I was coming down, holding him tight, Tack thrusting deep, grunting with the effort, my tongue at the skin of his neck when his rhythm changed, slowed, but all the power of him shifted to his h*ps as he pounded hard and his grunts turned to groans.
Then he stopped, buried deep inside me, and gave me his weight. I liked his weight, his warmth, his smell, his body connected to mine and I held on tighter.
In my life, I’d had five lovers and I had chosen them all carefully. I thought all were close enough to perfect before I took them to my bed. And none of them gave me what Tack gave me. Not even close.
He shifted some of his weight to a forearm in the bed as his other hand drifted up the skin of my side and with his lips at my ear he whispered, “Three hours.”
My limbs convulsed and I whispered back, “Why do you keep saying that?”
He lifted his head and I felt his eyes on my face through the darkness. “That’s how long they had you.”
I forgot how to breathe.
Tack did not. He spoke.
“They’re gonna bleed.”
It was a vow.
My body went as still as my lungs.
He went on. “Rivers of blood.”
That was a vow too.
Oh. My. God.
“Tack –” I forced out.
His body shifted slightly to the side and his hand curled around my throat like it did outside Hawk’s SUV. His fingers flexed in but the touch was light.
His tone was not.
“They took you,” he stated.
“Yes, but –”
He interrupted me. “They hooded you.”
“I know, but listen –”
“They touched you.”
“Well, only to –”
“They bound you.”
“Uh …”
“They scared you.”
“This is true, but –”
“No,” he ground out, his fingers flexing deeper into my throat, no pressure, no pain, his word final, his touch communicating the same – no response necessary.
My hand went to his cheek and I whispered, “Handsome.”
It was like I didn’t even talk. Tack stayed on target. “Had Roscoe on you. They clocked him with the butt of a gun. Six stitches. Shoulda put Hopper on you. Brick. No one would get the jump on Hop or Brick.”