Mine to Hold by Shayla Black Page A

with Tyler Murphy.
    As he’d penetrated her that sultry night, she’d tried to swallow against lust, but it was useless. His huge hands engulfed her hips, and need flared through her, hot and unrelenting. He pushed deeper into her, stretching her, then withdrew again, only to inch in once more, so grindingly slow. The raw ache he spurred nearly drove her insane.
    “Tyler, please . . .”
    It wasn’t the first time that night she’d begged. And it definitely hadn’t been the last.
    Del knew she should put a stop to this before the situation careened any further out of control. She’d stood in front of her family and friends—including Tyler as best man—only two years ago. That day, she’d promised to love and honor and be faithful to Eric for the rest of her life. Then, everything had seemed so natural and easy.
    The days had become weeks, then months. Her husband’s job consumed him, and it wasn’t easy to know that he saw drug dealers and prostitutes all day. She’d talked to other cops’ wives and knew that, behind the badge, they were still men who could be swayed to ignore crime for money or sexual favors. Not that she believed Eric would take either, but . . . the last few months before his shooting, they’d been more like friends than spouses, doing crosswords, watching movies, eating together. Their lack of connection was probably her fault. She’d been stressed, worrying that because she covered fluff pieces in a nothing section of a financially shaky paper, she’d lose her job. Whatever the reason, sex between them had stopped.
    She’d begun to wonder if someone else was picking up her slack.
    Then Eric had been shot, and everything else ceased to matter. Then, there’d been nothing but endless days in the hospital, pain, and sleeplessness, along with the grim fear that he might not live, and if he did, would he ever walk again? Del knew she’d take care of him, regardless. After all, in sickness and in health. But as time had crawled by, he’d grown more surly. Angry at her, at the world. Affection had ground to a complete halt in favor of snide disdain and petulance. Never had she imagined this side of Eric. He’d become a completely different man. And she’d despaired that she’d ever reach him again.
    Would letting Tyler fuck her in Eric’s place finally change something?
    She remembered Eric brushing his lips over her jaw, down her neck. She’d closed her eyes and kissed his cheek in return, searching desperately for that connection she’d once felt with him, praying to find it. Praying that she was doing the right thing to save them.
    Even if she wasn’t, Del didn’t think she could stop. Her body was burning up. It wasn’t just the pleasure that had her crying out. She
needed
to be held, loved. Reassured of human comfort. Tyler clutched her tightly, suffusing her with a searing heat that made her ache down to her toes.
    Since the second Eric had been wounded, Tyler had been by her side. He’d helped with the insurance and departmental paperwork. He’d taken care of her lawn and household repairs. He’d picked up the pieces when she’d been too distraught to carry on . . . or when she’d cried. If she called, he was never too tired or too busy. In some ways, he’d been more devoted than Eric ever had been. While she knew that love for his friend—not her—made him so loyal, she had to believe that he felt something for her.
    God, she wanted to be wanted, to feel alive. Wanted to share something vital. And she craved all that with Tyler. Guilt was eating her alive. Her feelings made her a terrible wife. A terrible person. But . . . human. In this one moment, she wanted to be selfish—before she resumed caring for a man she wasn’t entirely sure loved her anymore.
    “Tell me what you want, angel,” Tyler whispered.
    She wriggled back on his cock, but he held her steady with those strong hands, controlling her until she answered.
    “I ache.” She