“Don’t stop,” I breathed.
I needed more. My legs tightened around his waist, desperate for it, but he held back.
“Imogen,” he prompted in a growl. “Look at me.”
My eyes, which had drifted shut, snapped open. His face was close, his expression fierce with need.
“Tell me how you want it, greedy girl, or you won’t get it at all.”
That was so hot, I nearly orgasmed just hearing it.
“Tell me,” he ordered.
“Hard. Rough,” I confessed in a rush. “Don’t be gentle.”
He grinned — a grin of such dark promise, it set off a full-body tingle from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. And, without another instant of delay, he made good on that promise.
He slammed inside me, burying himself to the hilt. We both cried out at the sheer pleasure of it. He gave it to me just as I’d asked. Hard, rough. There was nothing gentle about the way he fucked me, nothing even close to gentle about the orgasm that rocked through my frame a few short moments later. I’d barely finished coming when another began to build, spurred on by the relentless drive of Cade’s hips, the brutal pace he maintained as he gripped my ass with unflagging strength.
The second time I came, he came with me.
His forehead planted in the crook of my neck, where my pulse was pounding twice its normal speed. His breaths were just as ragged as mine. But his voice was full of satisfaction when he muttered, “Christ. Just got you clean, now I have to start all over again…”
I laughed as he set me back on my feet and grabbed the soap.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I’m on my way! There’s a bunch of traffic.
- Imogen Warner, stepping out of the shower
Later, we were lying on our sides in bed, facing one another. The room was dark. For once, the heavy weight of a furry body was not sprawled across my feet. Socks had been shut out for the night, ruled too filthy for bed-access by Cade. (For the record, I — pushover that I was — had advocated to let him track muddy prints all over the duvet, but was overruled.)
“Thought you were tired,” he murmured, staring at my face.
“The double-orgasm kind of woke me up.”
His lips twitched, but all amusement drained from his expression as his eyes shifted to my shiner. “Tell me about this morning. Adrian.”
“Maybe I am tired after all…”
“Imogen.”
“Fine, fine,” I muttered.
He’d already heard about most of my morning — back at the hospital, I’d told him all about the vision Annie’s locket had triggered; how it had set me on the path to the marsh and, eventually, led me straight to Rory. But I’d been able to avoid telling him about Adrian’s surprise visit.
Until now.
I gave him a brief synopsis, sparing no details but also attempting to gloss over some of the parts I knew would fray at his last nerves. Besides a brief lip-twitch when I described Socks’ puppy-teeth taking advantage of a trendy ankle-bearing suit, he had no reaction at all.
“He said that?” he growled when I drew to a close. “That this isn’t over?”
“I think we’ve established Adrian’s instincts of self-preservation are seriously lacking.”
“He’ll try again. To get at you.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “If he does, he won’t get me. I’m not going back to A.C. with him. I’m not going anywhere with him.”