Free Mr. Real (Code of Shadows #1) by Carolyn Crane

“My goodness, Ms. Gordon.”
    She pulled him to her and kissed him, fumbling with the buttons on his deep blue shirt, barely able to work her fingers. “Please, please, please fuck me, okay?”
    He stepped back, drinking in her body with his gaze. “Since you ask so nicely, the answer is yes, Alix.” Casually, he lowered a hand to his wrist and undid his left shirt cuff, then the right cuff. “I most definitely intend to.”
    She smiled, pulse racing. Most guys acted as if fucking just happened, the outcome of a chain of events they had gotten swept into, typically by her. But Sir Kendall had intent and power. Sir Kendall created the goddamn chain of events.
    “Good,” she said, a little bit saucy.
    Cuffs flopping loose, he grabbed his shirt at the center, where it buttoned together, and then—watching her in that smoldery way that thrilled her down to her toes—he ripped the shirt open. Buttons pinged to the corners of the kitchen.
    She laughed, half in shock.
    He gave her a warning look and she shambled on a serious face. He didn’t seem to like it when she thought things were funny, but, well, this evening was fun. And hot. And crazy, yes.
    He shrugged the now-buttonless garment from his shoulders and arms and cast it aside, leaving only a T-shirt, which he pulled over his head in an action that transformed his chest into a fluid symphony of muscles.
    Then he undid his pants, letting his magnificent cock spring free.
    Her heart slammed against her chest as he stepped in close to her, claiming her thighs with his big rough hands, pushing her legs apart. Oh, she liked the way he did that, the way he took control. She sighed as he drew close, strong and warm. His cock tipped sternly at her belly as he kissed her.
    She fisted his hair, kissing him back, banishing all second guessing from her mind. Because, why the hell not fuck the Denali man? Why not?

    Should she ask the Denali man to use protection? Everything else about him seemed real. Maybe she should.
    His kisses became invasive. She sucked in his tongue, wanting more of him. More .
    She heard something crinkling—he had a condom. He opened it, put it on handily. Could a man who didn’t truly exist father a child, or have a disease? But here he was, a man who expertly took care of things.
    With one hand, he gripped her thigh. She felt his cock at her opening, probing, excruciatingly near to entering her.
    “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”
    Slowly, then, he pushed in. She sighed at the delicious feel of the tip of his cock in her, and then a little more, in and out, thick and slow. She rocked against him, needing more, more. But then he pressed his hands down onto her thighs, stilling her.
    And pulled out.
    Her eyes flew open.
    “I’ll do the fucking tonight,” he said calmly. “If you don’t mind.”
    She snorted happily. “Whatever you want.” She closed her eyes and the back of her head hit the cabinet for what seemed like the tenth time. She’d never been so horny in her life. “Anything. Everything. You can do whatever you want.”
    “That’s my girl,” he whispered, warm and breathy on her neck, and then he entered her again, this time filling her completely. It was like her whole body went still for a second, resting on a plateau of perfect fullness. And then he thrust, slowly. That felt even better. She wrapped her legs around him, moved with him. Time transformed into an endless cycle of compression and release, marked out in breaths, and toe-curling sensations that had her on the edge of an orgasm for what seemed like hours. He remained in perfect charge at all times.
    And just when she was going mad and grindy, he slid down his fingers, pressing her in the most perfect spot, and he gave her a stern look. It was the stern look that really sent her off—off into a powerful climax that went on and on, like the bottom fell out of the world. Was she making sounds?
    She became aware of him driving into her one last time. He stilled,