Change of Hart (Wells Ranch, #3)(90)
“I told you this pussy is mine. It’s been mine since the first time we made love, and I don’t plan on going another day of my life without feeling you strangle my cock until you shatter.”
His words make heat rise from my core to my chest. I watch him watching us, a sated look in his eye. This feels like coming home to him, too.
He picks up the pace, punishing my cunt with forceful thrusts. Beads of sweat caught in his hairline and his fingertips bruising my shins.
I arch my back and he grabs frantically at my hips, pushing as deep as he can go. “Fuck, Blair. Fuck.”
I might not have the muscle strength to ride him—or do much of anything, based on the way my legs are quivering. But I want him feral, losing all control. So I slip my hands over my breasts, letting my nipples poke out between my fingers to grab his attention.
“Play with your fucking tits.” He’s losing control, with an ardent groan and sloppy thrusts. I pinch my nipples lightly, and he slaps the side of my thigh. “Harder, baby. Those pretty pink nipples need some attention.”
I do as he says, toying with my nipples while he watches. “Like this, baby?” I ask innocently. “You want to come all over my tits, don’t you?”
He nods silently, biting and sucking at my ankle. Finally, I have him like he had me. Out of control, reckless, and willing to do anything.
“Or maybe my face again?” I lick my lips, quirking an eyebrow. “Mmm. But I want you to come all over my sore pussy. I want you to be a good boy and make a fucking mess of me.”
He whines against my bare leg, moving at a neck-breaking speed, getting so fucking close to coming apart, I can feel the hum under his skin.
“Blair, shit. I’m gonna—”
Leaving the sentence behind, he pulls out just enough to pump his cock and coat my aching, reddened skin in cum. Letting my legs fall with a thud to the bed, he collapses beside me.
“That’s my good boy,” I mutter between heaving breaths, wiping the sweat from his brow with my fingertips and giving him a long, slow kiss.
His arms wrap tight around me, pulling my head to rest on his chest. The steady percussion against my ear has me drifting in and out of consciousness, spent from the long day and perfectly sated by him. He presses his lips to my hair, mumbling something about ice cream that I’m too exhausted to catch.
“Bear,” he nudges my shoulder. “Let’s go get you cleaned up and ready for bed.”
“Can’t move,” I grumble.
He slips out from under me, then scoops my body into his arms and starts to lift me from the bed—clearly struggling, but trying to pass it off like he’s fine.
I shriek, flinging my arms around his neck. “Stop, you’re going to throw out your back or something.”
“Just…let me…carry you.” He heaves me upward, and my life flashes before my eyes for a second when I’m momentarily suspended in the air. Then I’m clinging to him, and he’s grinning. “See. It’s fine. I lift heavier things than you all the time.”
“Bullshit. I probably weigh as much as you do. Let me try to Bambi my way to the bathroom on these shaky legs.”
He takes a couple shuffling steps across the small room, teetering with each one. “Just sit back and be impressed by how strong your man is.”
My lips roll together, reining in a laugh. “Very strong. So impressive. Please stop before you hurt yourself.”
“Baby, let me take care of you.” He stops outside of the bathroom, considering how he’ll fit both of our bodies through the narrow doorway.
“Unless your plan is to take care of me while I’m bedridden with broken bones, let me down.” I scrub a hand across his jaw and kiss the short stubble. “You’re already doing enough to care for me.”
With a sigh, he slowly lowers my legs until the soles of my feet are firmly on the cold bathroom tile. Then I sit on the edge of the tub—at his insistence—and let him meticulously clean my skin with a warm washcloth.
We share sleepy, loving glances in the bathroom mirror as we go through our bedtime routines. And I can’t help but picture how perfect life would be if every night was spent getting ready for bed encased in the comfort that comes from a gentle pat on the butt, or a raking of fingers through hair, or a wink in the mirror. Having the love of my life stand next to me at the bathroom sink, with a drowsy smile while we brush our teeth, is a fairy tale.
Both too tired for ice cream, we groggily crawl into bed and fall asleep tangled in each other’s arms.
* * *
—
The next morning, I wake up to find Denver sitting in wait with a pint of ice cream and two spoons. His smile’s brighter than the sun pouring in through an easterly-facing window.
“Little early for ice cream, isn’t it?” I yawn, squinting at him with hazy vision.
“Ice cream for breakfast is one of the only perks to being an adult. Live a little, Hart.” He hands me a spoon, and cracks the lid off the tub while I sit up.
Honestly, I feel so drained and parched and the most relaxed I’ve ever been, ice cream for breakfast makes sense. I hold a spoon heaping with strawberry ice cream in my mouth, letting it slowly melt all over my tongue, and my head falls to rest on his shoulder.
“You good after last night?”