by Claire Kent
Deciding the time for discussion had passed, Riana pulled her little nightgown off over her head so she was naked to the open air and night sky. Cain reached up to cup and fondle her breasts as she pushed down his pants to free his cock.
She was fully aroused by the time she lined up over him and slid down to sheathe his erection with her pussy. She rode him slowly for a minute, rocking over his prone form and taking sensual enjoyment in the feel of his cock sliding inside her.
He lay still and watched her move, his eyes never leaving her face and bare body.
After a few minutes though, his body grew tighter and his hands closed down hard around her hips. “Riana,” he said thickly, “Can you come, baby?”
She didn’t really care if she came or not. Her heart was too full of everything else to feel particularly urgent about an orgasm. So she leaned over and whispered, “If you want to take over, you can.”
Evidently, Cain wanted to take over. He flipped them over, holding her body in place so his cock didn’t slip out of her slick channel. Then he began to thrust from between her legs. When she bent her knees, he grabbed them and pushed them closer to her chest.
Riana gasped at feeling him inside her from this new angle and from the way he was forcefully shaking her body against the soft ground.
Cain’s face had broken out in a sheen of perspiration, and he was gazing down at her with hunger and love. “So good,” he gritted out. “So beautiful. So good. Love you so much.”
She whimpered at his words and at the intensifying sensations at her center. She knew how much he loved her, needed her, adored her—and she’d never known what it was for someone to feel that way for her before. The way their love had begun might have made things more complicated but it didn’t change the reality of it now.
And she was going to come. Knowing that he loved her. And knowing that she loved him.
Her body tightened in preparation as his thrusting became fast and hard.
Then she cried out wordlessly as the tension shattered inside her, her body shaking and clenching and pulling him into climax as well.
He claimed her lips as he came, groaning into her mouth and stroking her lips clumsily with his tongue. She kissed him back, still whimpering out the pleasure of her orgasm.
They lay together in a sated tangle of naked limbs until barking interrupted the quiet night.
Riana giggled as she turned her head to see a large, brown dog approaching at a dead run.
“You’ve got to teach him,” she said, squeezing Cain with her arms and her legs, “That I’m not in trouble every time I scream.”
Cain chuckled too, the delicious vibrations from his amusement shaking his whole body. “He gets worried. Max is a very devoted dog.”
Riana had been astonished and delighted when she’d learned that the dog Cain had loved so deeply was still alive. She’d assumed from the way he’d spoken about him in prison that the dog had died.
But Max was still alive. And Cain’s business partner—the man who had generously kept the ranch going during Cain’s long absence—had also made sure Max was well taken care of.
She’d almost cried that first day, when Cain had been reunited with the dog who clearly adored him. She’d had to make a quick exit, so Cain wouldn’t see her overcome with such silly emotion.
But Max did have an unfortunate habit of coming to the rescue any time she cried out in some way. If she was genuinely in trouble, it would be very convenient. But most of the times she was crying out with an entirely different emotion.
Max snuffled around Riana’s face to assure himself that she was all right. She patted him on the head, and Cain gave him instructions to lie down a short distance from their blanket.
Cain’s cock had softened inside her and his semen was leaking out of her pussy, but she didn’t want to move and she didn’t want to let go of him. She loved the feel of his weight. Loved the sight of the clear sky—endless and vibrant above her. And she loved the tender security of knowing she was in Cain’s arms. She was home.
Out of the blue, she asked, “When you fought Thorn for me and brought me back into your cell, if I had said no, I didn’t want to fuck you, would you have forced me anyway? Or would you have thrown me out of the cell if I refused?”
It took Cain a long time to answer. He nuzzled at her neck and breathed deeply as he considered his response. Then he said, “No. I was pretty far gone then, almost an animal, but I would never have forced you or thrown you out.”
It was an admission she’d needed Cain to make. For him, not for herself.
She’d already known.
Riana had picked the right man in those first minutes in the Hold. If she’d picked anyone else to protect her, to give her body to, her life would have been utterly different. She wouldn’t have had this future.
She wouldn’t have Cain.
So she held on to him, as tightly as he was holding on to her, knowing neither one would let go.
But she spoke in a teasing, victorious voice that made Cain growl. And all she said was, “That’s what I thought.”
***
Author’s Note: I wrote this book several years ago, and nearly everything I’ve written before and after it has been contemporary, so I’m not even sure where it came from. I do have an idea for a follow-up book about Hall, though, so if all goes as planned, Release should be out later this year.
You can find a short excerpt from one of my contemporary novellas on the following pages, and if you’d like to stay up-to-date on sales and new releases, then you can sign up for my monthly newsletter, in which I share news for both my Noelle Adams and Claire Kent pennames. You can sign up through the link here.
