“Harder.”

He leans over me, his mouth on my neck, sucking hard, sharp prickles erupting, delicious ones that make me inhale. “More,” I beg. I want him to lose control with me, to think back on this and wish he had me forever.

He grunts, pulling on my hair, making my throat arch up, those fingers never stopping their dance, precise and intoxicating. He stops to hold my hips with wild hands, his grip slipping over the sweat on my body. He twists inside me, his fingers leaving bruises when they land, and I gasp out my encouragement. “More, more, more,” I moan.

“Fuck . . .”

“I haven’t come yet,” I remind him breathlessly.

He growls. “I’m gonna fuck you all night, I swear. You’ll get there.”

“Now.” My hand goes to my clit, and he brushes it back.

“Mine.” He thrusts faster, leaning over me again, his finger swirling, faster and faster, his mouth on my neck, sucking, and my body stiffens, tingles building at my spine, skating up my body, seeping into my soul. Us, him. The sound of his breathing, the sweat that drips down his face, the slap of our bodies. My mouth opens for a cry that never comes, reaching higher, higher . . .

“Mine, mine, mine. This little pussy belongs to me, Elena. I make you come—you got that? None of that vibrator shit.”

A muffled laugh comes from me at the ownership in his voice.

“Are you disagreeing?” He pulls out of me.

I throw a look back at him, tossing my hair. “Why are you stopping? Are you crazy? Do you know how hard it is for me to orgasm?”

He teases my entrance. “Not with me.”

“Jack Hawke, I was almost there.” I swallow thickly. “If you don’t—”

He laughs and drives all the way in, and I groan, wiggling against him.

“Faster.”

He complies, moving wilder, the slide of him perfection as our eyes cling. It makes my neck ache to look back at him, but he’s beautiful, the way he moves, that desire low and heavy in his eyes. His mouth parts as he tugs at the hair on my mound, grinding down as he brushes maddening circles over me. He shifts our angle, going deeper, thrusting, a harsh male sound escaping his throat. The universe that’s us explodes, sparks raining down around us.

My lashes flutter as my release hits me like a waterfall, falling and falling into a ride of sensuous pleasure. I ride it out, my hands grasping the edge of the couch, tearing at it as my body clenches around him, spasming against him.

“Elena, yes, yes, like that, so sweet, so perfect . . .” He groans and pulls out of me, turning me around, lifting my face up. He stares down at me for a long time and then kisses me hard. It feels like ownership.

He picks me up, and my legs go around his waist.

“You didn’t get off,” I say, resting my head against his neck, inhaling the scent of him.

“Not done yet. Don’t go to sleep on me.”

“Pfft. As if.”

A lamp falls over from an end table as he walks me to the wall. Neither of us glance at it. “At least it didn’t break. Are you going to break me?” I tease.

“Only in the best way, baby.”

I shudder and grind my pelvis against him, my wetness sliding over his cock. “Promise?”

His eyes flutter. “Hmm.”

His hands cup my ass as he puts me against the wall. “Lock your legs.”

I do, and he adjusts my body, thrusting inside me, moving me as if it’s effortless, and I sigh at how strong he is.

I must have said it aloud, because he huffs out a laugh. “Fucking you is like breathing. So easy, so good.”

My back digs into the wall as he pins me there, his eyes on my face.

He slides inside me, and I groan. “Elena . . . ,” he pants. “You . . . you . . . make me . . .”

“I know.” And I do. I get what he means. This kind of sex, it . . . it can’t be normal. Can it? This consuming need and desire, this fire that licks at us, that makes his eyes burn for me, that puts that expression of emotion on his face . . .

Does he always look at me like that? As if he’ll never let me go? As if I’m . . . vital to him?

I don’t know. Maybe it’s just his face with every girl—

No.

I let that go and focus on him and this moment. My walls tighten around him, and my kisses deepen. I murmur naughty things in his ear, my heels pressing into his ass. He roars his release, his body shuddering, his face buried in my neck with my hands in his hair.

