendering to her desire to be f*cked.

Sheets rustled behind her as he moved, straightened up on his knees, and positioned himself. When he rubbed the head of his cock against her *, a wild cry ripped from her throat. Mon dieu, who was this woman in her body? Inhabiting her, taking over her mind, using her mouth to speak such dirty things? “Fuck me. Hard. Take me. I’m yours.”

He took, f*cking her as she’d never experienced before—rough and beautifully cruel, fingers digging into flesh, hands gripping her breasts and pinching her nipples, teeth on her shoulders. Deeply buried inside her, he f*cked her savagely. She moved with him, moaned with him, slammed her pelvis back on his cock, letting him know that the more he filled her, the hungrier she was. Sliding a hand up her backbone, he grabbed her hair, wrapping it around his fist. She gasped and her noise turned into a long, animalistic cry as he yanked.

“Rougher. Harder,” she bit out.

She wanted to be bruised, to feel used, to be f*cked so hard she felt him for days. Michael Sloan was more than willing to give her all of himself, to plunder her body with his cock, to take her mercilessly until her hands grappled at the sheets, clutching and twisting as pleasure spiked then slammed into her.

A shattering.

No warning.

Just a rapturous crash as her climax rattled her body, jarring her bones. It shocked her, the power of this kind of orgasm. It had a magnitude measurement as it thundered through her. With a final thrust, growling her name in her ear, he came. She’d never felt anyone go so deep inside her. Never felt so in tune with her body.

But it was more than that. She’d never felt this kind of physical connection. Raw and hungry.

And boundless, too.

That may have been what surprised her the most—this endlessness of the pleasure. She supposed that was how any sort of new passion felt. Infatuation was the most powerful magician in any land, and it could trick you into thinking something was true and real. But there, in the dark of the night, in the middle of a city of millions, tucked away in a hotel room, she believed in its promise.

She believed in fate, too.

In second chances.

As he spooned her, brushing soft kisses against the back of her neck, tonight seemed precisely why she’d landed a job in Vegas, exactly why she’d said yes to the New York gig. As if the cruel mistress of circumstances who had toyed with them and yanked them apart when they were younger was working in their favor now.

Bringing them back together in a whole new way.

After that rough, punishing sex that bruised her hips, and made her sore everywhere, she was sure she’d fall asleep sated. She did. For a bit.

But sometime in the middle of the night, she woke. Not with a start, but with a slow, unhurried shift of her hips. His erection grazed her backside, and she wiggled her rear against him.

“Mmm. That’s a nice way to wake up,” he said, all rough from sleep.

“It’s not even time to get out of bed yet,” she whispered, rocking into him.

“You mean it’s time for more of this,” he said, sliding his hand along the back of her thigh and shifting her knee to make room.

“Yes. Please. You’ve made me insatiable.”

“Good, I like you that way. Hungry for me,” he said against her neck as he eased inside her. He made it a lazy and luxurious coming together, as if they were two lovers who’d spent countless nights entwined. For a moment, she wondered if either of them could come like this, with this unhurried kind of love-making, but the question turned to dust as the warm pleasure in her hummed, tension coiling, and she climbed to the edge once again. She cried out his name, and then out of nowhere, a sob escaped her lips, mingling with her noises, obscuring the evidence of her pain.