It’d been a blessing in disguise, truth be told. As much as she didn’t want to go on light duty and forfeit learning as much as she could in the field as a rookie cop, Krista was thankful for the reprieve. Her hips were grateful, along with her feet, and she wasn’t nearly as tired come nightfall as she had been after twelve hours of being in the field handcuffing bad guys and keeping the streets safe from evildoers. She quickly fell into an easy routine at her desk, getting her workload done in record time, and then spending the rest of her day digging into Myles’s past. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much there. Either the guy was clean and just now starting to act like a predatory douche, or he’d managed to slip into the RCMP database and erase his files. Krista’s money was on the latter. She just had to keep digging.

As Krista slung her bag over her shoulder and turned off her computer, she yawned and then yawned again. Was there going to be a stir-fry waiting for her at home? She hoped so. Brock had been up at the crack of dawn and out the door that morning, not even bothering to poke his head into her bedroom before he left, as he’d started doing, to ask how she was feeling and if she had felt “the little monkey” kick. She missed seeing him. Missed the routine. As stoic a man as he was, he seemed to be genuinely giddy about the idea of getting to feel the baby move.

They’d spent the night before decorating the Christmas tree they’d picked up over the weekend. Apparently, in all his years of living in the house by himself, Brock had never put up a tree. He said he always just went to his mother’s, so he had no decorations, not even a wreath for the door. So, at Krista’s insistence, seeing as this was her first Christmas not spent in Tanner Ridge with her family, they filled the house with all the little hints of holiday cheer and festive delight that Krista had brought along with her from home.

But even after emptying her lone box marked “Christmas Crap,” the house and tree still seemed sparse. So, munching on a gingerbread man and humming “Jingle Bells,” she ducked out to Walmart for more random baubles and doodads. They spent a lovely evening building Santa’s Christmas Village and making the little elves and town people in her Christmas village do dirty and naughty things to each other.

It almost felt like they were a normal couple, preparing for their last Christmas before baby.

But she knew better.

He made it very clear whenever he shut down that they were just two people who fucked like bunnies and just happened to be having a child together.

But that didn’t stop her from making a second batch of big bulky gingerbread men, with muscly arms and pensive scowls on their faces, as she puttered away in the kitchen later that night after work. She gooped the word “BROCK” into the center of one big gingerbread man’s chest, gave him gumdrop buttons and M&M eyes. And right before heading to bed, and making damn sure Brock was nowhere to be found, she picked up the confection with a frown and kissed it square on the lips.

The following morning, with a headless gingerbread man in her hand and a full mouth, Krista parked her car behind the station. Winter sucked. Even now, working banker’s hours, it was still dark when she started and finished work, wasting the day away inside concrete walls like some common prisoner.

Today, Mallory had her working in booking and processing and then possibly organizing the evidence locker. Slamming her car door and shivering from her lack of gloves, Krista paused. Eyes were on her. She felt them like a mosquito perched on her arm. A slight prickly sensation wended its way up her spine. Myles? No. He had no reason to watch her. He could see her any time he wanted, and so far, since she’d moved upstairs to the offices, she’d barely seen him at all. No, these eyes were different. They didn’t feel altogether sinister, just … curious.

Spinning around and checking for anything nefarious or out of the ordinary, she surveyed the area. But there was nothing out of place. A pair of crows nattered on a power line, and a black cat sprinted across a nearby driveway. Yet despite all that, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched.

Giving the area one final sweep but seeing nothing shady, she shook it off, crossed her fingers that it wasn’t Myles, and headed inside.

Krista was dead on her feet and absolutely starving by the time she clocked out from the station. She had completely missed lunch, being caught up in the evidence locker with Mallory. The two had decided to reorganize and refile everything. Thankfully, they both appeared to have a touch of OCD and a penchant for alphabetization, so the system they devised together worked well.

She drove to the grocery store and trudged inside, dodging other weary patrons who were probably going to buy far more than they needed because they were shopping hungry. And once again, like earlier that day, the feeling of being watched was back, tickling the hair on her neck and putting her whole body on high alert.

She was being followed.

Someone in the grocery store was only there because Krista was. They were watching her, following her, tracking her, which couldn’t have been easy given how busy the place was.

