Destiny's Chance by Cara Bristol

to the thrust of his hips. Big. So big. No give to his hardness. She gasped at the stretch, the pressure, as he filled not just her pussy, but the hidden hollow places of her soul. How had she existed without him? How would she live after her time with him ended?
    She contracted her muscles, holding him tighter still, and he groaned. “Oh, fuck.” Perspiration trickled down his temple to his jaw and dripped onto her collarbone. He poised above her, braced on his fists, his biceps bulging. Destiny clutched at his shoulders, dug her heels into his buttocks.
    His glutes contracted. He pulled back, then drove forward. Thrust and swivel. The grind against her clit kindled a lick of fire that intensified when he rested on a forearm to free a hand to massage the bud. “So good, so good,” she moaned, her praise inadequate, sensations rendering her unable to fully communicate.
    Harder, faster, he thrust, whipping desire to a frenzy. She bucked, curled her fingers into his back. Moisture broke out on her skin, added to his, and their bodies slid against each other in perfect synchronization.
    Need coiled, muscles fluttered. She closed her eyes.
    “Look at me!”
    The passion etched on his face propelled her into a vortex of ecstasy. Her hopes, her dreams, her secret longings, her love poured out of her, and she clung to the beacon of his piercing gaze. As she convulsed with passion, his expression turned wide-eyed with disbelief as orgasm claimed him. He sucked in a hiss of air and expelled a muffled comment, a senseless utterance that sounded like, “Not…possible.” He shuddered and spilled himself inside her.
    IN SLEEP SHE clung to him, had wedged a leg between his thighs and hugged his arm against her breasts, grabbed a handful of his chest hair in her fist. Chance lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, struggling to rebuild a defense against the warmth that beckoned him to stray from his course of resolve. He steeled himself not to brush the hair from her cheek, to trace the bruise that marred her soft skin, to rub his arm against her nipple, to kiss her awake—to have another go at it.
    A fuck. That was all it had been. A woman had offered him sex, and like any hetero guy would—like his brother Roman would have done—he’d accepted the offer.
    End of story.
    Except for the disconcerting epilogue. As he’d climaxed, he could have sworn he’d seen Destiny peering at him through Zoe’s eyes. A lust-induced hallucination, not worthy of a second’s consideration. He scrubbed his eyelids with his fist in a vain attempt to erase the vision seared into his brain.
    His sleeping ex’s lashes formed feathery crescents on her high cheekbones; her hair spread out in a tantalizing tangle. Against his side, her body fit perfectly, like a jigsaw puzzle section snapped into the right space. It was the only piece that fit. Never physically demonstrative or affectionate in the past, she had expressed little inclination to cuddle after climax when the fun and games had ended. It was as if she’d deliberately avoided the intimacy. As he should do now. But he couldn’t bring himself to break contact, finding disturbing comfort in the nearness of her body.
    Her breathing, easy and deep, whispered across his neck. On each exhale, she emitted a cute puffing noise that brought a smile to his lips until he realized he’d never known her to snore before. Another change in behavior. He raised his hand to scratch his chin but detoured to brush that errant curl from her cheek. Her silky-soft, baby-fine hair wrapped itself around his finger.
    “Who are you, Zoe?” he murmured.
    With his toe, he hooked the top sheet they’d kicked to the foot of the bed and pulled it over them. He checked on the shadow dragons. They twined together in truce, dancing as lovers, anger spent. He would be foolish to contemplate trying again on the basis of one evening, some good cooking, one adorable little snore.
    Pure folly.
    But not nearly as foolish