He wraps the hand on my shoulder around my neck, pulling my body flush with his as he continues his brutal assault. His hot breath fans my skin as I drop my head on his shoulder. His other arm wraps around my waist, holding me tight.

Our skin is sweat-slicked, and our breathing is shallow and harsh. He growls in my ear, deep and boisterous, before sinking his teeth into my neck. It’s sure to leave a mark, but fuck if I care.

“You’re about to make me come so fucking hard, Bambi. Where do you want it? Am I going to cover you in my cum for the world to see, or are you going to let me paint your walls white, marking you as mine from the inside out?”

Fuck me.

“Please… come in me, Stone. I need to feel you. All of you.”

This must satisfy him because he growls before pounding into me harder two more times before his body tightens up and he spills into me.

He stills, but doesn’t pull out, as he moves to lay kisses along my slick back. Our breathing eventually evens out, and when he pulls out of me, I can feel his cum drip out. It’s an odd feeling, but I don’t hate it. I can’t explain why, but when I turn to face him, my cheeks heat and I feel… shy? I’m wide open and vulnerable, but it’s not like we haven’t done this before.

“Are you okay?” he asks wearily, hands on my hips.

I nod my head as I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his neck and inhaling. “Yeah, I’m good. Let’s shower and then we can go grab breakfast. I’m starving.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Stone Philips

The alarm buzzing incessantly in my ear is grating on my nerves. Five in the morning came entirely too soon. Not that I wasn’t already awake. I’ve spent the last hour lying here, staring at the ceiling, replaying all the many moments I’ve spent with Cash in the last half a decade.

It’s been just over a week since I was last at Cash’s house. Nine days, to be exact. Friday night—and then again Saturday morning—was nothing short of amazing. Mind blowing, actually. While I didn’t leave with us on bad terms, I can’t help but still feel a little eh about where we stand. My mind can’t help but drift back to the conversation we had over breakfast after I ravaged him in his kitchen. The same way I’ve been replaying and analyzing them every single morning since.

“I think we should talk about last night… and this morning,” Cash says, shoving a forkful of hash browns into his mouth. The innate way he has the ability to make eating shredded potatoes look sexy is beyond me.