But it was Riley Thorne who turned into her room. Glory lifted her chin and stared at the silent man. Even from across the room she could smell the life he brought with him, the benediction of his presence: horses, leather, the open plains, and the cleansing wind. Looking tall and serious in his long saddle coat, he looked into her eyes and then down at the papers spread all around her. A muscle in his jaw jumped. From under the low brim of his Stetson, he narrowed his eyes at her. And didn’t say a word.
Glory hauled in a breath deep enough to raise her bosom. Holding it a moment, she then exhaled the spent air slowly and said, “You know, don’t you? You know I’m”—she held up the ragged-edged journal for him to see—“this baby in here, don’t you? Say it. Tell me I’m Beatrice Parker. Not Glory Lawless. I want to hear you say it.”
Framed by the doorway, looking as serious as a gunfighter, he intoned, “You’re Beatrice Parker.”
Glory’s heart plummeted, her blood ceased to flow, seemed to pool in her legs. She closed her eyes against the truth and concentrated on taking stunted breath after stunted breath. It seemed the world faded, taking her with it as she shrank into her bed’s depth like she would a churning sea.
“But you’re also Glory Lawless.”
Glory opened her eyes, stared at Riley. “There is no Glory Lawless. There never was. She was a prideful girl, a made-up person. Someone who stuck her nose in the air and thought she was better than everyone else for being a Lawless.”
Riley quirked his mouth, shook his head. “Just because Lawless blood doesn’t flow in your veins, Glory, that doesn’t make you less of a person. The Lawlesses aren’t royalty. Or even something more than the everyday person—for all their thinking otherwise.”
Glory cocked her head as she considered his words. And what lay underneath them. “You don’t like the Lawlesses one little bit, do you?”
Riley shrugged, looked right into her eyes. “Some more than others.”
Harboring a growing sense of betrayal of all that she knew, of all that she believed—about herself, her family, and her entire world—Glory kept on, wanting to hurt, wanting to make him hurt her. “But I’m not a … a Lawless. So I guess you can like me even more.”
Riley moved, as if he meant to turn away, to step out of her view. “I’m not going to do this, Glory. And I’m not going to let you do it, either.”
“Wait. Please.” Glory held a hand out as if to hold him in place. The air around her seemed so paper-thin, so spider’s-web fragile. If he took something as solid as a booted step away from her, she and her surroundings would shatter like dropped china, she just knew it. Already, porcelain shards of who she’d thought she was all her life cut into her belly, making her ill.
She then clamped that hand over her mouth and again closed her eyes. Swallowing the bitter bile of truth—a horrible, sour lump in her throat—Glory’s first shudders of reaction stuttered inside her chest, wrenched her shoulders spasmodically. But before the first wail tore from her, Riley’s footsteps sounded on the wooden floor, his weight sank next to her on her feather-stuffed mattress, and his arms went around her. Glory clutched at him, turned her face against his shirt, against his thudding heart. And knew if he turned her loose, she’d die.
But then, just as suddenly, she couldn’t stand the closeness, the warmth and vitality of Riley’s body against hers. With a violent wrench, Glory freed herself from his embrace and all but flung herself off her bed. She stood facing him, but backing away, pointing an accusing finger. Her long, dark hair, wild and curling around her face, blocking her vision, forced her to see him as if through a dark veil. “No,” she warned. “No. Don’t touch me.”
Riley stayed where he was, stared at her, stark concern mirrored in his features. Then slowly he raised a hand and removed his Stetson, tossed it aside. Standing, but never looking away from Glory’s eyes, he peeled off his saddle coat, sending it the way of his hat. And followed it with his gunbelt.
Glory narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m getting ready for the fight.”
“What fight?”
“The one you’re starting. Glory, I didn’t have anything to do with the lies told to you about who you are. I was only six years old at the time.”
“But you knew.”
He shook his head. “Not until a few days ago. I didn’t know. I swear it.”
