His thrusts picked up pace. “A little or a lot?”
“A little.” She writhed under him, moving with him as he slid in and out of her like melted butter. Then she tightened with a cry. Her gaze bounced up to his in shock a second before she liquified under him with a moan. “Oh. No, a lot.”
So he’d found her sweet spot. Fuck, yes. “More?”
She clarified her incoherent sob with a wholehearted bob of her head.
One-Mile took that as a hell yes.
He tucked his hands under her ass and lifted her closer, tilting and opening her wider to penetrate her deeper. The shift didn’t just give him access to the most untouched corners of her body but put him in direct contact with her still-sensitive clit.
As soon as he did, she gasped and shuddered, her stare going wide with both shock and a hundred silent questions.
He just smiled as he settled into a quick tempo. She’d figure it out—pretty quickly if her reaction was any indication.
There was something so unbearably intimate about staring into her eyes as he fucked her. Every emotion, every thought, every shred of bliss? He saw them all. One-Mile swore he wasn’t reading just her body but her mind. And she was telling him that she couldn’t hold out much longer.
“Pierce!” She clamped down on him.
He filled her faster and ground down on her clit just to help things along, because goddamn it, he’d held back for her as long as he could. Everything inside him was poised and screaming at him to let go of his restraint and fucking explode.
Hell of a time to remember that he’d monumentally screwed up and—for the first time ever—forgotten a condom.
He didn’t care. Whatever happened next? Yeah. Bring it. He didn’t need anything more than this moment, right now, to know that Brea Bell belonged to him. Whatever she had with Bryant was history.
He’d make sure of that.
If there were consequences from tonight…the timing might not be optimal, but the end result suited him just fine.
Beneath him, Brea suddenly went wild, rocking with him, nails in his back, lips on his neck, her cries in his ear. Then he felt feel her cunt clenching, her breath stopping, the air stilling, and the need building in his heavy balls bursting.
Teeth bared, he growled as his restraint broke. He shoved his way inside her with a dozen rapid-fire thrusts that had his headboard beating the wall—and Brea clenching on him as she let loose a shrill shriek of ecstasy and shuddered wildly under him.
Jesus. Holy hell. Fuck, fuck, fuck… But no self-talk could stop the overwhelming wall of rapture. It flattened him, undid him, turned him around, twisted him, then spit him back out. After long, mind-blowing moments, he finally found the other side of ecstasy, gasped for air, and tried to process what the fuck had happened. He felt different. He felt changed.
He felt like hers.
Under him, she heaved a sigh, lips parted, eyes closed. The tension in her body eased, except the occasional pulse of her pretty pussy around his softening cock.
She blinked up at him, clearly stunned. “Oh…my goodness.”
That was her version of holy fuck, and it made him laugh. He slicked back the damp hair clinging to her forehead and cheeks. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“I had no idea…”
Cutter must be a real deadbeat in the sack. No wonder she was here instead of with him. Keeping her might be even easier than he’d imagined. With chemistry like theirs, it would be years—hell, maybe a lifetime—before they got enough of each other.
“How do you feel, pretty girl?”
The smile that curled up her pouty mouth was almost self-conscious. It matched her still-flaming cheeks. “Happy. Like I’m floating. Best feeling ever.”
One-Mile laughed, stupidly thrilled. Whether she knew it or not, she’d just admitted that was the best sex of her life. The fact that she loved being with him and wanted more only made him feel on top of the world. This was Christmas in August—but better. Unless he missed his guess, it wouldn’t take much to make sure he could unwrap her every single day.
“It is.” He laid a soft kiss on her lips. “It was amazing.”
“Yeah…”
Her voice still had that dreamy quality when he reluctantly withdrew. She winced, biting her lip and clearly holding in a cry. Shit. Had he somehow hurt her?
“What’s wrong?”
But the words had no more left his mouth when he sat back on his knees and looked down.
Blood.
One-Mile already knew from having his mouth all over Brea that she wasn’t in the middle of her period.
The moment he’d pushed his way into her slammed back through his brain. The tightness. The feeling of something giving way. Her admission that it had hurt.
The obvious occurred to him, but…how was that possible? From his research, it seemed she’d been Cutter’s girlfriend for years—at least based on her barely used social media accounts. The asshole had taken her to her prom. He’d held her hand and posed for a dozen pictures during her high school graduation. He’d been her first haircut when she’d finished beauty school.
If she had been anyone else, One-Mile would have dismissed even the small chance that she’d been innocent when he’d carried her up to his bedroom less than an hour ago. But this was Brea. She was a preacher’s daughter. She was a good girl to the core.
Oh, shit. Maybe Cutter hadn’t been cheating on her the night before her father’s heart attack as much as getting some relief because he really was a Boy Scout who had agreed to wait for Brea until marriage.
At least that might have been his plan until One-Mile had barged in and ruined her.
Oh, holy fuck.
“Brea…” He forced her to meet his stare. “You promised me the truth tonight, so be fucking honest. Were you a virgin?”
Chapter 6
Brea gaped. She crossed protective
