Where Winter Finds You (Black Dagger Brotherhood #18)- J.R Ward Page 0,61

wet, hot hold that slid onto the tip of his arousal meant one and only one thing—yes, oh, God, yes, she was swallowing him down, her lips stretching to accommodate his size, her eyes glowing as they looked up his body into his own. He could have watched her forever, but the pleasure was too great, the eroticism too much, the connection too close—and considering that there was a possibility both of his eyeballs were going to explode out of their sockets and scare the shit out of her, it was probably best that he caged his peepers.

Squeezing his lids shut, he growled, he bucked, he was coming again—into her mouth, her hand working him, his balls kicking out part of him into her with ever increasing cycles. Tighter, faster, draining him—

Before there was nothing left, he sprung into action, rolling her over, and pushing his way in between her legs with his hips.

“I’m sorry,” he grunted.

“For what?”

As she smiled, he took her mouth with his own and he penetrated deep into her sex. “I don’t know.”

That was the last thing they said for a while. He meant to go slow, go easy, take his time. He couldn’t. His body took over and he pounded into her, his thrusts so powerful, he pushed her along with the rug, the two of them moving across the floor.

He fucked her all the way into the corner, wedging them into the shelves.

Which had its benefits.

Throwing out a hand, he knocked books from their lineup, scattering them down his arm. They landed with a bounce, flipping open, pages asunder, as he braced himself and fucked her ever harder.

“Yes,” his female gritted as she torqued under him.

Abruptly, he scented blood, his own, not hers—or he would have stopped and worried that he’d hurt her. But no, she had gouged his back with her short nails, and he hadn’t noticed.

He was glad she did. He wanted her to mark him up, give him wounds, make him her own in any way she wanted.

“Harder,” she demanded.

Grabbing onto the vertical of a shelf, he really put the small of his back into it, shoving one of his knees up, cranking her leg into a different position, tilting her pelvis into a cradle he could dig in deep, dig in all the way to his base, dig… into his soul.

Their sexes slapped together. Sweat beaded his face, got into his eyes. A sound ripped out of his chest.

Trez kept going—

Until he abruptly lost his rhythm for some unknown reason. After which, without warning… he lost the pleasure, too.

That wasn’t sweat in his eyes.

It was tears.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Therese was so into the sex, so blown away, so lost to her own orgasms, that her body was reduced and elevated by turns, her flesh converted into an electrical system on an overload that seemed to make it stronger rather than weaker. And on Trez’s side, he seemed to have stamina to spare, his releases ongoing, never-ending; the more she demanded of him, the more he gave her.

Except then it all changed.

At first, there was a swerve as he lost his thrusts. Then there was a curve as he started to slow. Finally, there was a stop dead.

Just as she was opening her eyes, something hit her cheeks—and with sight came hearing. There was a sound coming from him, out of him.

Not of pleasure, but of pain.

Above her, Trez’s features were twisted in agony, tears rolling out of him, agony seeming to lance through him sure as if he were being stabbed.

Scared for him, she gripped his upper arms. “Trez?”

With a horrible sound, he pushed himself off her, landing in a heap, in a sprawl. He was coughing, choking, and as he crawled away on all fours, he didn’t seem to have any idea where he was or where he was going. He was a mortally injured animal, dragging what was left of its life force to a place to die—and he did collapse. Not far from where they had been, he fell to the floor and curled in a ball, tucking his knees to his chest, his arms holding them in tight.

He was a grown male who rocked himself like a child.

“Trez,” she said as she went to him. “What’s going on?”

When she touched his shoulder, he flinched. But he opened his bloodshot, tragic eyes.

“Come here,” she whispered. “Let me hold you.”

She didn’t know if he would let her, but he didn’t resist as she gathered him up. There was so much