But that didn’t matter. She was being spied on, stalked, and come hell or high water, she was going to find out who it was and what they wanted.

Making sure her belly was hidden beneath her heavy winter coat, Krista put her best cop face on, pulled her badge from her purse and began canvasing the place.

Up and down the aisles she roamed, no longer aware of her growling stomach but on an impromptu manhunt. She was hunting her hunter, determined to confront him and find out why she currently felt like a bug under a scope.

And then she saw him, sticking out like a sore thumb, standing by the checkout reading a fish and wildlife magazine, with his ball cap drawn down over his brow and a dark gray hoodie. He was big, like Brock big. His shoes and clothes were clean, and the Tissot watch on his wrist said that he had taste and style but wasn’t pretentious. This was not some junkie or homeless man out to exact revenge because she’d made him move sleeping spots. This was a guy with a job and money, and yet he was making it his sole mission to keep tabs on her. Why?

But unlike Mr. Ball Cap, Krista was going to play it cool. It would do no good to march up to him and demand to know what he was up to. He could simply feign ignorance and claim that she was some crazy lady who thought she was being followed but wasn’t.

Instead, she continued to wander up and down the aisles, perusing and shopping, stopping to check the ingredients on a box of cereal or compare prices of salsa. Every time she turned the corner onto a new aisle, there he was, his basket loaded with miscellaneous items to make it look real, but it was the way he stopped and the way he walked that said he wasn’t there to shop.

Krista had been shopping with her dad, her brother and now Brock enough times to know that men didn’t wander when they shopped. They shopped like they were on a mission. And that mission was to get in and get out in as little time as possible, and then carry all twenty-seven bags into the house in one trip.

She made sure to establish a pattern of how she was roaming the aisles, a pattern that he could anticipate and follow, and once she knew he had it, she deviated and doubled back, coming up behind him, until she was close enough to smell him. He smelled good.

“Why are you following me?” she asked, just a hint of accusation in her tone, but not enough to make him think she was off her meds or something.

He spun around and gaped at her, a look of utter shock on his face. His eyes went wide. That’s when she noticed that they were the same color as Brock’s, and the longer she looked at him, the more she saw the similarity. This one was younger for sure, but their build was the same; big bulldozer bodies, Christmas ham hands, and dark caterpillars that bobbed and furrowed along the forehead. Only where Brock’s hair was close-cut, this brother apparently preferred to shave it all off and was sporting a bald head beneath the ball cap. She remembered asking Brock his brothers’ names before but couldn’t for the life of her remember them at the moment. Which one was this?

“I’m not following you,” he replied, managing a hangdog expression. But his glittering eyes betrayed him.

Krista rolled her eyes. “I’m not stupid. You’ve been following me for the last half hour. Now which brother are you, and why is Brock having me followed?”

Giant twin dimples flashed back at her, like someone had taken a nail gun to his face. “Ah, you got us.” He grinned.

Us?

She blinked and shook her head, planting her hands on her hips and hating that she had to crane her neck to look up at him. “Why is your brother having me followed?”

He scratched the back of his neck and removed his hat, revealing a very round and shapely bald head. If it weren’t for the dazzling smile and the soulful green eyes, one look at the man and you’d think “killing machine.”

“Brock said you’re having some trouble with a guy at work, so he asked us to keep an eye on you. We don’t follow you while you’re at work … ” He looked down the aisle and then raised his eyebrows as a man of equal size with a very bald head, but no hat, came swaying toward them. Another brother? “Well, at least not when you’re not partnered with Slade.”

Hmm, so Brock hadn’t mentioned the baby or her switching to light duty yet.

Good.

She was already pissed at him enough for siccing his brothers on her, let alone spilling their baby beans too early.

“He’s got two of you following me?” she asked, taking in the other bald brother, one who was apparently much better at covert operations, because she hadn’t spotted him at all. “He’s got you following me while I’m getting groceries?”

Brother number two stopped in front of them, only he didn’t offer a smile. He simply scowled and nodded at his doppelgänger.

“Erm … well, actually … ” the ball cap brother murmured. He glanced up the aisle and, as if on cue, like a happy little puppy but not at all the runt of the pack, another behemoth came loping toward them. Only this one had the most luscious blond, beach-bum, surfer-dude hair Krista had ever seen. And it trailed behind him like a short jet stream of gold. His giant combat boots made heavy, loud clomping sounds on the white store tiles, and a giant smile took over his whole face.

