She has to ask? She’s got me so hot, I’m humping the fucking mattress. Even knowing she’s watching me move from behind, there’s no self-consciousness. Or the need to be a gentleman and hold back. She’s freed me from those restraints and turned me into a beast. Her beast. “Damn right, it’s yours—”

I break off in a growl when Addison’s teeth sink into my right cheek. Hard. It hurts enough to make flashbulbs go off in front of my eyes, but exhilaration rips along my nerve endings, stealing a roar from my mouth. “Christ, sugar. Christ.”

“Want more?”

“Yes,” I rasp, reaching down to fuck my own hand. How could I respond any other way to the satisfied purr in her voice? She loves what we’re doing—is turned on by her open invitation—and that knowledge makes my cock begin to drip warm, sticky moisture. Gives me no choice but to gratify myself while she licks her tongue over the bite mark, blowing cool air on it. God I would love to see her face. I’m bringing a mirror to bed next time. I want all of her. To see every expression, see every touch, in addition to feeling it.

When I think Addison is going to bite the opposite cheek, I bury my open mouth into a pillow, already halfway to bellowing from the pain/pleasure. But the bite never comes. Instead her hands push apart my ass cheeks and her tongue drags long and hard up the middle, reaching the back entrance and pressing down hard.

My balls wrench up into my stomach and I explode off the bed, her name leaving me in a drawn out, guttural grunt. I’m in pain. The kind of pain that only Addison can cure, and when I turn and find her flushed and kneeling, her nipples in sweet little points, I lunge for her, knocking her backwards on the foot of the bed. And then I fuck into her so hard, she screams, her perfect pussy spasming around my aching dick while she thrashes, her body shaking like a leaf beneath me. “That what you been plotting and keeping to yourself? Being a bad girl with that tongue?”

She’s twisting, twisting, caught in the peak of her orgasm, her eyes gone blind. “Yesyesyes. Elijah.”

“You can do whatever the hell you want, long as it keeps this pussy good and wet.”

“Ohhh,” she moans. “Oh my God.”

Right before she goes limp, she squeezes me down low and I feel myself start to erupt, my need flooding her as I punch, punch, punch forward and finish. Halfway through my relief, our gazes connect and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. Freedom. She’s freedom and light and…more. So much more. There are words sitting right on the tip of my tongue, begging to be put out in the world, but something demands I hold them inside. Don’t let them out.

Minutes later, I fall asleep holding Addison, sweat cooling on my bare skin. Content. I’ve never been more at peace in my entire life, while somehow…electrified at the same time. Thank God I found her. Thank God.

That peace is shattered sometime later when I jolt upright in bed, covered in fresh sweat. I make a mental grab for the fading images, but can’t land on a clear memory of the nightmare. All I know is I’m drowning under the weight of unimaginable loss. Or the terrible feeling of it. Where is it coming from? I reach for Addison and come up empty, finding her facing away from me, curled up on her side. So far away. Why so far away?

“Goose.”

In her sleep, she turns over and reaches out. Our fingers twine together as I lower back down to the pillows. Just a dream. It wasn’t real.

It wasn’t real.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Addison

Naomi Clemons Goes out in Public for the First Time…

To Visit a Wedding Planner?

—TheTea.com

I tear a receipt from the credit card machine, holding it down for a customer to sign. Usually, I can tell when someone stops by Jingle Balls just to get a good look at me, maybe even a covert selfie without permission. But this sweet, older lady from Michigan has no idea who I am. She just wants a naked Santa Claus with Christmas holly covering his junk.

“Do you mind me asking where you locals get your pralines?” the lady asks, tucking her receipt into her purse. “If I’m going to waste the calories, I want it to be good.”

“I’m not exactly a local. More of a transplant.” I prop my hip on one of the display tables, wondering at what point that will stop being true. Or if I’ll always feel like I have one foot in South Carolina, one in New York. “But Kilwin’s is a safe bet. That’s where my grandmother used to buy hers.”

She takes the receipt back out of her purse, waving it at me. “Would you mind writing that down? I’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached.”

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