Page 50 of Carnival’s Playground

She comes with an explosive, full-body shudder, crying my birth name into the quiet room, her hips rolling through the waves of her climax as I kiss her gently through the aftershocks. I rise up on my knees, crawling back over her trembling body. She's glowing, her skin flushed deep pink, her green eyes heavy and dark with pure, sated pleasure.

"Hi." She reaches up to cup my stubbled jaw.

I press a tender kiss to her swollen lips. "Hi yourself."

I reach down into the pocket of my discarded jeans on the floor, pull out a small foil packet, and tear the wrapper with my teeth. Avery watches me with a slow, wicked grin spreading across her flushed face. "You had that in your pocket the entire time we were chasing Grady?"

"A good mechanic always carries the right tools for the job." She laughs, a rich, beautiful sound that fills the small trailer. She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me down until my chest presses flat against hers. I roll the protection on and settle between her thighs, the broad head of my shaft brushing against the slick, scorching heat of her entrance. I notch myself at her opening, holding completely still for a moment, my heart slamming against my ribs like a sledgehammer.

"You ready for this, spitfire?"

"I've never been more ready for anything in my life, Wyatt." Her hands slide down to rest flat against my hips, urging me forward.

I push forward slow, steady, and deliberate, sinking inch by thick inch into her tight, scorching depths. She lets out a sharp, choked gasp, her head arching back into the pillow, her fingernails biting deep into the muscles of my lower back as her body stretches to take all of me.

I seat myself completely to the hilt, burying my face in the crook of her neck, holding us both motionless while she adjusts to the fullness. I whisper against her throat, my control hanging by a frayed thread. "You okay?"

She rolls her hips upward in a slow, possessive roll that nearly destroys my sanity. "More than okay. Now move, biker."

I set a slow, deep, punishing rhythm, sliding out until the tip barely catches, then driving back in with steady, unyielding force. Avery matches every single thrust, hooking her long legs around my waist, locking me deep inside her. The narrow bed groans beneath our weight, the small orange jack-o'-lantern lights swaying gently along the window glass as the heat inside the room becomes suffocatingly thick.

"Look at me, spitfire." She opens her eyes, her gaze locked on mine, completely vulnerable, completely mine.

I slip my hand down between our slick, joined bodies, finding the swollen nub of her center with my thumb. The moment I begin circling her clit in rhythm with my deep thrusts, her breath turns into ragged, frantic sobs of pleasure.

"Wyatt! Wyatt, I can't—" Her inner walls clamp down hard around my shaft, gripping me like a vice.

I drive hard and deep into her slick heat. "Let go, baby. Come for me."

She shatters completely, screaming my name into the trailer as her second orgasm violently rips through her body, milking me with fierce, relentless contractions. The sight and feel of her coming apart under my touch completely breaks my restraint. I bury myself deep inside her one last time, throw my head back, and let out a dark, guttural roar as my own climax tears through my veins like molten lava. I pour everything I have into her, shuddering violently against her soft body as our souls fuse together in the dark.

We lie tangled together for a long time afterward, our skin slick with sweat, our ragged breathing slowly returning to normal. Avery curls into my side, resting her head flat against my tattooed chest, her small fingers tracing lazy circles over my ribs while I keep my heavy arm wrapped securely around her waist. "You're really staying, aren't you?"

I kiss the crown of her head. "I'm never leaving you, spitfire. Not now. Not ever."

She lets out a contented sigh, closing her eyes against my skin. As the soft orange light glows above our heads, I finally know what it feels like to have a home.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

AVERY

Halloween night smells like sweet woodsmoke, warm cinnamon, roasted peanuts, and that crisp, sharp bite of winter creeping down from the north plains. The entire Grimlight Reveals midway is blazing with vibrant orange and purple string lights, the sawdust pathways packed with laughing locals dressed in pirate coats, witch hats, and monster masks.

For the first time in six weeks, there's no heavy radio clipped to my hip, no wrench in my back pocket, and no knot of dread twisting in my stomach. I tug the collar of my canvas jacket tighter against the autumn breeze as I lean into Carnival's broad shoulder. "This feels completely unnatural. I keep waiting for an alarm to go off."

His heavy arm wraps comfortably around my waist, pulling me tight against his leather jacket. "No alarms tonight, spitfire. Dutch officially put us on mandatory civilian leave for the evening."

"Dutch tells a lot of lies to keep the payroll down." I look up at his handsome, stubbled face.

He chuckles, his storm-gray eyes warm with amusement. "I checked with him three times before we left the trailer. He threatened to fire me if he saw me holding a multimeter before tomorrow morning."

"Good old Dutch." I laugh softly, letting the last lingering traces of tension drain out of my shoulders.

A rusted green tractor rumbles up to the main gate archway, hauling a long wooden flatbed wagon packed thick with fresh, golden straw. Frank sits up on the metal tractor seat, wearing a tattered flannel shirt and a rubber werewolf mask pushed up on his forehead, grinning from ear to ear. Frank bellows over the diesel engine, "Are you two lovebirds going to stand there looking pretty all night, or are you getting your asses on this hay wagon?"

I shout back, my cheeks warming slightly as several passing teenagers turn to giggle at us. "We're riding, Frank!"

Carnival catches me by the waist, lifting me effortlessly into the back of the wagon before climbing up beside me. We sink into the dry, fragrant straw, tucked together against the wooden sidewall as the tractor lurches forward with a loud metallic rattle. I rest my chin on his shoulder. "You look ridiculously comfortable for a guy who lives on a Harley."