Ali Katz/Glory

Amber Quill Press/Amber Heat

She returned to the bathroom at the loft. In the few minutes she’d been gone, the sunlight through the roof had brightened into morning. Connor had not awakened.
The thought of him had strengthened her and, she was sure now, protected her.
After cleaning up, she returned to their bed and, still tingling, stood next to it a moment, relishing the waves of pleasure just the sight of him evoked. That small use of power had awakened the spirit in her to the wonder of him and to the return of the aching need she’d shaken off when torn from his side. It was back, tenfold. Her sex ached; her limbs shook with wanting him. She slipped in beside him.
His eyes opened to slits and his hand went to his mouth to cover it. “Morning breath, turn around,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Kiss me first.” She sidled closer, pressing her breasts against his chest and sliding her hand to the back of his neck. His morning erection sought its place at the cleft of her thighs. The warm flush of her sex preparing for him aroused every sense.
“Mmmm. You’ll regret it.” His amusement died abruptly when her mouth captured his.
Breathing him in, she reveled as ravenous desire swept through her. He smelled… like heat… like fire. He tasted like home. She burned. Her body sought his as flame seeks oxygen. She kissed him, and kept kissing him until the air in her lungs became his and their heartbeats melded.
As the kiss threatened to consume her, she lost herself in him. He groaned into her mouth. His hands grabbed her hips, pulling her tight. His erection pressed at her clit, hard and demanding and, with a gush of arousal, she made him welcome between her thighs. She whimpered and arched toward him. With a grunt, he thrust into the new slickness at her cleft. His erection gliding against her swollen labia sent ever-spiraling waves of hot lust to the sensitive, throbbing place where she needed him to be. Mindless, she ground her pelvis into his, rhythmic and relentless.
She needed him inside her, to feel his muscles bunch beneath her hands as he thrust into her, to see him strain, hear his cries when he climaxed.
As if he read her mind, he grasped her thigh, drew it over his hip and dove into her depths.
“Ah.” She gasped with searing relief.
She saw his effort to pace himself, but she was mad for him. Bucking against him, she spurred him to thrust deeper and harder until he cried out and pounded her again and again in fierce abandon. She braced herself and returned each thrust with equal ardor.
A breathless groan escaped his lips. “Glory, oh, God.” He surged against her one last time then clutched her tight. A hoarse, vulnerable sound escaped him. He buried his face in the curve of her neck and groaned her name. His climax shuddering through her, fierce and powerful, flooding her with its intensity. Each throbbing pulse paid homage to her womanhood.
When his spasms subsided, he lifted his head, still panting. “Baby, I’m sorry…”
She put a finger to his lips and smiled then slowly traced a line from his lips, over his chest to where their bodies met and between until her finger brushed her clit. Her sex clutched at the contact.
She felt his waning erection spring to life, swelling to fill her from inside.
“Yes,” he whispered, snaked his hand to the nape of her neck and yanked her head and shoulders back. His mouth fell on her breast. He groaned, “Yes,” and “Sweet,” and sucked. With each flick of his tongue against the sensitive nipple, fire surged through her.
It took only a tiny pulse of energy from her finger to her clit to send her body racing toward climax.
He thrust, groaned, “Come for me, Glory,” and thrust again. A moan swelled from deep in her chest as she exploded into an orgasm that went on, and on, and on.