Page 52 of Fake Dark Vows
My blood is pumping through my veins. I grab handfuls of Rose’s hair and pull her back to me. Then, when our tongues are dancing around each other, I roll over, pinning her underneath me on the sand.
The world lurches away from me, but Rose groans softly and spreads her legs wide—grounding me with an invitation I’m not about to refuse. I use the tip of my cock to feel her wetness, sliding it all around her pussy, teasing her with it.
Rose arches her back, clawing at the damp sand with her fingers. I slide the end of my cock inside her, and her eyes fly open. “Is that okay?” I whisper?
She nods, panting.
I push harder, further, slower, my own orgasm too close.
She’s tight. So tight, I’m worried I’m hurting her. It takes every ounce of strength my pulsating brain will allow not to ram into her. There’s a warning light flickering somewhere inside my gut as my cock throbs inside her.
She’s watching me, her gaze intense, fingers buried in the sand.
“Rose? Am I hurting you?”
“A little.” She gasps like I’m filling her up and she can’t draw a breath. “That’s … normal … right?”
“Normal?” I don’t know how long I can hold it in.
“The … first time…”
And suddenly it hits me like a blow to the gut, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I want this to last. I want Rose to want me as desperately as I want her.
I want her to enjoy this.
“I’m sorry, Rose,” I manage, scrunching up my eyes and trying so hard to stop myself from exploding in her right now.
“Sorry for what?” Her expression is unfathomable—I said the wrong thing.
“I can’t hold back.”
“I don’t want you to,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me until I explode inside her.
CHAPTER 18
Rose
We lay on the beach in each other’s arms, contented, peaceful, with the water lapping at the shore. I could stay here forever. I don’t believe that any other thoughts cross my mind—what more is there to think about in these kinds of situations?
I listen to the sound of Brandon’s heart, and it feels like everything I ever needed crammed inside one person’s body.
I smile to myself—Jess always said I was too hooked on romance novels to see what was right in front of my face. But strangely, I do see him. I see his flaws, and his arrogance, and his privilege, and even though those qualities are high on the list of things I dislike most, there’s a whole lot more to Brandon Weiss.
His heartbeat is strong, but I feel like he is broken inside.
Do I want to fix him?
Doesn’t every woman who ever meets a broken man?
Brandon starts shivering uncontrollably, and stark reality comes crashing back into play.
I sit up and study his face. His skin is deathly pale and sweat beads his forehead and upper lip despite the shivers. “We should get you back to the house.”
He doesn’t speak. Instead, he nods, his teeth chattering.
I help him to his feet, straighten his clothes, and fasten his belt before trying to fix my own outfit. My shirt won’t do up—half the buttons are missing, and the rest are clinging on by a thread. Literally. It would be comical if Brandon didn’t have a lump the size of a tennis ball on the back of his head, covered with a mixture of dried blood and sand.
I should’ve gotten him back to the house sooner, but I can’t think about that right now.