Page 115 of Heart of Thorns
No horrid memories of my father, no crushing anxiety. No skin crawling.
Just lust… and maybe something deeper. Something more permanent.
She kisses me, dragging my mind away from where her hands are going. She nips my lower lip, and the pain zings straight to my cock. I groan into her mouth and start to move. Quick. Everything in me wants thisnow.
I’ve waited.
We’ve been apart for too long, for my bullheaded comments, for her stubbornness…
“Harder,” she moans.
I’m right there with her. I slam into her over and over, and she clings to me the same way I cling to her. Nails digging into skin, our chests pressed together. She kisses me like I’m the last breath she needs.
My fingers thread in her hair, my palm at the back of her head so she doesn’t knock it against the wall. Her body tightens, tensing around me, and I chase her high. I rub her clit through our frantic movements.
Our kiss pauses when she comes. A wordless, open-mouth cry, her lips still on mine. I fuck her through it. My balls lift, the pleasure spiraling out, and I follow her over the cliff.
We get a round of applause when we arrive, hand in hand, back at her apartment. Lydia and Marley are on the couch, and their cheers make Briar smile.
So I smile, too.
She releases me and goes over to them, and I can’t stop thinking about the thought that popped into my head mid-sex.
More than lust.
Love.
I love her.
It doesn’t seem scary. It doesn’t seem wrong. It doesn’t even worry me that I’d choose her over football. This time, I’m ready for that thought, and I don’t let it destroy me.
The difference between her and my parents, though, is that she would never ask me to choose.
It’s okay to have more than one true love.
A sport and a girl.
She finishes her conversation with them, and I follow her down the hall to her room.
“I have to tell you something,” I say once the door is shut.
My gaze automatically takes inventory of her room. The mini hockey stick wedged in the window, the pot and forks tucked against the wall for use later. The knife on her nightstand.
“What’s that?” She sheds her shirt and glances over her shoulder at me.
I bite my lip and keep myself back.
“I…” My mouth goes dry. “Rhys and I have been trying to find your arsonist.”
“What?”
I wince.
She stalks toward me. “Cassius Remington Thorne the Third, please tell me you have not been putting yourself in danger?—”
I catch her hand and reel her in the rest of the way. “Me? Never.”
“You just said?—”