But to be fair, it wasn’t all her.

He was right there with her.

Though Mag didn’t mind because, right after, when he offered his tongue, she sucked it deep.

As usual with his Evie, the heat shot through the stratosphere the moment they tasted each other.

He’d never had that with a woman. That zero to ten thousand with a taste.

But there it was again.

In his bed.

This meant the sling had to go.

He pushed away, she heard the click of the clasp, whispered, “Danny” uncertainly, but he slid the fucking thing off, tossed it, and went back in.

He took her mouth, tangled himself up in her and her protests were gone.

When she was pressing close, seeking his now rock-hard cock with her hips, her hands all over his back, in his hair, and her mouth got greedy, he put his hand up her cami to go for her tit and he knew he already had her way in the zone when she didn’t let that happen.

Oh no.

Her arms went right up so he’d pull the cami off.

This he did, then cupped her breast and lifted it, bending to it, the nag in his shoulder only a nuisance in his bid to get his mouth around her nipple.

He pulled deep, felt his gut tighten when it budded on his tongue and felt the sound of her moan blaze right through his balls.

Her nails scraped his scalp, her other hand dove into the back of his shorts and curled into his ass.

Fucking hell, she was hot.

Sweet and hot.

He returned to her mouth and she breathed, “Danny,” against his lips, rubbing up against him, using her hand at his ass to press him closer, and on instinct, his hand went to her belly, down into her shorts, and in.

Oh yeah.

Fuck yeah.

His Evie.

Sweet.

Hot.

And wet.

She whimpered and started riding his fingers before he even got one to her clit.

“Baby,” he growled appreciatively.

“Yes…yes, that feels…nice,” she gasped.

Nice didn’t cover it.

It felt so nice, he wanted more.

So, he glided a finger hard over her clit and up inside her sleek wet.

Her head fell back, her nails dug in and she started riding that.

Christ.

She was perfect.

That said…

“Evie,” he slid his finger out and lazily circled her clit, “let’s slow it down, honey.”

Her response was to slide her hand that was in his shorts over his hip and latch onto his dick.

All right.

Fuck yeah.

Guess they weren’t going to go slow.

With her hand at his cock, he was way down with that too.

She stroked.

He groaned.

She kissed him.

He took over and pressed her to her back.

He returned to finger fucking her and she jacked him while they went at each other’s mouths like kissing was going to be outlawed.

He was about to call it and move on to the next portion of the festivities, his choice, going down on her, when she moaned a warning, needy, “Danny,” against his mouth.

All right.

He’d go down on her in the morning.

He rolled off, at the same time tearing her shorts and panties down her legs.

She went after his shorts as he went after a condom in his nightstand.

They were both naked and she had her mouth all over his chest and neck, her hands all over his stomach and nipples as he tore it open and rolled it on.

And then Evie…

Christ, his Evie…

He barely got the condom to the root, and she was up, swinging on to take a ride.

Mag couldn’t stop his smile.

He did stop her from taking over by angling up, ignoring the flash of pain in his shoulder, and grabbing her hips as he rolled them in the bed.

When he had her on her back with him on top, between her legs, he ran his hands over her ass, down the backs of her thighs, lifting her knees.

She dove between them and commandeered his cock.

There was humor in the thickness of his tone when he said, “Baby.”

“Hurry.”

“This isn’t a race,” he pointed out.

“It’s been a long time, Danny. A long time.”

Well then.

It was his job to take care of his woman.

And something like that needed to be taken care of immediately.

He took her mouth, wrapped his fingers around hers at his dick, and they both guided it where it needed to be.

Their hands moved away, and with a slow, smooth glide, he was seated deep in her tight sleek wet.

Good Christ.

Good Christ.

Yeah.

She was perfect.

His Evie, she fit like a glove.

In so many ways.

Mag slid his mouth to her ear and whispered, “You good?”

“Yeah,” she panted, her hands roaming his back, hot and urgent. “You?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Honey?” she called.

“Yeah?”

She turned her head and nipped his earlobe with her teeth, which sent a shiver down his neck and over his back before she begged, “Move.”

He smiled against the skin of her neck.

Then he moved.

He didn’t want it wild, and not because of his wound.

This was good. This was right. This was them.

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