Jennifer Probst - The Marriage Merger

He pulled out and coaxed another shudder. overly sensi-tized from back-to-back orgasms, she felt the edge of pain and pleasure blur. “We’re not done yet. you owe me one more.”

Her heart rate sped up. She tried to shake her head in a confident manner, but it felt like jelly attached to her neck.

“No, I can’t; I don’t want to.”

A low laugh raked her ears. He reset an easy pace, giving her just enough rubbing motion to interest her in steady, slow peaks. Wetness leaked down her thighs, and she arched again into the biting pleasure. “Mio Dio, not again.”

“A deal is a deal, sweet one.” He pressed her legs wider and changed to short, strong strokes that buried him balls deep. Too exhausted to think or move, she could only re-spond to what he commanded, and he brought her right back up to the peak and kept her there. Increasing to a brutal pace, he pounded into her with a primitive energy that turned her on, the damp slapping of their bodies, the sharp scent of arousal, the sweat-slicked slide of skin. Her belly coiled and she burned.

He gently squeezed her clit. “Come for me, baby. Now.”

The command hit her ears the moment her body exploded. With a roar, Sawyer pumped his hips and gripped her tightly, spilling his seed. The raw satisfaction on his face soothed, almost as if he surrendered as deeply to the experience of their lovemaking as she had. The orgasm rushed on, claiming and wracking every inch of her body, until finally he collapsed on top of her.

Completely weak and helpless, Julietta sagged against her restraints. The empty part inside that had been completely filled moments ago suddenly widened into a chasm of emotions and mess. The tears that had previously threatened sprang free, and she turned her head in shame.

Her wrists were freed and Sawyer removed the handcuffs. rubbing her sore muscles, he worked the tension from her hands, fingers, and arms, then dragged her to him.

Tucking her into his chest, he pulled the covers over them and snuggled her into his arms.

“Let me go.” She tried to move away but felt like a new-born colt—all gangly legs and off balance. Julietta battled for her inner strength and fought against his embrace.

“Shh, sweet girl, you’re not going anywhere.” His grip was steel, and his voice and touch were gentle as he stroked her hair, murmuring soft words against her ear. “you’re exhausted and need to rest. I’ve got you.” The warmth of his skin and the comforter cocooned her in security and safety she hadn’t experienced in so long, she didn’t believe it had existed. Maybe just a minute. He smelled so good, and his tender strokes lured a hazy sleep to claim her muscles, dragging her down into the dark. Just one minute. As she eased into sleep, his whisper drifted toward her unconscious.

“What have you done to me?” she whispered.

Then she fell asleep.

Sawyer held her tight in his embrace and studied her face. Sweat matted the hair clinging to her forehead and cheeks. Breath rushed in and out of her swollen lips.

With softly glowing skin and her long lashes gleaming with unshed tears, she reminded him of a sleeping princess wait-ing for her prince. A very well-fucked, satisfied princess.

His cock stirred.

What had happened?

Usually, he was always in complete control during a scene. He locked away his physical needs and concentrated on what his lovers needed from him. He had no problems holding back, no matter how sweetly they begged or ca-joled or promised. He allowed release for both of them on his terms, keeping his emotions secondary.

Not with Julietta. From the moment he touched her, he struggled to remain neutral. Her pleasure stoked his, but never had he craved to dig deeper, looking to strip her both physically and emotionally for his own claim. He never doubted she could orgasm. The idiot men before her de-served to be whipped for the junk they put in her head. No, he knew she needed a man to allow her to surrender and let her body rule that powerful brain. Sawyer had an instinct that she owned the soul of a bedroom submissive, just begging for someone to dominate and take control of her body.

It was the other parts that wrecked him.

The way she gave herself to him during climax. The sweet cries on her lips as she begged him to take her. The trust and bravery for allowing him to restrain her the first night together. The way her body lit up under his and snugly wrapped around his cock as if he belonged between her thighs.

She overshadowed every woman before her. Like a drug, he craved his next hit, though he just spilled his seed moments ago. He ached to take her again and again, bound her to his bed, and keep her there until she admitted that’s where she wanted to be.