“Who told you?”
“My mother. She was here that day your father rode in with you.”
“My fath—He rode in with me?”
Riley nodded. “Yeah. He brought you with him all the way from Arizona.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Except maybe you were a helpless baby and he felt sorry for you.”
Glory absorbed that for a moment, tried to feel something for the man she’d always thought of as her father. But found she couldn’t, not right then. She cocked her head with her next question. “What happened to those … people?” She looked past him to the journal on her bed, eyeing it as if it were a writhing snake. “The Parkers. My … parents. What happened to them?”
Riley made a helpless gesture, then ran a hand through his hair. “Glory, I’m not the one you should be having this talk with. I don’t know all the answers. Biddy does.”
“You tell me what you do know.”
Huffing out a breath, he put his hands to his waist, met her gaze. “Kid Chapelo killed them at Apache Pass. And left you to die.”
Glory grimaced at the sudden stab of pain in her chest. “Kid Chapelo? Jacey’s with his son right now. And that man’s father … left me to die? But Papa—no, he’s not my papa at all—but he … saved me? And brought me here?”
Riley nodded. “That’s all I know. You were raised as one of the Lawless girls from that day forward.”
Glory’s arms dropped to her sides. “Do Hannah and Jacey know this?”
Riley made a gesture of uncertainty, spreading his hands wide. “I couldn’t say. I don’t know what they were told, if anything. They were so young. But looking back over the years, I figure they didn’t know, or didn’t remember. Because kids being like they are, they’d have talked. I can’t speak for Hannah, but since Jacey sent you these things, she must know now.”
Glory nodded at the reasonableness of Riley’s words, at his calm voice. He spoke as if the unraveling of her life, of her identity, were of no more consequence in this world than ordering oats for the horses. It was almost funny. Then suddenly her mind shied away from the precipice that was this news and took another path, one which led away from the sheer drop into insanity. “Where’s Biddy? I want to talk to her.” Glory turned away from Riley with her question, thinking to go find her nanny.
“She’s not here.”
Glory stopped, turned to him, and stared, waiting.
“She’s at my place. With my mother.”
“Why?”
Again Riley shrugged. “I don’t know. All I do know is she came and found me, all upset about Jacey sending you these papers. Maybe she wanted my mother here when you figured it out.”
“Why?”
Riley’s mouth quirked with evident impatience. “How the hell should I know? Maybe she expected you to fall apart.” A punctuated silence followed his words. Then, “Are you going to? Fall apart, that is?”
Glory considered that. Was she? She focused on her body, felt suddenly alien in it, as if she didn’t fit this skin. Then she shook her head. “No. I thought I was going to”—she pointed at the bed—“back there a minute ago … when you held me. But not now. What good would that do?”
Riley frowned, held out a hand to her, but withdrew it. “I don’t like the sound of your voice, Glory. You sound like … well, like you’re not in there somehow.”
Feeling cold and dead inside as she did, Glory knew just what he meant. But swiping a hand over her face, clearing her vision of straggling curls, she shrugged her shoulders and denied it. “That’s silly. I can’t be anywhere but here, Riley.” She looked down at herself, spread her hands wide to indicate her body. “It’s me. Who else would it be?”
Then she heard her own words. Who else, indeed. What a question. One which made her chin quiver, one which forced her chin up a notch. “It’s all been a lie, hasn’t it? My whole life. Here I was, so proud of who I was, so proud to be the daughter of J. C. Lawless, famous outlaw, and Catherine Wilton-Humes, Boston socialite. When in reality, I’m nothing more than the orphaned offspring of two people I’d never even heard of before today. Seth and Laura Parker. Stupid enough to get themselves killed in some godforsaken place called Apache Pass, the last place Laura—my mother—writes about.”
“Don’t do this, Glory.”
