Part 38 (1/2)

G.o.d. G.o.d.

Amazing.

Then his teeth were gone. I was turned, pushed back to the bed and his hands where behind my knees. He pressed them high at the same time pulling them wide. His hands left my knees and went to my hips. He was sitting back on his calves and he yanked me up his thighs, the sensitive skin of my a.s.s gliding against the rough hairs on his thighs, making me do a full body quiver. One of his hands left my hip and went to his c.o.c.k. He guided the tip inside, his hand returned to my hip, and he hauled me up, filling me.

There it was.

”Yes, baby,” I moaned.

His eyes locked to mine, he used me to f.u.c.k himself then stayed buried as he fell forward, his thighs going out from under me, his hands going to the bed beside me, arms straight and he held himself over me as he drilled inside.

I lifted my hands to his chest, feverishly gliding them across the warm, hard wall and told him, ”You're magnificent too.”

”Keep your knees high for me, legs wide, poppy,” he grunted, powering in and I realized I was closing them in on him.

I stopped doing that, spread for him, exposed to him. It was wild, it was beautiful, it was hot, and I f.u.c.king loved it.

So much, I was nearly there.

”I'm close,” I gasped. ”Are you with me?”

He stopped thrusting, starting grinding and demanded, ”Look at me.”

I did, begging, ”Apollo.”

He dropped his body to mine, his eyes boring into mine, his hand going between us, his thumb hitting the target and he pulled out, driving back in, groaning, ”I'm b.l.o.o.d.y with you.”

Then we both came.

His sounded really freaking good.

Mine was a whole lot better.

I knew this because I felt his hips pound into mine through his. But I was still gloriously riding my climax when he drove in and stayed planted and his nose was nuzzling the skin behind my ear by the time I started coming down.

He felt it and I knew that when he stopped nuzzling and his teeth nipped my earlobe before he said in my ear, ”Next time I'll go slow and gentle.”

I almost smiled.

I didn't.

When he'd lowered himself to me, he'd trapped my hands between us. I pushed them up his chest, his neck, and framed his face, lifting it and guiding it so I could catch his eyes.

”Are the children okay?”

His features softened to tender and if that look was good normally (and it wasn't good, it was good) with him inside me, his face close, and after a fabulous o.r.g.a.s.m, it was off the charts good.

Then he lifted a hand to cup my cheek, his thumb moving out to touch between my brows, gliding down over my nose to my lips, his gaze watching the trail of his thumb, that tender look not moving from his face.

That was sweet, very sweet. And I liked it. A whole lot.

But he didn't answer my question.

”Apollo,” I called and his eyes came to mine.

”elan has much exuberance for life, but she also has a sensitive soul,” he whispered. ”She merely heard the men battling and took fright. She saw none of it and was never in any danger. Neither of them were.”

”Oh,” I mumbled, suddenly feeling stupid. I was also thinking maybe he thought it less stupid and maybe a little scary-crazy seeing as I stabbed a man and threatened another's manhood with hedge clippers, all for nothing. ”Well, then. Perhaps I overreacted.”

His body started to shake with laughter but abruptly it stopped and he closed his eyes, dropped his forehead to mine and slid his nose alongside mine.

Right. Maybe he didn't think I was scary-crazy.

I slid my hands down to his neck and he lifted his head half an inch.

”Tell me about the children you lost, poppy,” he whispered.

That was a bolt out of the blue, a sneak attack, and my fingers flexed spasmodically in his flesh.

”Apollo-”

He pressed his body into mine and urged gently, ”Tell me, dove.”

I licked my lips.

He waited.

My teeth worried my lower lip.

He didn't move.

s.h.i.+t.

Okay.

I looked deep into his eyes and saw he was not going anywhere until he had his answers.

s.h.i.+t.

Okay.

Not that I wanted him to go anywhere, but we couldn't have our staring contest forever so, haltingly, I shared, ”Uh...I lost my son when I was still pregnant. Pol got p.i.s.sed for some reason and started to-”

”Speak no more,” he growled and I shut up as his anger saturated the room.

I started worrying my lip again.

He got a lock on it, but his voice was rough when he prompted, ”And your daughter?”

”Miscarriage at six months,” I whispered.