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Worth it.

She moved her hand over him, squeezing and pumping, her eyes fixed on his cock, her tongue tracing her lips as if the hunger she felt for him was overwhelming.

Carefully, she climbed into his lap, straddling him. With one hand still clutching his length, she guided him inside her.

His mouth fell open in a gasp as she sank down inch by inch. Her breath stuttered, her hands clinging to his shoulders. They stayed like that for a moment—joined, completely still, with only the frantic rhythm of their hearts echoing between them.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, cradling her close. “Ride me,” he whispered hoarsely. “Bathe me in your essence. Take what you need.”

And she did.

Her hips began to roll in a slow, deep rhythm, her breath brushing against his cheek, her breasts grazing his chest. He couldn’t thrust—not with the pain lancing through his ribs—but she didn’t need him to. She rode him, every motion purposeful and sensual, her body wringing pleasure from his battered form. His battered soul.

She was so fabulously wet, desire dripping from her, drowning his cock.

He kissed her again, his fingers twisting in her hair, drinking her in as if he’d never get another taste.

“You taste like sin,” he growled into her mouth.

“You feel like salvation,” she panted, grinding down harder, her eyes fluttering shut.

She broke the kiss and sat up, throwing her head back.

He groaned, gripping her hips, needing to feel every inch of her, needing to brand her onto his skin.

Her pace quickened, her movements rougher and more erratic. He reached between them, his fingers finding that sweet, swollen nub again, circling and pressing. She cried out, her whole body jerking as he pushed her higher.

“I want to see you come again,” he whispered. “Come for me. Right here. Right over me.”

She shattered, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she convulsed around him. Her climax rocked through her, long and hard, and the way she clenched around him, the way her body milked his—he was barely hanging on.

But he wanted even more.

He tightened his grip and groaned, “Turn around. Ride me from behind.”

She nodded, dazed and breathless.

Carefully, she climbed off him. He gritted his teeth against the pain and shifted upright, propped against the headboard and pillows. When she climbed back onto his lap, facing away, and slid down onto him again, they both gasped.

The angle was exquisite. Tighter. Deeper.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his head falling back. “Just like that.”

She braced her hands on his thighs and began to move—rolling her hips, grinding down. Her hair spilled down her back like black silk. He threaded his fingers through it, gathered it in his fist, then tugged.

She cried out in pleasure, her hips jolting in a more frantic rhythm. “Yes,” she gasped. “Again.”

Gideon grinned and pulled harder, making her moan.

She turned her head, her lips parted, begging for a kiss. He obliged, plunging his tongue into her warmth and delighting in it.

His hands slid up her torso, cupping her breasts from behind. His thumbs rolled her nipples in time with her rocking, and she cried out again, helpless and wrecked. He bent forward, brushing his lips down her spine, tasting sweat and skin.

“You were made for me,” he said hoarsely. “This body… it’s mine. You’re mine.”

She let out a moan and rode him harder, her breath coming in broken gasps and whimpers.

He loved the feel of her—the weight of her breasts in his palms, her nipples against his thumbs, her soft bottom cradling his thighs, her intimate walls tightening around his cock.