Excerpt from Complicated
She woke up slowly—first recognizing that she was unusually warm and cozy, then feeling a big, solid body beside her, then realizing that the skin of her cheek was clinging hotly to someone else’s skin, and finally hearing the slow breathing of the man beside her.
Greg. It was Greg beside her. She’d slept with him all night and was still snuggled up against his side.
He was still asleep. Victoria had never seen him asleep before so she opened her eyes and lifted her head.
His face looked younger with his features relaxed from sleep and the shadow of the dark growth of the beginnings of a beard was more obvious than usual. He needed to shave. And his dark eyelashes looked oddly fragile against the skin under his eyes.
She was just about to peek under the sheet to see if he had a morning hard-on when he opened his eyes and caught her.
“Good morning,” she said, covering quickly by pretending she was tucking the sheet more securely around his chest.
“Hi.” He gave her a perplexed smile. “What were you doing?”
“Nothing,” she lied. Looking desperately for a distraction, she asked, “What time is it anyway?”
When she saw the time, her focus shifted dramatically.
“Shit!” She jumped out of bed, conscious that she was naked except for her little satin panties. Her body wasn’t bad—curvier than she would have preferred but certainly nothing to sneer at. But she wasn’t used to parading around without any clothes on. Ignoring the flicker of self-consciousness, she said, “I’m late. I have to teach a class at eight o’clock.”
Greg looked lazily over at the clock. “Wow. Is it already seven-forty? I must have slept like the dead.”
“Me too.” Frantically trying to rehearse the time remaining, Victoria realized she’d have no time for a shower. It would take almost fifteen minutes to get over to the university, which left her five minutes to get dressed. “Damn it. We should have set the alarm.”
“Sorry about that. What class do you have to teach at eight?”
Victoria flung back the sheet, grabbing at her bra when she found it. “A library class,” she explained impatiently, clumsily trying to fasten the hooks on her bra. “On how to use the library.”
Greg looked genuinely curious. “You
mean they don’t know?”
She’d found her blouse on the floor and was buttoning it as quickly as she could. “Most freshmen are clueless. They don’t even know how to find books—much less periodicals and academic journals and—” She broke off as she stepped into her straight skirt and zipped it up.
She still had her stockings on, so she wouldn’t have to mess with those. She ran over to the mirror and gave a shocked squeak at what she saw. “Help! Why didn’t you tell me I looked so horrible?” Her mascara had smudged a little, one of her cheeks was bright red from being pressed up against Greg all night, and her hair was a disaster.
“I thought you looked pretty good.”
She snorted, almost choking as she splashed water onto her face. “That’s either an outrageous lie or else a sign of some perverse impulse men have to see their women looking well-fucked and exhausted.”
She bit her lip as she dried her face, glad she was out of sight of the bed. She hadn’t meant to say “their women” as if she were implying she was his woman.
She checked her face again, not having the time to spare to beat herself up for such a minor slip. One side of her face was still redder than the other, but that would hopefully fade in a few minutes. Her face was scrubbed clean, but it was better than before.
She scrambled over to her purse, which she’d dropped on the floor in their frantic stumble toward the bed last night. As she grabbed a comb, Greg said, “Nothing perverse about it.”
“What?” She glanced over at him distractedly as she tugged the comb through her tangled hair.
“Enjoying the sight of my woman well-fucked,” he explained.
Her mouth dropped open ,and she stared at him, almost diverted from her urgent rush to get dressed.
He looked rather well-fucked himself—lazy and content, stretched out on the bed, with rumpled dark hair and that delicious five-o’clock-shadow. Victoria had to fight the urge to crawl back in bed with him.
“What?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling in confusion. Clearly he didn’t place any of the significance that she had on the “his woman” thing.
“Nothing,” she bit out, taking her long blonde hair and knotting it up in a sloppy chignon. She took her wire-framed glasses out of the case in her purse and put them on. Then studied herself in the mirror as she pulled on the jacket to her suit. “How do I look?”
“Like a librarian,” Greg said with a smile. “Like a librarian who has just been tumbled in the back room.”
She scowled at him.
“And you should probably put on your shoes,” he added.
***
You can find more about Complicated here.
About the Author
Claire has been writing romance novels since she was twelve years old. She has a PhD in British literature and, when she's not writing, she teaches English at the university level.
She also writes romance novels under the penname Noelle Adams (noelle-adams.com). If you would like to contact Claire, please check out her website (clairekent.com) or email her at
[email protected]
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Other Books by Claire Kent
Escorted
Breaking
Nameless
Christening
Incarnate
Seven
No Regrets
Finished
Complicated