“Three of you!” she practically screeched, having to look up, way up, into all their eyes.

Brother number one stuck his hand out. “I’m Rex. That’s Chase, and this shaggy mop—dude, you really need to cut your hair—is Heath.”

Speechless, with anger building like a winter storm inside her, she took each of their hands, trying her hardest to crush their bones with her grip, but they all seemed to get a kick out of her attempt and chuckled amongst themselves.

“Why is he having me followed by all three of you?” she asked again, wanting to get her facts straight before she went and tore a strip off their older brother.

Rex rolled his eyes. “Well, he kind of actually just had me following you. But I told Chase and Heath what I was doing, and they were curious. They wanted to get a peek at you. Brock never introduces us to any woman he’s seeing or even talks about them. So the fact that you’re special enough to have protection … well, we got curious.”

The fact that he considered her someone special stirred butterflies in her belly and made her sway where she stood. Or perhaps that was the hunger, fatigue and aching hips. Either way, she had to reach out to the shelf of—oh fuck, were they seriously in the condom aisle? What were the bloody chances?— to stabilize herself. She made sure to keep her hands clear of the box of Magnums. The men simply watched her, equal parts concern and curiosity drifting across each of their handsome faces.

She took a deep breath, grounding herself before she let go of the shelf. “I appreciate your concern, boys, and your willingness to help your brother out. And I will deal with Brock later, but I assure you I’m fine. I can handle myself.”

“Did you know that Myles was relocated to your detachment because of sexual harassment at two other detachments across the country?” piped up Chase, the one who reminded her more of Brock and wasn’t overly generous with his smiles.

He and blondie shared the same midnight-blue eyes and light-colored eyebrows, but Chase was scarier looking and had scruff along his chin and cheeks, with a thin white scar running along the length of his jaw to his left ear. There was no mistaking the level of threat this man carried with him every moment of every day.

Krista’s mouth hung open. “How’d you find that out?”

He lifted one shoulder, a hint of smile tugging at the corner of his lip before retreating and settling into a frown. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.”

Heath slapped his big brother on the back. “Chasey here is our resident hacker. He could hack the Pentagon if he wanted to.”

“You hacked into the RCMP?” The flare in each man’s eyes made her quickly bring her volume down several notches. The bald Goliath with a knitted brow was not how one would envision a hacker. Where were the glasses? The button-up shirt? The nervous blinking eyes from being out of the sunlight too long? No, this guy looked like he could snap an old growth red cedar in half and not even break a sweat.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to,” he repeated.

“Brock’s asked us to help you and help him look into Myles Slade a bit more,” Rex added, trying to defuse the situation and not draw any unwanted attention from shoppers or staff. “Right now, we know you’re safe. We saw Slade go home. But we just wanted to get a peek at you.” He flashed me another big smile. “You’re cute and got a set of balls on you. We can see why he likes you. Don’t let him get away with any shit, okay?” Then they all turned to leave.

Only Heath turned around, his nose wrinkling with his smile. “We’ll see you at Christmas dinner, right?”

Brock’s phone buzzed on his nightstand as he towel-dried his hair from the shower. He’d just gotten home from work. It’d been a long two days out in the field. A long two grungy days with no shower and nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. But now that Krista was on light duty and his brothers were keeping an eye on her, Brock didn’t feel so bad about leaving her for a day or two to attend to work. Though things would certainly change when the baby arrived. He’d already talked to his boss about taking some paternity leave as well as no longer working long stretches away from home. One or two nights, tops.

He snatched his phone. It was a message from Rex.

“She caught me … I mean us. She’s pissed. Gutsy though. Cute too. Great ass.”

“Fuck,” Brock grumbled under his breath, tossing his towel onto the floor. “Last time he’s on fucking recon.”

He heard the keys in the front door and braced himself for a slam, followed by a gruff but feminine huff and stomping up the stairs. But there was none of that. Not even a sound. Was she mad? Rex said she was pissed. And Brock already knew his roomie-slash-fuck-buddy had a temper. That was one of the things he liked most about her. Well, maybe not her temper, but her grit was a huge turn on. He’d never liked the damsel in distress or the weak female who needed a man to save her. He liked a woman who knew how to take care of herself and get shit done. An independent force to be reckoned with. And Krista was all that and more. Plus, she was dynamite in the sack and could bake a mean gingerbread man.