She put her hands to her waist, fought the welling-up inside her of a raging anger, a terrible sense of betrayal. “Don’t do what? Speak the truth for the first time in twenty years? It must’ve been funny for everyone around to watch me prancing about, so full of my Lawless pride and my—”
“Stop it right now. I won’t listen to this. Your folks loved you.”
“My folks? Which ones?” Glory gritted her teeth, felt a white-hot rage that brought beads of sweat to her forehead, that had her launching herself at Riley. “I never knew my folks.”
Riley caught her by her wrists and held her. Glory struggled and fought, bit and kicked, yelled and raged. Dodging her blows, Riley held fast, like the solid trunk of a mighty oak against a swirling whirlwind. The more he held her, the more Glory fought, the more she wanted to hurt, wanted to hurt him, wanted to hurt him for knowing, for caring, for the look of sympathy on his strong face, for the love he held for her in his heart.
With that realization, Glory froze, stared up into his grim face, into his black and snapping eyes, saw and heard his labored breathing, even over the torturous sounds of her own efforts. Nearly out of her mind with an emotion she couldn’t name, she screwed her face up into a snarling mask of hate. “How dare you love me, Riley Thorne? How dare you?”
His face reddening with his effort to hold her, Riley glared down at her. His grip loosened a fraction. “I didn’t ask to, believe me. And right now, I wish to hell I didn’t.”
Glory wrenched a hand free, drew it back and slapped his face as hard as she could. The resounding echo of her transgression clapped like thunder in the otherwise still house. She stared openmouthed up at Riley, saw her handprint form on his face. She curled her offending hand and held it to her heart. “I wish you didn’t, either.”
Riley firmed his mouth, grabbed her by her arms, pulled her close to him. Glory sucked in a breath laden with the scent of horse, sweat, and angry man. “You’re going to pay for that, Glory Bea Lawless. I’ll see to it.”
With that, he cast her aside and shoved past her, making his long-striding way out of her room. Glory scrambled after him, grabbed at his flannel-covered back, stopping him. “Don’t you turn your back on me.”
Riley jerked around, breaking her hold on him. “Get the hell away from me, or I won’t be responsible for what I do. I came here because I care, Glory—and for no other reason. Because I was afraid of what this news would do to you. But you don’t want my help. Or me. I’m a Thorne—not good enough. When am I going to learn that? When am I going to learn that—Lawless by blood or not—you’re one of them through and through?”
He nodded down at her, looking like he hated the very idea of her existence. “Oh, yeah, you’re one of them. So quit feeling sorry for yourself. You just got some tough news, and I feel for you. But you haven’t lost anything, Glory. Not one thing. Twenty years of being raised by the Lawlesses to think you’re something special will get you through this. You don’t need me.” He stabbed a thumb at his chest. “But me? I’ve lost everything by loving you. Everything. Now get the hell out of my sight.”
With that, he turned on his heel and stalked with angry strides down the long hallway. Glory didn’t move, didn’t speak as she watched him go. Her hands, gripping her skirt, clenched and unclenched around the woolen fabric. She couldn’t even be sure she breathed, until the dull sound of his taking the steps in a near-run jarred a ragged breath from her. A voice in her soul cried out to her, telling her not to let him go, telling her to stop him … and to love him. Or be forever doomed.
“Riley!” The anguished sound tore out of her soul, set her feet in a skittering run down the hallway, to the stairs, in a stumbling tumble down each step, close on his heels. But ahead of her, he never even looked around or slowed down. “Riley!” she called out, only to realize she was crying, only to realize that hot tears swamped her cheeks, made her feel hot all over.
Still, Riley never faltered. He strode across the great room, skirting with sure steps the hulking shapes of the leather furniture, and headed for the front door.
In soul-deep desperation, Glory chased after him, her hands held out to him in supplication. Only he couldn’t see that. Because he wouldn’t turn around. Glory caught him before he made it to the door. She grabbed his arm and, using all her strength, forced him to turn to her. Her hands now on his chest, she pushed him back against the front door and held him there.
