Page 33 of Love Finds Home
Without question, I do what he tells me. He wants to take me hard, and I want to give him that. Once on my knees, my hands bracing myself on the armrests, I look over my shoulder to see the gloriously naked man standing behind me. He runs his fingers down my back again, his jaw slack. When he gets to my hips, he grips them, pulling me towards him. Taking one hand away and fisting his cock, he runs it through my wetness before lining it up and thrusting inside of me. When he bottoms out, he pauses and looks at me.
“Okay?”
“Perfect.”
That’s the only confirmation he needs, and he begins moving. He’s fulfilling my wish of pounding me into next week. His grip on my hips is hard and bruising, but it only adds to the sensations. The only noises are from our bodies slamming into each other. It’s almost violent, but there’s something poetic about it. It’s a physical release of our natural inclination to fight. That’s what this is. A fight. Only I’m not sure what we’re fighting about right now. My body certainly isn’t fighting. It’s fucking. And climbing back up before going over the peak again.
“So fucking tight,” he growls. “So wet.”
“Ranger,” I cry when he finds the spot inside that starts the crash. “Right there. Fuck!”
“Give it to me,” he demands. “Give it to me now!”
And like my body knows what he wants, I go over the edge one more time. His cock continues to thrust in and out. Long, hard strokes. Through my orgasm and right into another. Never in my life has this happened. I hear a loud keening and realize it’s me, crying out my release. When he roars my name, I’m there withhim. In the moment, it’s just the two of us. And we don’t hate each other. And we aren’t hiding our feelings. We are one.
He collapses over my back, his arms wrapping around me, holding me to him. I close my eyes, and it’s many moments later I’m able to wrap my head around what just happened.
Chapter 12
Ranger
I shouldn’t be doingthis. I shouldn’t be carrying her in my arms down the hall and into the bathroom. I shouldn’t be sitting her on the edge of the sink and turning on the shower, keeping my hand on her thigh the whole time. I shouldn’t be picking her up and putting her in the shower and stepping in behind her, pulling her body against mine so I can feel her against my chest. And I definitely shouldn’t be soaping up my hand and washing her body. This is close. Intimate. This is the opposite of what I should be doing, which is getting dressed and getting the fuck out of here.
She turns in my arms, wrapping her hands around my neck. Looking at me with a shrewd eye.
“You look like you’re constipated.” She smirks at me.
“You are so fucking annoying,” I reply, but there’s no heat behind it.
“It’s one of my many talents.”
She runs her hands down my neck and over my shoulders toward my arms. I stiffen when her fingers pause on the tattoos that cover up my scars. She doesn’t say anything. Just leans forward and kisses my shoulder, which got the brunt of the wreck. When she moves on, her hands trail down my arms to my wrist, my palms, and finally my fingers, moving along before I can grip her hands in mine. She moves to my chest, her fingers lightly tracing those tattoos as well, which cover more scarring.
I turn her around because it’s too much. She’s too close. And it’s now too quiet. I lean down to her ear and kiss the shell.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
With no words, she leans her head back against my chest and we stand under the water in peace for a few minutes.
Once we’ve finished cleaning up, we step out of the shower. She hands me a clean towell to wrap myself in and grabs another one for her. Her hair is a wild, wet mess of curls. She disappears into her bedroom, returning a minute later in a pair of sweatpants that are almost comically big on her. I wonder if they’re an ex’s and feel my blood boil over the thought of it. She paired them with a white tank top. No bra. Her nipples are poking through the fabric. And thank God for small favors.
“I’m hungry,” she announces. “I’m going to order a pizza. Would you like to stay and eat with me?”
I’m answering before I even think. “Of course. As long as there’s pepperoni.”
Shit. She was giving me an out. Another one. I should have taken it, but I didn’t. I follow her into the living room, where I drop my towel and get dressed right in front of her. She’s not sly about watching me, either.
With the pizza ordered, she selects a corner of the couch and pulls a pillow over her lap. I take the time to look at her. She’s not wearing that fake smile right now. In fact, she looks almost contemplative. The pain I can usually catch in her eyes ismissing as well, and I feel a thud in my chest at the thought that I’m the reason.
“Want to watch TV while we wait on the food?” she asks, patting the couch next to her.
“Like Netflix and chill?” I ask, taking a seat much closer to her than I should.
She laughs, handing me the remote. “I’m hungry. Background noise will keep you from having to talk. I’m just trying to be nice.”
“Bullshit,” I cough into my hand, a smile I can’t keep hidden making an appearance.
I take the remote and pull up ESPN. Spring training games are on, and Diamond Cove is playing tonight. I feel like this is a test, but I’m a guy, and we watch sports. To my surprise, Elle starts rattling off baseball stats for the team. Call me impressed.