Holding his breath, he waited for her to emerge in the doorway with a scowl on her face and fury in her eyes. But nothing happened. Not even a creak on the floor or a frustrated sigh. What the hell was going on?

Scratching the back of his neck at the sexy little enigma he lived with, he turned to his dresser drawer in search of boxers. The rice cooker was on, and he was defrosting some chicken. If she gave him fifteen minutes, he’d have black pepper chicken stir-fry ready for her. Perhaps feeding the beast would soften the fury and she wouldn’t threaten to leave or, even worse, stop sleeping with him.

He was just tugging up his boxer briefs when a faint but discernible throat clearing caused him to release the elastic a little too early and a little too hard. “Fuck!” Determined not to buckle from the pain, he bit back a wince and instead flashed her the biggest smile he could muster, even though inside it felt like he was going to throw up. “You’re home late.”

She stood there, clearly exhausted, but otherwise with nary an emotion on her face. Eventually, she lifted one eyebrow. “Mhmm.”

“How was work?” Maybe if he showed interest in her day, he’d throw her off and she’d forget all about his stupid brothers spying on her.

Her mouth slid into a half-smile. “Long … and hard,” she purred. “Hard to do your job when you have other things on your mind.”

What the hell? But he had to keep his cool. Was she playing a game? What was her angle? “Oh yeah?”

She nodded. “Mhmm.” Her gaze flicked to the bed. “On the bed,” she demanded. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

He climbed onto the bed. “I’ve been thinking about this for days.”

“Have you now?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” Brock pulled his boxers off again and tossed them onto the floor. “Nothing but thoughts of you, of this to keep me warm.”

She licked her lips and reached into the pocket of her jeans. “Is that so?” The rattling sound of what could only be a pair of handcuffs brought Brock’s attention to something other than Krista’s killer breasts. They’d really started to fill out and get firm over the last month or so. And she’d become so responsive to his touch, too. Biting her nipples nearly made her come on the spot.

His eyes widened as she climbed onto the bed and straddled him. “Uh, what’s the plan?”

“What does it look like?” She smiled wolfishly. Even though he hated being in any kind of submissive position, his cock leapt against the apex of her thighs. “I’m a bossy little control freak, and I plan to make you my bitch. What do you think of that?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I, uh … ”

Brock Hart was no one’s bitch. Unease settled in his stomach like a lead weight, even though his cock and balls had other ideas. Everything below his waist tightened and stiffened, and the rush of arousal that coursed through him at the sight of Krista straddling him made the blood run hot and quick through his veins.

She cocked her head to the side as she took one of his hands and brought it up above his head, locking a cuff around his big wrist while fastening the other one to the big wrought-iron corner post of the bed.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll enjoy yourself … I promise,” she said, her smile triumphant and impossibly sexy. She finished her task, making sure that he was good and secure and wouldn’t be using his hands anytime soon. Then, slowly, stealthily, seductively, she snaked her way down his body, planting warm, wet kisses over his ribs and pecs and abs.

Desire cut through him with a painful sharpness. Even vulnerable, bound and defenseless, he wanted her. He was coming to always want her.

“Lower,” he said gruffly. “Suck my cock, baby.”

Krista glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “In good time. Remember who is whose bitch today. I’ll do with you as I please.”

A carnal growl rumbled through him as he bucked his hips into her. “I’m nobody’s bitch.”

She smiled again. “We’ll see about that. This is my game, and I’ll play it how I please.”

He tugged at the handcuffs that were fastened to the bed. They were police grade, possibly even hers, and unless he wanted to destroy his own bed, he’d have to sit tight until she released him. He glared at her, but his cock betrayed his fury and practically winked at her, begging her to come closer.

“So I met some interesting and very handsome men today,” Krista said dryly, letting the backs of her fingers run down the length of his shaft. His balls tightened even more, and his breath hitched.

“In the grocery store of all places. Two were bald, and one had the most luxurious head of flaxen blond hair I’ve ever seen. He could do a campaign for Pantene.”

