Then he seemed to realize what he was doing and froze. “I’m—”
I reached for his hand. “Don’t ever apologize for protecting me,” I said. “Plus, the responsible thing is to use protection, even if I can’t have a baby.” I tugged him until he came back onto the bed. “I’ve never not used it. Or well, before you corrupted me.”
He brushed a kiss to my lips. “I think you’re the one doing the corrupting.”
I batted my lashes innocently, totally ignoring the fact that I’d slid my hand down his front and was cupping him through the material of his boxers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I squeezed.
He groaned, his hips jerking forward.
“So,” I murmured, still cupping him. “Put it on. Or don’t. But either way, just get inside me.”
“Not quite yet.” He slanted his mouth across mine, kissing me until my heart pounded, my lungs screamed for oxygen, and a sheen of sweat had broken out on my body. “Dam—” I began when he released my lips, but he only allowed me to suck in one short gasp of air before he was kissing me again, one hand coming to rest by my head, the other sliding down and slipping between my thighs.
He groaned again, the sound vibrating along my tongue, making me shudder and gasp . . . or maybe that was because his fingers had slid through the liquid dampening my pussy and then pushed inside.
A blunt invasion that definitely had me gasping, my lips tearing away from his, my head pressing back against the pillows, a long moan erupting.
“Mmm, baby,” he murmured, shifting down, shoulder nudging my legs apart, mouth descending . . . to my belly button, to my hip, to the other . . . and then to my clit. “Oh fuck!” I gasped, pleasure exploding out from my center, filling me with fire. My hands somehow found their way to his hair again, tilting his head, grinding myself against his mouth and tongue, feeling the stubble abrade my sensitive skin, in a good way, in the best way.
No. That was his tongue. Or perhaps, the suction of his mouth. Or his fingers. Or—
All of it. It was all of it.
Because he played my body like he was born to do it, every touch and stroke winding me tighter, every brush of his tongue pushing me closer to the edge.
“Oh God, Damon,” I groaned. “Like that. Please just . . . oh God!”
I exploded, a shower of sparks bursting behind my eyelids, pleasure surging through my limbs, my pussy clenching around his fingers as firmly as my hands clenched in his hair.
It seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of liquid heat coating my skin, flooding through my nerves, making my head spin.
The moment I regained the tiniest bit of use of my body, I was tugging at his head, pulling him up my body. “Now,” I whispered. “Please.”
His underwear disappeared, the condom was grabbed off the nightstand and rolled on, and he was back between my thighs, pushing in, filling me, stretching me . . . expanding me.
And not just my body.
But my heart was expanding right alongside it.
Then he moved, and I stopped thinking about feelings. Instead, I just felt.
Him pulling out and pressing in, his thumb drifting down to my clit, his lips on mine, tongue delving into my mouth, encouraging mine to tangle with his. It was . . . everything and also just the smallest sliver of a moment, our movements crystallized down to a single shared heartbeat, a sharp exhale, a burst of pleasure.
“Come on, baby,” he panted, thumb working my clit, sweat on his forehead. “Come for me.”
I wasn’t far off, sprinting up and up, spinning higher, winding tighter until I fell over the edge with a cry.
He groaned. “That’s it, baby.”
One stroke. Two. Three.
And Damon joined me in plummeting over the other side.
The best part?
Him holding me close as our heartbeats began to slow, his fingers running through my hair, him whispering, “I love you.”
Me whispering back, “I love you, too.”
Fifteen
Damon
Okay, so perhaps bringing Eden to my parents’ house when we were still new, just beginning to figure out our future together wasn’t the best idea.
My mom stood on the front porch, hair tugged into a ponytail, jeans and bright purple sweater encasing her—as she liked to call them—kiddy curves. My father always said she was beautiful, no matter that she complained about the extra weight gained during three pregnancies she’d never been able to fully shed.
It was true, not the weight or the change in size, but that my mom was beautiful.
She had a light inside her that only seemed to grow brighter through the years. Charisma or charm, or maybe it was simply that she seemed to care about everyone she met, no matter if they were the checkout clerk at the grocery store or her hairdresser.
“She’s beautiful,” Eden murmured, head turning so she could smile up at me.
My heart squeezed, and I knew she got it, knew she could see, even from a distance that the beauty of my mom came not from the outward appearance—though my mom was an attractive woman—but because of what was inside.
Cliché.
But sometimes clichés were true.
Eden understood that. She knew what it was like to be judged on her outside appearance, but she also knew what it was to deal with a monster lurking beneath the veneer of innocence. What was inside was critically important, cliché or not.
“Yes, she is,” I agreed, maneuvering my car into my spot, or what had been my spot during high school. With three teenagers in the house and multiple sports and extra-curriculars and five cars between us, parking had been undertaken with military precision.
Though my car was a lot nicer now.
“What are you smiling about?” Eden asked as I turned off the engine.
“I was thinking about the old beater that somehow
