“I think you’ve had about as much as you can take for one night,” he cut me off. “And I can’t stand seeing that haunted look in your eyes for another goddamned second. So now, I’m going to carry you into my bed and I’m going to fuck you until it’s gone. Until you’re looking at me that way you do — soft, dazed, desperate — when I’m deep inside you and you’re about to come for me.”
I had to admit, that sounded good.
His mouth hit mine at the same moment he scooped me up into his arms — one going beneath my knees, the other supporting my back. He didn’t stop kissing me as he carried me into his bedroom, where he did exactly as he’d promised.
Twice.
Chapter Twenty
Why did we stop putting men on the moon? Let’s put them all up there. Starting with my exes.
- Imogen Warner, conversing about space
Later that night, I made a decision.
I was on top, straddling Cade on the bed. He was deep inside me, filling me so completely my breaths hitched with each downward stroke. I rode him slowly, taking my time. Earlier, we’d been frantic for each other. Desperate. Now, I was savoring it.
Our hands were locked together, the long, tan lengths of his fingers intertwined with my pale pink gloves. He was looking up at me, eyes half-lidded with lust, lips parted slightly as he watched me move. We were both close to release. I could feel the tension gathering in me, like a storm about to break, and increased my tempo. His hips lifted off the bed to meet my downward strokes, impaling me from below, hitting my g-spot perfectly.
God, that felt good.
“I’m almost there.” A moan vibrated from my throat. “Are you coming with me?’
“No.”
My breath caught. “No?”
“Want to feel your hands on me,” he rasped.
My stomach somersaulted. “What?”
“Need your touch, beautiful.” His fingers flexed around on mine. “No gloves. No walls between us.”
“But—”
His hips drove upward again, deepening our connection. I cried out in pleasure, protests long forgotten. I was about to come, and he was asking me — god, I could barely even keep track of what he was asking me. All logic, all reason, was being tuned out by the white noise of desire.
Cade was determined. His hips drove up with another powerful thrust. “Touch me, Imogen.”
“I can’t,” I gasped. “I— I’m?—”
Coming.
Through the thick fog of my orgasm, I heard him say something else. Something I barely processed at the time, too overcome to think straight.
“You will,” he growled, grinding into me. “Someday, you will.”
Then, he came too — with a ragged groan and a full-body shudder that matched my own. When the aftershocks faded, I collapsed onto his chest, incapable of holding myself upright. My forehead found the crook of his neck, where his pulse was pounding like a battle drum. His hand moved through my hair, rhythmic strokes that made me snuggle closer.
I was sated in a way I hadn’t been maybe… ever. I felt safe and warm and supported. But I also felt unquestionably strange. I couldn’t put my finger on why; couldn’t decipher what, exactly, I was feeling.
Until it finally hit me.
Home.
That’s what I felt.
Lying there in Cade’s arms, I felt like I was finally home. And for a girl who’d never had that… not since she was five years old…