Riley spread his arms as if in surrender. “What, Glory? What? I heard you call my name. It doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s too late. I can’t do this anymore. I thought I could. But I can’t. I won’t. I won’t clean up J. C. Lawless’s messes anymore.”
Glory’s will to live shriveled with each word of his. She had to make him see, to understand. “What are you saying? I love you, Riley. Don’t you see? I love you. I always have. It doesn’t matter anymore about me being a Lawless and you a Thorne. I’m not a Lawless. I see that now. We can be together. We can go away, away from where anybody knows—”
Riley pulled her hands off him, held her wrists tightly, painfully. “Do you hear yourself? You’re saying I’m good enough for you now because you’re not a high-and-mighty Lawless. Well, let me tell you something, Glory—or Beatrice or whatever the hell your name is—the Lawlesses aren’t anything. Nothing, J. C. Lawless was scum. A thief and a murderer. Decent folks wouldn’t have anything to do with him.”
Glory fought his grip on her. “Stop it, Riley.”
“No. You need to hear this. Why do you think he lived here in no-man’s-land? He didn’t choose this place, this hard land. He was forced to settle here. And why? Because he wasn’t welcome anywhere else. He’d have been hanged for the land-grabbing, cattle-rustling, murdering son-of-a-bitch he was. The only good thing ever to come out of his life was Catherine and your sisters. Damned fine women, Glory. Strong and good. I used to think you were all those things, too. But not now. You’re feeling sorry for yourself for not being one of them—and so you think you can lower yourself now to love me. Well, to hell with that. And to hell with you.”
With that, he pushed her back, letting go of her wrists. Seeing him through a waterfall of tears, through a chasm of hurt, Glory stumbled backward against a leather chair. She clutched at it, held on. And still she couldn’t look away from him. Not when he glared his hatred at her. Not when he jerked around and tore the door open. Not when he stepped through the opening and slammed the door behind him.
Even still, she couldn’t look away from the barrier of wood between her and Riley. Not even when she heard, from outside, a cry of animal anguish that had to have been torn from the depths of Riley’s soul. Not even when she heard his shouting and cursing … at her, at God, at the ugliness that was the truth of their lives.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, frozen in place as she was, watching the door, waiting for it to open, hoping against hope that Riley—hatless, coatless, without a weapon—would be forced to come back inside. She prayed he would. Dreaded that he would. And waited.
The shadows in the room deepened, as did the cold. No fire burned in the grate to warm her, to light her world. The shelf clock on the mantel ticked steadily, persistently, marking passing time with relentless patience.
Glory swallowed and put a hand to her blouse’s collar, fingering it absently. Stared at the door. What had she done? Was Riley right? Had she said she could love him now that she wasn’t a Lawless—as if to say her life was over and she needed to wallow in garbage? She thought back to her exact words, heard herself saying what he’d thrown back at her. Glory slumped, closing her eyes against her own rash words, against the raw emotions that had cost her—
The door opened. Glory opened her eyes, jerked upright. The last pink and purple rays of the dying day showed her Riley framed there, his hand still on the brass knob. Her heart thudded, her skin chilled with the skirl of wind that swept past him and danced around her. He had to be freezing. And yet he just stood there, his features lost in the darkness of the room between them. With her heart sinking, her knees weak, Glory clutched at the chair. And waited.
Without moving, standing with his legs spread, nearly as tall as the door’s casing, nearly as broad-shouldered as its wood-framed opening, he spoke. For all she could see his face, his words could have come from the very air itself. But she knew they came from him. Because he said, “God help me, Glory, I should have kept on going, kept on walking. But I can’t. I’ll take your love any way I can get it. Any way I can have it.”
