Free Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) by N.A. Alcorn Page B

root, guiding himself to me. The blunt head slips inside, and I whimper, “More, Dylan. I need more.”
    He works himself in deeper, claiming me. And then, I’m filled with him. So full it’s overwhelming in the most perfect way.
    God, I’ve missed him. This.Us, together.
    It feels too good to be real, like a hallucination from a fevered dream.
    He doesn’t hold back, pumping hard and deep and rough. His movements are uneven, desperate. Long hands move across my body, searing every inch of my skin. One hand makes its way to my neck, gripping loosely as his thumb brushes my pulse.
    My gaze locks with this. Our eyes reflect each other’s emotions. I can see the way he feels about me, but it’s tainted with the underlying anger and pain I’ve caused him.
    “Is this what we’ve been reduced to Brooke?” he rasps. “I can fuck your pussy with my fingers, my mouth, my cock, but I can’t kiss you?” His nostrils flare, green eyes turning frigid. He circles his hips, spurring a moan from me. “Is that what you want, love? You just want to fuck me while you’re married to someone else? Because we both know, I’m the only one that can give you this, make you feel this good, make you lose control.”
    I’m so turned on, but so pissed off too. I scratch my nails down his back, digging into the cotton fabric, wanting to draw blood, wanting to hurt him physically. He growls, harsh and feral. I wish I could hate him for his words. I wish I could push him away and tell him to go fuck himself, but I can’t. Not right now. Not when he’s buried so deep, his cock rubbing against that perfect spot that has every nerve lighting on fire.
    “That’s it, Little Wing, show me how much this pisses you off. Show me how you can’t stand to think you won’t have this for the rest of your life.” He’s driving into me, harder now, both hands grasping my ass.
    I lean forward, fingers tugging his collar to the side and latching onto the sensitive skin between his neck and shoulder. I suck and lick there for a brief moment, before biting down, hard, too hard , wanting my teeth to hurt as much as his words.
    “Fuck.”
    My tongue tastes metallic; blood, and I don’t care.
    His hand is in my hair, gripping the strands and pulling my head back. A stinging pain shoots up my scalp. “Brooke,” he groans. “It doesn’t have to be like this.” He’s pulsing inside of me, and I’m clenching in response. And I’m lost again, forgetting his words, solely focused on the thickness of his cock inside of me, filling and then emptying.
    I’m so full. I’m too empty.
    Full. Empty. Full. Empty.
    It’s a tortuous rhythm as he brings us to the edge with long, powerful plunges. Every time he’s fully sheathed inside of me, we both moan. And when he slides back out, I whimper, begging for more. For him. For everything. I don’t even know what I’m saying. Too far gone, too fucking lost by the sensations building. I’m burning up, consumed and shaking with pleasure.
    I love how it’s always like this with him, but hate that it’s only like this with him.
    “Dylan, please,” I cry. I’m close, so close.
    “That’s it, Brooke. Let go with me,” he whispers into my ear.
    I fall, crashing into my climax, endless waves washing over me. Eyes rolling back, head falling to his shoulder. I’m trembling and shaking and gasping for air with each moan that escapes my lips. And he’s there too, head tilted back, jaw clenched and body straining tight like a bow as he comes with a harsh cry.
    Both of us are panting, chests heaving. His arms lock around me, keeping me close. My legs stay wrapped around his waist. And Dylan is still inside of me. We stay like this for seconds, minutes, hours. I’m not sure. It’s like neither wants to break this tiny cocoon we’ve created with our bodies.
    A few voices from the front of the bar filter to the outside terrace. Icy cold realization fills my veins. I disentangle myself from him, forcing him to