He expected a crash of emotion after such intensity. He usually took specific steps to contradict the crash—a blan-ket, a bottle of water, some soothing words and a comfort-ing embrace. But the moment he spotted her tears, and her inner fury at such a weakness, he only longed to hold her close. rock her, kiss away her tears, and keep her with him.

Definitely not his normal reaction.

The delicious scent of coconut and musk and sex hit his nostrils. Under the lure of orgasm, he’d made her agree to another night. Why would he do that? The voice whispered the truth, and icy fear trickled down his spine.

Because he didn’t want to lose her.

Already, after a few hours, he was hooked on Julietta Conte. Fascinated by her honesty and strength and vulner-ability, he only wanted more. of course, it was impossible.

Working together, yes. Perhaps an affair for a limited time with both of them clear on the outcome. Long term?

Never.

The chill deepened. While she’d grown up in a loving household, he’d fought with fists and knives and wits to keep his belly full. His escape from two previous homes after his parents died pegged him as a problem child in the system. especially because of his age—nine was the beginning of the no-touch number. Foster families and parents wanted babies, or toddlers, or even that cute seven-year-old who had a shot at normalcy. eleven was hormones and messiness and smart-ass remarks. He knew the moment he walked into his third foster home it would be different.

There was a layer of fear he scented in the air, and the man with the beefy fists, ruddy features, and bloated belly held an element of mean. The social worker hadn’t given a shit.

And once he was placed with his new family, the rules were clearly laid out, beginning with a beating with a belt on his bare back.

Strike. No running away. They needed the money.

Strike. No causing trouble.

Strike. No interference with disciplining the other kids.

Strike. one meal per day. Stealing any more would mean consequences.

Strike. No telling. Anyone. ever. Penalty?

Strike.

The worst nightmare he could think of.

Dickhead threw him a towel to wipe off the blood, then made him replace his T-shirt. He remembered the raw skin sticking to the material and how with each step he battled nausea and passing out. He also knew it would set the tone for the future. If he failed, Dickhead would come after him on a daily basis. Strength and control were keys to survival.

After day one of hell began, he endured for years, until he turned eighteen and finally escaped.

And realized by saving himself he had killed another.

His foster brother.

“Hey.”

He blinked away the memory and smiled. Her husky voice was sexy as hell, and a faint blush stained her cheekbones. Adorable. His erection pressed against her thigh and her eyes widened.

“Hey.” He ran a knuckle down her heated skin. “How do you feel?”

“Good.” She rolled her eyes in self mockery. “That’s a lie. I feel incredible. Like gooey caramel—all warm and melty.”

His cock twitched. That was exactly how she felt when he slid into her—cloaking him in rich clingy heat. He thought about tumbling her back for one more orgasm but knew she had to be sore. Time to take care of her comfort needs first. “There’s a Turkish bath and steam shower in the bathroom. I’m going to start the water for you.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, then slid out of bed and padded naked to the connecting bathroom. The huge glass shower doors were framed in rich gold, and the walls boasted an elabo-rate mosaic of earth tones. Steam hissed from the walls and formed a thick cloud. He pulled onto another knob and warm water sprayed from the ceiling onto slate tiles and the specially carved matching bench. He laid out some snowy white towels and the hotel robes, then made his way back to the bedroom.

Humor twisted his lips. She sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped like a mummy in the sheets. Her face reflected a blend of shyness and aggravation. She’d soon remember who was in charge and lose some of her innate inhibitions.

Crossing one ankle over the other, he leaned against the door. “Shower’s ready.”

Her gaze flicked over his fully erect dick and nakedness.

Her teeth pulled at her lip, then she stood up in a flash, shoulders back, dark eyes gleaming with stubbornness. She marched across the room like the Queen of Sheba with the sheets trailing behind her. Hesitating when she got close, he refused to move aside, wondering what she’d do.

With a haughty sniff, she stalked past him, dropped the sheet, and stepped into the shower. The doors closed with a relieved click and he bit back the urge to laugh out loud.