Brock’s whole body went stiff. Her nails tickled his inner thighs as she leaned her head over and slid her tongue up his cock from base to crown, sucking lightly on the tip. Her mouth hovered over the tip, and she bared her teeth.

Fear shot through him like a bolt of lightning. Gently, she nipped the tip. His hips shot up off the bed from the mix of extreme pain and hidden pleasure.

“Look … I, uh … ”

But she didn’t give him time to continue and instead rammed him to the back of her throat, not allowing him to finish his sentence, pumping him with her hand and devouring his length with her mouth.

Holy fuck. This was not at all how he saw this little scenario going. Brock thrust his pelvis up into her face, desperate for her to take him deeper. He was already close. The woman had the mouth of a goddess.

But then she stopped.

Why’d she stop?

Sitting back on her heels, her eyes glassy and her cheeks a pretty pink from her own arousal, she looked him dead in the eye. “It would seem all the blood has rushed from your brain, so I’m going to give you a moment or two while I jump in the shower to think about the choices you’ve made. Putting a tail on me without my consent, tsk tsk, Brock, I don’t like that one bit.” Then she got up and shut the bathroom door. A moment later, he heard the muffled sound of laughter.

It was quite some time later that his captor emerged from the bathroom, looking refreshed and revitalized. She had a black towel wrapped around her lithe body and another around her unruly hair. Her cheeks were an even sexier pink than before, and the delicious scent that followed her out the door made Brock’s pulse kick back into high gear.

But as turned on as he was by the sight of her, the smell of her and the memory of the blow job and orgasm that almost was, he was also full of rage. White-hot rage.

“What the fuck?” he growled, pulling at the handcuffs and shooting daggers at her from his eyes. “Take these off me!”

Ignoring his demands and appearing almost bored, she let the towel drop to the floor and crawled back onto the bed, inching her way up from his feet to his pelvis, once again grazing her tongue along his length. He couldn’t hide it. Despite the fury, he was still turned on, still wanted her. Only this time, he wanted to be in control. Needed to be in control. A drop of pre-cum beaded on the crown of his cock, and using her finger, she swirled it around before licking it off and closing her eyes with a soft hum.

Brock swallowed. Fuck, she was something.

“Suck it,” he said, his voice catching in his throat. The lack of control, the need to come—he was not in his comfort zone right now. And she knew that and was using it to her advantage.

She continued moving upward over his torso and chest until the scruff of his chin scratched the inside of her thighs. He glanced down toward the lips of her pussy, perfectly pink and glistening with arousal. He couldn’t stop himself and licked his lips.

Her eyes flared as she watched him. “Apologize properly, and then maybe I’ll consider releasing you.” She lowered her cleft down onto his waiting mouth.

A groan rumbled through the woman on top of him as he carefully scratched her inner thighs with his chin and cheeks while flicking out his tongue to brush her clit.

She groaned again and shamelessly pressed into his face, taking what she wanted, what she needed. He loved how strong she was, how bossy and demanding. It would be a power struggle between the two of them for sure, because he was just as much a control freak, but he also liked a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to fight for it. No, the mother of his child was no weak little kitten sitting in the corner. She was a lioness, just as ready to fight and defend as he was.

“Fuck my pussy,” she demanded. “Fuck it with your mouth.”

He did as he was told and sucked on her folds before letting his tongue dart in and out, plunging deep inside only to retract and then do the whole thing over again. She rode his face for a while, reveling in the power. He’d let her have the power—for now. Once the cuffs were off, she’d be beneath him and paying dearly for this little role-reversal trick of hers.

She continued to rock against him, soft moans and feminine sighs letting him know he was doing just what she liked. He drank her down, her sweet honey pouring across his tongue as her clit grew hard and swollen. She was close. Now if only she’d release his hands so he could feel her tight heat around him as well, fuck her with his fingers and truly take her the way she wanted to be taken.

Her hands drifted up, and she began pinching and pulling on her nipples. Brock loved a woman who wasn’t afraid to heighten her own pleasure, to touch herself whether he was in the room or not. She cupped her breasts and rolled them in her palms as her lips parted and she let her head loll back.

“So good,” she said with a sigh. “So. Fucking. Good.”