A mewling cry of relief escaped her. She couldn’t have said if she took a step toward him, or if he came to her, but suddenly, she was in his arms and he was holding her … saving her, if he only knew it. Glory clung to him, fisting her hands around the flannel that covered his back, pressing her ear to his chest, listening to his racing heartbeat. “Oh, Riley, I am so sorry. I don’t know what I was saying, why I would—”
“No, Glory.” He tugged her chin up, forced her to look into his eyes. His features blended a great tenderness with a frown of anguish. “I’m sorry. You already have enough on your plate to deal with and to sort out, without me adding to it. Without me making this about the things that eat at me. I pressed you, I pushed you … and I got what I deserve. I said I came here to help. But all I did was cause more hurt. And I am so damned sorry. Can you forgive me?”
To hear Riley—usually so quiet, so spare with his words—pouring his soul out, whether in anger like earlier or in regret like now, made Glory realize the depth of his feelings for her, made her realize how much he’d been holding in all these years. And it made her love him all the more. She shifted in his embrace, moving her arms up and around his neck, holding him securely to her. “Oh, Riley, there’s nothing to forgive. You only spoke the truth. It’s me who should be begging for forgiveness. Me. I’m the one—”
“No.” He looked deep into her eyes. “No, Glory. You’re not the one guilty of anything here. All the rest of us—all of us, everyone who knew—we’re all guilty of this hurt you feel now. All of us. Not you.”
Glory’s chin quivered, her eyes misted. “It hurts so much, Riley. It hurts. I don’t even know who I am. How can I know what I feel?”
Riley tightened his grip, forced her to look up at him. “I can’t tell you how to feel. But I can tell you who you are—at least, to me. You’re the woman I love. That’s who you’ve always been, and always will be. No matter what your real name might be, or who your real folks are—none of that matters. Not to me.”
Glory shook her head. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t know how you can—”
He put a finger to her lips. “Shhh. You’ll work this out because you’re strong. But no matter how you come to think of yourself, it won’t change anything for me. I will always love you—no matter what you call yourself. If the day comes when you don’t think you can count on anything staying the same, Glory, you think about that. You think about me. Because I will never change. And I will always love you.”
Glory soaked up his words, his love, and fell against him, weak with emotion. “Oh, Riley, help me. Help me. I can’t do this by myself.” She heard the wrenching sobs, realized they were her own.
She then felt herself being lifted, knew Riley now cradled her in his arms. Felt the protection of his embrace, heard his softly whispered words of comfort, realized he was carrying her across the great room. Weak as a newborn, Glory could only cling to him, could only press her face against his neck and breathe in his scent with every breath, trust him with every step.
Up the stairs he carried her, down the hallway, and into her own room. Glory saw her bed, the journal and the letters scattered there. Riley’s hat, coat, and gun lay atop them. She tensed, turning her face once more against the warm, muscled column of his neck. “No,” came her muffled whimper, no more than the mewl of a forlorn kitten. “I can’t see them now. Not the letters.”
“All right, honey. You don’t have to.” He abruptly turned around and exited her room.
With her eyes tightly closed, she could only sense where he headed now. But she believed he’d gone two doors down, to the room where he’d slept when he stayed here, to the bed where she’d curled up to feel safe once he left. Sure enough, when he bent over to lower her onto a bed, when she felt its feathered softness under her, she opened her eyes to find herself being deposited on what she called his bed. His arms slid out from under her. He began to straighten up.
Glory clutched at his arm, turned her face up to him. “Stay with me.”
Riley stilled, stared into her eyes. Shook his head. “No. Not like this.”
“Please. Don’t make me beg.”
He hung his head a moment, but then raised it, settling his gaze on her once again. His black eyes glistened with an unnamed emotion. “It wouldn’t be right. Not with all the things you’re feeling right now. I’m not sure I can stop with just holding you. And that would be the last thing you—”
“That is the only thing I need, Riley. I don’t want you just to hold me. I need you. All of you. Please don’t make me fight you.” Then she surprised herself—and felt heartened—by a sudden sense of teasing and ridiculousness that came from out of nowhere. “You made me beg you last time, the first time. And now again. Am I going to have to force you for the rest of our lives?”
