“Oh God,” I gasp, and he licks, circling my clit with his tongue. Grabbing hold of his hair, I raise my hips higher into his mouth and he locks his lips around my clit, sucking hard. My back arches and my eyes slide closed as a breathless “Yes!” leaves my mouth. Grinding myself against him, I start to come, but then cry out when his mouth leaves me and he flips me to my belly.

“You on birth control?” he asks as he crawls up onto the bed behind me, and I turn my head to look at him over my shoulder, locking my eyes with his.

“Yes,” I whisper, and without any warning, he pulls my hips up and thrusts into me from behind, doing it so hard that my hands slide out in front of me and my ass tips back toward him. My head flies and my hands knot in the bedding as he rides me hard and fast, sending me spiraling closer to an orgasm that I know will be the death of me.

Trying to be quiet so he doesn’t know I’m about to come, I cry out in despair as he flips me to my back and plunges into me, tossing my leg over his shoulder and wrapping his hand around my inner thigh to hold me open. “You don’t get to come until I feel like making you come.” He nips my bottom lip, and I dig my nails into his back, listening to him groan in approval. “So fucking hot, and tight.” He slams into me, and my head thrashes as he builds me up and knocks me down over and over again, bringing me to the edge but never pushing me over.

Feeling tears well in my eyes, I lift my mouth to his. “Please, honey, please stop teasing me. I can’t take anymore,” I whisper hoarsely, and he studies me for a moment before his fingers go to work on my clit.

“You wanna come?” he asks, slowing his strokes but speeding up his thumb on my clit, and I nod.

“Yes, please.”

“So fucking sweet.” He drops his mouth to mine and quickens his thrusts along with his thumb on my clit. He drinks every single whimper and sound I make down his throat then pulls his mouth from mine. “Come for me, Angel,” he orders, and I let go, not even realizing I had been holding on, waiting for him to tell me it was okay.

The feeling is sudden. My body shakes and my mind splinters as I come hard listening to him grunt, feeling his hips jerk erratically before he plants himself deep inside of me and comes himself. Breathing heavy, my heart thunders hard against my rib cage, and my legs and arms tighten around him. I hold on, needing him to keep me tethered to earth so I don’t fly away.

Gathering me against him, he rolls us until I’m sprawled out over his chest, and his fingers lazily run down the damp skin on my back, making me shiver. “Cold?” he questions, and I shake my head, feeling my eyes get heavy. “You okay?”

Still unable to talk, I nod against his chest and tighten my hold on him, listening to his breathing even out and his heartbeat return to normal.

“I should clean up,” I whisper, and his hold on me tightens.

“I’ll clean you up.” He kisses the top of my head then rolls us to our sides, pulling out of me gently. He scoots down the mattress, placing a kiss to my stomach then my hip before getting off the bed. He tosses a blanket over me, and I lose sight of him when my eyes slide closed, too heavy to keep open any longer.

A few minutes later, I feel a wet cloth between my legs, and my eyes open to meet his warm gaze. “I think you killed me,” I tell him, and he smiles, bending to kiss my bare shoulder, neck, and then lips. “Death by orgasm,” I continue, and he laughs, tossing the wet rag toward the open bathroom door. I hear it land with a soggy plop as he gets into bed with me and pulls me against his side. “Just so you know, I might not ever kiss you again before I leave for work.”

“Jesus.”

“I’m not joking,” I inform him, lifting my head to look at him.

He runs his fingers through my hair, studying me as something works in his beautiful eyes, something that makes me want to hold onto him a little tighter. “As much as I enjoyed what we just did, I need you to kiss me before you leave.”

The gently spoken demand makes my heart clench in my chest. “I…” I want to ask him why, but I don’t. Instead, I whisper, “Okay,”

“Okay.” He dips his chin and kisses my forehead, asking there, “You hungry?”

“A little.”

“Want me to make you a sandwich?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll be back. Gonna take Dizzy out one more time. You rest.”

“Is he all right?”

“He’s been busy checking out my place since he got here.” He tucks some hair behind my ear and I nod, not at all surprised that Dizzy is more interested in exploring than greeting me. “Be back.” He kisses my forehead before sliding out of bed. I watch him put on his jeans without his boxers and pull his tee over his head. Once he’s dressed, he turns on the TV and hands me the remote before disappearing.

Lying in his bed, cocooned in his scent, I stare at the TV, pondering what that was about—the kiss. I wonder if it had something to do with losing his parents. I haven’t spoken to him about them since the day he told me they passed when he was young. I should talk to him about it; I know I should. I just don’t know how to bring it up. When I hear the front door open and close, I get up out of bed and go grab my overnight bag, which he moved to the couch in the living room. I drop it to the end of his bed and get out my nightgown and a pair of panties. Going into the bathroom, I take care of business and get dressed.

When I walk back into his bedroom, retying my hair, I stop dead. His room at the compound might be dirty and gross, but his room here is clean and surprisingly well put together. A black leather headboard with brushed metal grommets nailed into the material is a focal point in the room. Black nightstands sit on either side of the bed, with brushed metal lamps on top of each. A dresser against the wall by the door is also black with a dark blue and silver bowl on top, where he obviously drops all the odds and ends from his pockets. Looking at his bedding, which I know is soft, I realize it matches that bowl. It’s the same dark blue with silver, but with cream running through it in a horizontal stripe. The walls are bare, but they don’t really need anything on them. The headboard is high enough to look like a piece of art, and the curtains he has up give the room a finished look.

Hearing the front door open, I realize I’ve been standing in his bedroom taking everything in for a while. Looking around, I spy one of his flannel shirts, so I grab it, slip it on over my nightgown, and then head for the living room. As soon as Dizzy spots me, he runs across the room and I bend, scooping him up and kissing the top of his head.

“Did you call your dad?” Harlen asks from the kitchen, and I turn to look at him.

“Yeah, I’m meeting him for coffee at eleven tomorrow morning.”

“Good.” He smiles softly at me then goes back to making me a sandwich.

I walk into the living room. The furniture isn’t as nice as in his bedroom, but it’s still nice and really great quality. A black leather sectional with deep, wide cushions is situated in front of a black low-profile coffee table, where a beer bottle and remote are sitting. On the wall is the biggest TV I have ever seen in my life. Just like the bedroom, there is no art on the walls, but there are a few pictures in nice frames on an entertainment stand under the TV. I set Dizzy down on the couch then walk across the room to get a closer look at the photos.

I pick the biggest one up, and my heart clenches the same way it did earlier. Without asking, I know the man and woman in the photo are his parents. His dad looks so much like him that it’s almost startling, with the same dark hair, beautiful dark eyes, same smile, and build. Wearing a plaid button-down and jeans, his arm is thrown around a tallish woman with dark hair. The sun above them shines down, highlighting the deep red undertones in her hair. Her face is turned up in profile, smiling at her husband, her hand resting on his stomach. Her body is tucked close to his side. Seeing them, my eyes start to burn and my breath goes funny.

“My mom and dad,” Harlen says, and I feel a tear slide down my cheek, watching it land on the photo, and I quickly swipe the drop away. “Christ, baby.” His voice is gruff as he gathers me against his big frame, and a sob rips up the back of my throat. He takes the photo from me, sets it down, and then picks me up, carrying me to the couch and settling me sideways in his lap. “Please don’t cry.”