She wanted him to mount up and gallop into the sunset. At least for tonight.
“Fuck me, Bruce,” she whispered. Judging by his strangled moan, she got her point across. He braced his arms on either side of her and began to push into her slick, tight opening.
He hesitated. A puzzled expression partially replaced his lust. “Are you okay? You’re so damn tight.”
“I thought men liked tight women.”
“Oh, fucking hell, yeah.” Bruiser’s strained smile attested to that fact.
“I’m not exactly the type that sleeps around much. Especially the past three years.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
Mac groaned in frustration. “The only way you can hurt me is by treating me like a fragile little princess. I am neither fragile nor a princess.”
He nodded and managed a strained chuckle as his cock pressed against her folds, and he pushed the tip inside. Bruiser took his time, pushing forward, withdrawing slightly, then pushing deeper with each gentle thrust, as if she were a delicate orchid he didn’t want to damage. He tortured her with his slow, methodical thrusts, until she swore she’d go mad if he didn’t just nail her deep and hard.
“Fuck me,” she demanded in a throaty voice that didn’t sound one bit like her but said everything about the way she felt. Mac wrapped greedy legs around his waist and with quick hands she pulled his face down to hers, her mouth hungry and demanding.
Bruiser shuddered, a sure sign his control had finally snapped. With one hard, deep thrust, he buried his penis inside her. He held himself there for what felt like a lifetime that would never be long enough. Then his thrusts came harder, each one so deep he touched her womb and her soul.
Together they established a rhythm. Bruiser drove deep and high inside her, stripping off her protective layers until only her core essence remained. Mac’s hips rose to meet each thrust. His eyes held hers captive, and she became his willing slave. She buried her fingers in his silky gold hair. He traced kisses along her neck, pausing at times to suck hard. He didn’t just mark her once, he was branding her neck, her collarbones, and her breasts—breasts that still tingled from his mouth and lips.
Bruiser’s thrusts came faster as he roughly kissed her, caught up in the moment as she was. His body quivered, as he buried himself inside her. Sweat beaded his forehead and glistened on his tanned skin. He threw his head back and called out her name as he found his release. Mac went with him and they soared through time and space. They existed together, as if their separate souls had melded into one, where nothing was hidden from the other.
Mac wanted to stay in this place, clutching him, listening to his raspy breathing laboring in her ear, feeling his sweaty body sliding against hers while his soul intertwined with hers.
She had brought him to this, and she reveled in the knowledge of a dream come true.
But dreams never lasted forever.
Slowly, they floated back to earth to land lightly on terra firma, arms around each other, holding on as if their next heartbeat depended on the other.
Maybe it did. At least in this moment.
* * * * *
Fucking hell. What just happened?
Bruiser woke up on Mac’s bed, their legs entwined, her head on his chest, his arms tight around her.
He breathed in the scent of her hair. She smelled like the flowers that bloomed outside Steelheads’ HQ every spring, the very flowers Mac so lovingly took care of. She sure as hell had taken care of him. Holy shit on a firecracker, he’d been blown to pieces and put back together, only it felt like some of the old pieces had been discarded, replaced by new ones. He wasn’t altogether comfortable with the result.
What the fuck had he just done to himself? And to her? Could they go back to being friends after being lovers? What about his one-week rule? They’d had one night together, and Bruiser didn’t think it would be enough. He wasn’t even sure a week would do it.
A little voice he usually kept silenced whispered that rules were made to be broken. Yet Mac didn’t fit his plans. She didn’t further his goals, not like a Hollywood starlet or a rock diva would. Mac would never get him face time with the press. Hell, she’d avoid it. But Bruiser needed that face time. Brice, his bold, daredevil twin, would’ve expected nothing less from his one-time quieter twin. After all, Bruiser was living for both of them now.
Even worse, he’d fallen asleep with her in his arms. Bruiser didn’t cuddle. He got the deed done, once or several times, depending if his dick was up to it, then he got the hell out of there.
He rarely took women home or stayed over at their place—too personal. Plus, it gave them a foot in the door to demand more than he could give.
He tried to extricate himself, but Mac held on tighter, muttering something in her sleep that sounded like, “No, don’t go.”
Well, crap. He was torn between his normal MO and a desire for more. Plus, his dick wanted a vote in this election, and it wanted Mac.
Bruiser rolled onto his back, and Mac cuddled in the crook of his arm. Morning sun peeked through the blinds and cast a golden light across the bed, like sleeping with an angel. He didn’t deserve an angel.
Spooked, he managed to pull away and crawl out from under the sheets without waking her as his brain did a quick recap of last night’s activities. He’d banged her how many times? Good thing he’d grabbed a six-pack of condoms.
Mac hadn’t disappointed him. That passion and fire she put into everything she did she also put into sex—no