Riley’s eyes widened and then his face erupted into a grin that crinkled the skin at the corners of his eyes. “Well, I’ll be darned. The girl I love is still in there.”
Glory bit at her bottom lip. She couldn’t believe she was going to say this, but she did anyway. “Want to be in here with her?”
Riley stared openmouthed and then chuckled. “I knew you were going to be okay. I swear to you, Glory Bea—I love you.”
Suddenly shy, Glory looked away, but managed to get out, “Big words, mister. Prove it.” She then sought his gaze, purposely exposing to him her hunger for him, her naked heart.
Riley’s chuckles mellowed to a warm grin, then to a sincere smile, and finally to a heavy-lidded, desire-laden gaze. “I’ll prove it.”
Glory scooted over as Riley stretched out next to her on the narrow bed. With the curtains still open, the silvery gaze of the moon cast the room into grays and whites, giving Glory enough light to see the tender yet taut expression on Riley’s face. He leaned over her. She reached up to cup his cheek, felt the smoothness of his skin, as well as the beginning roughness of his beard. “I love you, too. I always will.”
Riley stilled where he was. Closing his eyes, with the barest of smiles on his lips, he pulled his head back, as if savoring her words like he would a fine wine on his tongue. After a long, quiet moment, he once again was looking down at her. “You, Glory … your words, your love … you save me. You save me.”
Glory had time only to frown in wonderment of how she could save him before he pulled her to him and kissed her. Frowns, wondering, all thoughts except those of pleasurable sensations fled her mind, left her straining toward him, wanting to feel more, wanting to touch more of him. But sensing by the way he held her, by the tenderness of his kiss that he meant to be gentle with her, to respect her fragility, Glory found herself impatient.
She broke their kiss, pulled away from the swirling sensation of his tongue in her mouth, even knowing as she did that it mimicked the union of their bodies on a much deeper level. Tossing her head, tumbling her hair all around her, she told him, “No. Not like that. No holding back. All of you. I want this.”
Riley’s hold on her tightened. His voice was breathless. “Oh, damn, Glory. You don’t know what you’re asking.”
With a hand around his neck, and her other clutching at his shirtfront, she held him to her, spoke through her desire-gritted teeth. “Then show me. I want to feel it all. I want to know … you.”
As if she’d uttered magic words, some timeless incantation, Riley stilled, looked into her eyes, roved his gaze over her face. And exhaled a shuddering breath. His voice husky, he smoothed his knuckles down her cheek and all but whispered, “I’ve waited all my life to hear you say that. And yet I want you so much, it scares me. You’re so little, I’m afraid I’ll break you.”
Staring up at him, her entire world defined by his strong, handsome features, Glory smiled … and pulled him down to her. This time, she took his mouth, claimed his kiss, swirled her tongue with his, felt the answering ache and tightness in the vee between her legs. Like a tiny white-hot poker, her bud ached for him, for his kiss. A moan shook through Glory when Riley pulled away, but only to cover her more fully with his body, to trail-nipping kisses across her cheek, her jaw, her neck.
Drugged by the sensations he lavished on her, Glory cried out in protest when he suddenly rolled off her and the bed to stand beside it, his hand held out to her. “Come here, baby.”
Frowning, but not questioning, she scooted over to the bed’s edge, took his hand, and stood up, turning her face up to his. He smiled down at her and then put his hands on her … undressing her. The skin-prickling sensation of his warm, strong fingers moving over the fabric of her blouse, then against the silk of her skin weakened Glory’s knees. She clutched at his arms. He followed his hands with his kiss, claiming every inch of her that he exposed.
