Page 17 of Awaken My Heart

That one sentence unleashes something feral inside him and he squeezes both of my hips and pounds my pussy.

“Gonna paint the inside of this slit. Gonna come so fucking hard.”

“Yes. Do it.”

“You come with me.”

“I can’t,” I sob, the pleasure so intense.

“Yes, you can, and you will. Slip your hand between your thighs and give that needy clit some attention. You will come on this dick again, do you hear me?”

I nod, unable to speak. I flick my fingers across my clit, then fall into the circular rhythm that works best for me.

“Are you ready? Because I’m about to blow and I need you there with me. Come with me, Emma.” He releases a guttural groan and I feel the first pulse of his release hit my vaginal walls.

It’s enough to rock me over the edge so I come with him.

chapter

twelve

Emma

He produces a damp rag from somewhere and cleans me up, then offers me his discarded t-shirt to put on. Meanwhile, he’s pulled his boxers back on. The tiny green aliens make me giggle.

“You making fun of me again?” he asks.

“I would never.”

His eyes heat as he takes in my form encased in his t-shirt. I want to bring the soft cotton to my nose and inhale deeply, memorizing the scent of him. Instead, I lower myself to sit on the rug in front of the sofa, crossing my legs so my naked bottom isn’t hanging out.

“Want a beer?” he asks.

“Yeah. That would be great.”

He crosses the room to the mini-fridge and pulls out two long necks. They dangle from his fingers as he comes around to meet me. He’s sinks down on the floor next to me so we’re both leaning against the couch.

One twist on each and he’s opened the bottles. We tap them together. I take a long pull, enjoying the refreshing cold liquid.

He tips his head back on the edge of the sofa. “That was…”

His words fail him, so I just add, “Amazing.”

“Yeah.”

We drink in silence for a while and it’s not uncomfortable, which surprises me. I keep expecting him to ask me to leave. To tell me he quenched his thirst and now he’s done. But that’s not what happens.

“Tell me about Emma Carson,” his deep voice grumbles.

“Not too much to tell. Grew up mostly with my grandmother. She passed away about six months ago.”

“Then you moved here.”

I nod. “Then I moved here. I hated Houston. Even though it was the only place I’d ever known as home, I just hated everything about it.’

“Houston is a swamp,” he says.

I laugh. “Yes. The drainage in that town is a big problem. I mean it had its perks, but it just wasn’t me.”