my open legs. Leaning into me, he presses my hands into the cushion behind me, and then drags my hips forward, forcing me to support my weight on them. I’ve barely steadied myself when he twines rough, erotic fingers in my hair and kisses me, before ordering, “Shut your eyes.” I do it, no hesitation, wanting whatever unknown he intends, and when I do, he adds, “Don’t move.”
And then he is gone, and I can hear the sounds of him undressing, an erotic thrill that promises soon he will be naked, inside me, touching me. Me touching him. But unbidden, an image of that necklace is in my mind and then me holding a gun on Kayden. I jolt upward. “Kayden,” I say, at the very moment he shoves his jeans and underwear down his legs, giving me a delicious view of his amazing backside and the circle of skulls tattooed on his back.
He faces me, tossing his jeans aside as he does, and I inhale at the sight of him, every delicious, long, muscular inch of him now exposed, his thick shaft jutting forward. And somehow we are frozen in place. He doesn’t move. I don’t move. Seconds tick by, and every moment we’ve ever shared, including the one in the shower with me holding the gun on him, is between us, but there is only one question that I have to have answered right now. Before I can ask, though, he’s walking toward me, and in another few beats, he is sitting on the couch, pulling me over his lap to straddle him, his erection pressed to my belly between us.
“You want to know about the necklace now,” he says, his voice low, terse, his expression stark.
“No,” I whisper. “I want to know what really matters.”
“Which is what?”
“I want to know that we’re real. Tell me we’re—”
He kisses me, cupping the back of my head and dragging my mouth to his, the taste of him wickedly erotic, and almost angry, bleeding into my senses a moment before he demands, “Does that taste real?” And he gives me no time to reply as his mouth closes down on mine again, and this time it’s a claiming, a possession that ends with another demand of, “Do we taste real?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“You aren’t saying it like you mean it.” He lifts me, pressing his shaft inside me, and pulling me down the hard length of his erection. “Let’s try this again.” He shifts himself, burying his cock in the deepest part of me. “Does that feel real?”
My lashes lower, my breath lodged in my throat. “Yes.”
He cups my head again and rests his cheek against mine. “Do you know what I feel? Too much.”
“And yet I want more,” I whisper.
“Now,” he says. “You want more now.”
There is an odd ring of finality to that statement, as if there won’t be more later, but he holds me to him, driving into me, and we are rocking and swaying, and everything else fades away. Wildness takes us again; we can’t kiss each other enough or touch each other enough. Harder and faster, we move, we grind, he drives, and the edge of no return is threatening to steal the here and now. I’m not ready to let go of it, but it’s too late. It’s here, and I cry out, “Kayden!” a moment before my sex clenches onto his cock, and I bury my face in his neck to ride out the sensations.
His arm wraps my waist and he pulls me against him, a low guttural groan coming from his throat, and our bodies shake. Pleasure trembles through me, the world fading, time standing still until I finally return to the present, resting against Kayden, his arm holding on to me.
For a long time we sit like that, huddled together, refusing to accept whatever comes next, until dampness spreads on our legs and reality scrapes away at our escape. Kayden turns me and lays me on my back, leaning over me, staring down at me. “Ella,” he whispers, and I know he feels what I do. We can’t just fuck away the night. Neither of us can take the unknowns between us.
“When you said that right now I want more—”
“Right now we both want more.” His lips and his voice tighten. “Until we don’t.”
“Until we don’t,” I repeat. The reference to both of our withdrawals implies a much bigger problem than I know of.
“Yes,” he confirms, drawing a deep breath to pull out