With careful hands he carries me back to the bed, and we crash down on it together. Our chests rise rapidly, almost in sync, as we stare up at the ceiling. The only sounds in the room are us, soaking it in, our breaths loud. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but I wish he’d say something. I look over at him on the other pillow, and he turns his head at the same time.

I swallow.

He watches me.

I open my mouth to speak but chew on my lip instead.

He arches a brow. “Best you ever had, right?”

I pop him on the arm. “You’re supposed to tell me it was the best you ever had. That I am the queen of everything. That you can’t wait to do it again.”

He grins wider. “Better than that first night—which was hard to beat.”

True. I was a little drunk on Valentine’s and thought it was incredible, but this—this was me at full awareness.

I shrug nonchalantly. “Maybe. My silver bullet isn’t nearly as arrogant as you are—”

He moves faster than I thought he could, rolling me on top of him. “Are you asking for another lesson in who owns your orgasms?”

I laugh down at him, tracing my finger over his eyebrows. “Maybe.”

“Give me five minutes.”

“Slacker. My bullet has a battery.”

He growls. “You best toss that thing out. I’m here now.”

My lips land on his scar on his left shoulder. “How’s your shoulder doing?” I ask, rising up to take him in. “Hey, why are you frowning?”

He looks away from me, then back, his hands idly playing with my hair. “I’ve got to have surgery on it.”

There’s a pause as we study each other. I take in the seriousness of his face, that glint of worry in his eyes. “I’m sorry. That can’t be good for football, right? Can you still play?”

He sighs. “Maybe. Probably. We’ll see.” A furrow builds between his brows, and I rub it away.

“I’m still wrapping my head around it. If the surgery goes haywire or I don’t heal up right, it could mean the end of my career. And if people think I’m injured or not at the top of my game . . .” His voice drifts off. “Since the moment I knew I was talented, football has meant everything. It’s been the one stable thing in my life since I was fifteen. I can’t lose it.”

I nod, seeing and feeling his worry. “You need it.”

“I do.”

“What was it like for you . . . without your mom?”

“Like someone tore a limb from me. She was the kindest person, but she took shit from Harvey. She kept thinking he was going to change, I think. He didn’t.” He gets a faraway look on his face. “Sometimes I think I’m . . . uncertain around people . . . because of him. He scared me. I fucking walked on eggshells around him. Any little thing would set him off. Cold dinner, messy house, my face.”

I picture him as a little boy, frightened of the man his mom refused to leave. I don’t like it.

“And Lucy, your foster mom, she was good to you?” I’m hanging on his every word, aching to figure him out.

He nods. “I moved in with her when I was fourteen . . . after everything happened. She was widowed, a retired schoolteacher who had all these rules about behavior and exercise. She stuck by me, pushed me to try new things, or I might never have put a football in my hands, but when I did, it was like . . . home.”

He has known goodness. I want him to have had everything.

“What about you? You lost your dad young, right?”

“They think he fell asleep and ran into a tree. It’s just been me and Mama, Giselle, and Aunt Clara. My nana passed two years ago. It’s why I moved back home. For some reason, I haven’t left.” I pause. “And how did you know my dad was gone?”

He winces. “Lawrence looked you up after I asked him to. That’s how I knew your address, remember?” He exhales. “I was determined to see you again.”

“NDA.” My eyes narrow.

“Let’s not discuss the NDA. It wasn’t just that. It was you.”

“You wanted to teach me all your wicked ways.”

He laughs. “My wicked ways? You blew my mind. Glittery panties with unicorns. Please. How am I supposed to just let that slip away?” His hand strokes my leg, turning me so that we’re facing each other. He glances down at me. “How are your knees?”

“Hmm, my doctor was excellent. Very good bedside manner.”

His eyes hold mine. “How good?”

I ease on top of him. “Best I ever had.”

“Knew it.”

“Stop smiling like that.”

“Like what?” He shifts until his hard length is at my apex.

My breath stills. “All cocky.”

“You want this cock?” He picks my hips up and maneuvers so he glides inside me, slick and hard as he pushes deep. I moan as he slides back out and then in again.

“Hmm, I think you do . . .”