Boxer thrust into me, his hands grasping my hips. I was wet, slippery, and he drove deeper.
He screwed me with abandon. I lost myself in him, in the feel of him between my legs.
I was so deliciously full. His scent engulfed me, mingling with mine. We made something new, a unique perfume of lust and sweat.
Closing my eyes, I pressed my flushed cheek to the door and drowned in desire.
His fingers reached around to the seam of my body, searching and playing, demanding I come for him. He was relentless, pounding into me from behind as he stroked me.
My skin tingled and for one moment, I froze, and then I clenched around him and rode out my pleasure.
He grasped my hips and speared into me a few more times before stilling. His chest covered my back and pushed me against the door. He dropped his forehead to my shoulder, his breathing labored.
My skin was flushed with pleasure and sweat. Warm from the inside out. The anger inside me had been a wildfire, but it had burned itself to ashes.
Boxer pulled away from me. I winced at his departure. I was sore between my legs.
He moved behind me and glanced at him over my shoulder. He was removing the condom, his head bent. He was still half erect, and even diminished, he was bigger than all the other men I’d been with. There hadn’t been many, but there had been enough to know how impressive Boxer was.
And he knew how to use it.
It was no wonder he was a savant when it came to women. It was no wonder they wanted him in bed.
Boxer tied off the condom and looked up to find me watching him. His gray eyes were clear, his expression blank.
He reached down to pull up his pants, which he’d left bunched around his ankles, but he didn’t button them. Without a word, he turned and walked out of the living room, clearly searching for the bathroom.
I looked around at the carnage I’d created. A part of me was ashamed that I’d let my emotions get the better of me. The other part of me, the larger, more vocal part of me, realized it had been necessary.
After a few minutes, Boxer came back into the living room with his pants buttoned and his belt buckled. He stared at me for a long moment. “What the hell happened?”
I raised my brows. “I thought that was obvious.”
“Linden.”
“Boxer.”
His gaze narrowed. “Something happened to you. What was it?”
“Why does it matter?” I demanded.
He didn’t reply.
My gaze dropped to his belly, and my breath hitched. “Did I hurt you?”
His smile was calculated to look amused, but I could still see the tension beneath it. “Nah, darlin’. I’m fine.”
“Show me your incision.”
“No.”
“No?”
“You’re not my doctor anymore. You’re fired.”
“You can’t fire me,” I commanded.
“Sure, I can,” he said. “What’s it called? Conflict of interest?”