Came Back Haunted (Experiment in Terror #10) - Karina Halle Page 0,68

feels like forgiveness and hope, and I expand around him until he’s inside me to the hilt and I’m breathless again.

God, this is so, so good.

“Perry,” he whispers to me, hands on my face, in my hair, hands trailing down my back, to my waist where he spreads his palms wide, bracketing me.

He doesn’t say anything else, just offers up my name like a prayer and I close my eyes, moving my hips back and forth, up and down, trying to control as much as I can. Every single moment is pure exquisite bliss, the silky slide of his body inside mine, the purity of our connection.

Eventually he can’t handle it. He rarely can when I’m in charge. His grip around my waist turns bruising, and he starts to lift me up and down on his cock, faster, deeper enough that I have to dig my fingers into the back of the couch to stay remotely in control.

“I don’t know how but I keep falling in love with you,” he says, emotion and desire rippling through his voice. His tempo slows momentarily as he brushes my hair off my face, continuing to rock his hips up into me, continuing to make every part of my body feel alive. “I can’t stop it.”

He kisses me, just getting my bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth for a wet moment. Then he breaks away, taking in a deep, shaking breath and resting his forehead against mine. “I don’t think it’s normal to need someone this much.”

I’m about to tell him I know how he feels. That I feel the same, how I can be married to him and yet have these feelings be so intense and deep and permanent that it still scares me. But he tightens his grip at my waist and lifts me up instead.

“Get on your knees so I can take you from behind,” he says gruffly.

And just like that, he goes from sweet to crude, and I’m being flipped over by his strong arms so that my ass is to him, my breasts pressed against the back of the couch. He shoves a knee between my thighs, parting them roughly, and then wedges himself inside me. He’s so hard where I’m so soft, and the change in positions has me wild, like I’m feeling him deeper than he’s ever been before, like we can’t ever be parted.

He shudders a breath in my ear, kissing the back of my neck, his hips moving in tight, controlled circles that has his body straining behind me, trying his hardest to hold back, to keep the pace from getting punishing. I love him at this stage, when all he wants to do is come, when he’s fighting the urge to rush through it, to succumb to the intoxication of it all.

He’s in a fucking battle.

Another controlled pass of his hips, and then one hand is sliding between my legs, the other squeezing between my breast and the couch. I try to move back a bit, but he’s right there, all of him, this hot, chaotic energy that wants to undo me.

He starts fucking me harder, the couch moving in inches across the floor. Each hard shove makes my mouth drop open, my eyes rolling back in my head, breathy little cries rising from my throat.

He whispers hoarsely to me, pressing kisses on my neck, my shoulders.

He tells me how good I feel.

How much he loves me.

How badly he wants me to come.

That I’m a good girl.

That he can never be without me.

His finger slides across my clit again and again, and I know that I can’t hold back. I gasp as the orgasm rocks through me and then builds, builds, higher and higher, until I don’t know where it ends or if I can come back down. My cries get louder, more incoherent, and if I went off like a bomb, then the real explosion was lying in wait.

I am obliterated.

So is he.

“Fuck!” he yells in a choked cry, pumping in as deep as he can go, holding me so tight to him that we’re fused. He’s shaking as he comes, and the way he keeps saying my name, that prayer again, brings tears to my eyes, all the emotions of the last twenty-four hours flooding through me.

He falls forward, his damp chest pressed against my back, his face buried into my neck, breathing hard.

We stay like that for a few moments and it grows so quiet that I can hear the