Almost without realizing she was doing it, Glory unbuttoned his shirt, smoothed her hands over the feel of his combination suit, unbuttoned it, reveling in the sculpted, masculine feel of his chest underneath it. Riley helped her, shrugged out of his shirt. Glory captured his gaze, saw his tight smile, read the desire there, the pleasure of her touch to him. Her senses inflamed, emboldened by his tensing over her as he bent to kiss her neck where it met her shoulder, Glory sighed out, “Oh, Riley, please. I can’t take it anymore.”
“Yes you can,” came his husky response as he expertly and gently undressed her, opening her like a flower, revealing each petal of her femininity to his gaze, his touch, his kiss. Until finally he was kneeling before her, his hands spread on her bare back, his mouth capturing first one budded nipple and then the other. The sensations that rippled through Glory made her throw her head back, made the back of her throat dry and feel thick with need. She felt the cascade of her hair caress her bottom, felt the burst of desire in her belly when Riley all but raised her off her feet to kiss the soft, dark curls that covered her woman’s mound.
A crying sound she’d never before made in her life rang out into the silent air of the room. On its echo, Riley stood up, and with Glory’s fevered help, divested himself of his boots and clothes. In only moments, he stood before her in his naked glory, proud, aloof, and yet totally wrapped around her finger, his heart in her hand.
Glory realized that … and accepted it. This man was hers, given to her by God. She could uplift him. Or destroy him. Looking deep into his eyes, seeing his soul mirrored there, Glory lifted her arms up to him, invited him into the center of her womanhood, gave him the gift of her heart.
“Oh, Glory.” He sighed. And again he lifted her, gently laying her on the bed. He joined her there, lying half atop her, half beside her, his leg thrown over both of hers, as he smoothed his hands over her body. Near to writhing under his touch, so intense was the pleasure, so close to actual pain were the sensations he wrought, that Glory sought to pleasure herself with the feel of him. He was like warm marble, like a pulsing sculpture under her hands.
“You are so beautiful, Glory,” he breathed, even as he shifted, moving over her, moving down her, his hands and lips playing her body like a harp.
“So are you,” Glory answered him, running her hands over his shoulders, his neck, and clutching at handfuls of his thick, dark hair just as he—her breath caught, her muscles tensed—kissed her there. An aching cry of primal pleasure tore out of her, but she was helpless in his hands, forced to absolutely surrender against his mouth. Riley sipped and swirled, kissed and prodded. Glory’s every nerve centered on the throbbing between her legs. “No,” she murmured. “No.”
But her mouth slacked open, her eyes squeezed shut. Time ceased to exist. Only Riley populated her world. Glory had to wonder why people the world over ever did anything but this, so good did it feel. It was her last thought before his ministrations brought her to the peak and tipped her over the edge. A throat-tightening, guttural cry escaped Glory as she rode the crest of her climax, as she undulated with a soft violence against Riley’s mouth, as her body opened fully to his onslaught.
Clutching at handfuls of the quilted bedspread under her, as breached and vulnerable as any woman ever could be, Glory didn’t even move when Riley kissed his way back up the length of her and settled himself in the saddle of her hips. He gathered her in his arms and took her mouth in the same way he just had her core. “This is what you taste like. This is who you are,” he told her. “This is what I think of when I think about you. This and so much more.”
Lost, undone, Glory arched her hips against Riley’s powerful legs. She wrapped her own legs around his hips, pushed on his shoulders. He answered her by probing her opening, by unerringly finding her center, and slipping inside her. As if the mere contact with her innermost self was more than he could stand, he jerked, lowering his forehead to her shoulder. A ragged cry, some jumble of words that Glory didn’t catch, accompanied his rapid breathing.
And then … they were one, in perfect union with their souls, with their love for each other. Riley rocked his hips against her, Glory met each thrust with one of her own. In this way, she struggled to express the depth, the force of her love for him. She wanted to show him that she was the woman for him, that she was his match. That her love could equal his. And the only way she could do it at this moment was to use her body as a vessel, to offer it up, to allow him into the secret places of her heart.
And to hope that, in the coming days, in the coming trials, this love she had for him would be strong enough to survive.