Brock knew she was close, but for some reason she just wasn’t getting there. “Release me so I can use my fingers,” he said, sucking hard on her clit and making her body jerk against him.

Lifting her head again, she glanced down at him. “Not a chance.” She nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment, gyrating her slippery cleft against his mouth. “But you are right, I do need more.” Humming softly to herself, she let her body slide down his face until the apex of her thighs was positioned right at his chin, her buttocks on his chest.

Brock glanced down at her with curiosity.

“Deny it all you want,” she said with a grin as she pushed her swollen lips and clit against his chin and began to move, “but you’re loving this.”

“No need to deny a thing,” he said, his voice hoarse.

She pushed her labia against his chin again and began to move, swirling and thrusting.

“This feels good?” he asked.

She moaned an incoherent yes before trailing a hand down over the small swell of her abdomen to the V of her legs. She spread her lips wide and began to rub circles around her clit.

God, the sight was something to behold. Never in a million years did Brock think he’d ever get so damn lucky.

“It hurts … kind of, but not in a bad way. Your chin is so prickly and my skin so sensitive.” She moaned again. “So, so good.”

He wiggled his chin back and forth and up and down, hitting the underside of her clit just right while her fingers did their job on top. She exploded in a matter of seconds, pushing her hips up harder onto his chin, letting the coarse hair rub against her slick flesh.

Seconds later, she rolled to the side of the bed, her arm casually draped over her eyes and her chest heaving with each ragged breath.

Brock’s balls throbbed with a dull, painful ache between his legs. “You, uh … you going to let me come or what?” he asked, taking great care to hide the desperation in his voice.

Slowly, almost drunkenly, she sat up on her knees and looked at him. “No. Not unless you explain to me why the hell you thought siccing Rex on me was a good idea.”

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t sic Rex on you. I asked him to do me a favor. You need to be safe. You’re carrying my child, and I think you’re in danger. Even now that you’ve switched to light duty, Slade is still a problem. And as far as the other two dorks go … ” He actually was a bit remorseful for the other two morons ambushing her at the store. He’d have to knock some sense into them later. He glanced up at her. “Sorry.”

She let out a huff through her nose. “Wasn’t exactly how I wanted to meet your family. Dead on my feet after work.”

A smirk tickled the corner of his mouth. Jeez, this woman made him smile a lot. It was weird. But not altogether unpleasant. “For the record,” he started, fighting the urge to squirm from the throbbing need between his legs, “they texted me before you got home and said they like you and think you're cute.”

“You knew I was coming home pissed?”

He nodded. “Though this kind of punishment is way better than the screaming match I’d been anticipating.”

She gave him a half-hearted glare. “I ought to spank you.”

He’d never been the spankee before, but his little lioness and the wicked gleam in her piercing blue eyes made him curious. “Okay.”

Giddiness raced across her face and flared in her eyes. Before he could say, “but first release me,” she was out the door and off to what sounded like the kitchen, returning seconds later with a wooden spatula.

She hopped back up onto the bed and straddled him again, quickly releasing his cuffs. Only instead of getting up onto all fours like a good little submissive, he grabbed her by the wrists, flipped her onto her back, and pinned her beneath him.

“Rule number one: Never believe the first thing that comes out of your captive’s mouth,” he said, his entire body relaxing with the much-needed power shift.

She gaped at him, too shocked to move or fight back.

“Rule number two”—he grabbed one of her wrists and began handcuffing her to the bed just like she had him—“don’t leave your handcuffs where the captive can reach them and use them on you. That goes for your gun, your knife, your taser, or any other weapon or form of restraint.” He did the same thing to the other wrist, and within seconds, she was lying naked, bound and spread-eagle on the bed.

He sat back on his knees. “Now that’s more like it.”

“You’re an ass!”

“And you’re going to be fucked properly.” He covered her again, positioning himself between her legs, tempting and teasing her core. God, how he needed to come. “There’s a power struggle going on here, isn’t there?” He grunted, doing a diabolical little hip swirl.

“You better believe it.” She moaned, pushing her pelvis up to meet his.

A low and raspy chuckle shook his body, and then he slammed into her with all his might, his head dipping low until his teeth found a nipple.

“That’s okay,” he murmured, the feeling of her tight, wet heat surrounding him and making the entire world right itself on its axis once more. “I like a challenge.”