Chapter Four #3
He collapsed atop her, kissing her, relishing her ragged breathing and erratic nod, took himself in hand, lips locked frantically to lips, unable to disengage, shimmied his helm into the prize, and slammed home.
She cried out against his lips and arched beneath him, clinging to him. So tight it hurt as a rumble groaned up his throat, as her ankles locked about his rear.
God damn him, because he certainly wasn’t blessed. Welcomed by the most divine, snug heat, he held himself hilted as aftershocks rocketed his pulse, his kiss stalling as his forehead rested to hers.
So warm. So slick. So … perfect.
The burning sensation eased to simmering and he withdrew slowly. Undulated within again, swallowing her cry. Resumed kissing as her fingers sifted into his hair, his hat somewhere lost, skittering goose bumps over him.
This woman, in her bed welcoming a rover like him who’d never found a place that wanted him, and he the undeserving bastard who was already lying to her, unable to stop taking. He withdrew. Pushed back in. Swallowed down her sounds of pleasure like a thirsty man drinking water.
“What d’you want from me, baby?” he growled, nipping the soft shell of her ear.
Tender or rough. Missionary or flipped on her belly. He didn’t care, he’d give it—
“Make it special,” she whispered.
He pulled up and studied her suddenly shy expression. Not the answer he’d expected.
Biting her lip, she refused to look him in his eyes as her fingers strummed the hair at his nape contemplatively. “I know it’s a fling. I know it’s just a night, but if you’d h … hold me like you aren’t gonna let…”
She didn’t finish, but he filled in the blanks. Aw, damn … hold her like he wouldn’t let her go. Protectiveness burgeoned on her behalf, because this girl … she’d been hurt. Who was the fucker who’d done it? And what had they done?
Someone had made her feel worthless, when a real man made his women feel special. And she wanted that feeling from him.
He petted back her hair, thinking through the haze of lust to pound home. “On one condition, beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely.
She froze, tensing, so vulnerable beneath him. He kept petting her hair. Inspecting her face.
“What?” she whispered.
Her eyes widened up at him. What they were doing …
it hit him, as he studied her jade gems, embarrassment staining her cheeks in the milky moonlight shining on her face.
It wasn’t casual. Not for her. This was his Flower Girl taking a big risk and a bigger leap of faith for a night of not feeling alone, and Christ, he, a dropout with a record, didn’t deserve her trust. This was a forever girl too afraid to ask for forever, or trust in it.
And yet … to feel wanted by her was addictive.
His head giving the barest of shakes, he murmured roughly, “Don’t let me go, neither.”
Her eyes softened, because it seemed as if she understood all too well.
He bore down on her mouth. Because where she clearly avoided filling her void with a moment’s pleasure to forget reality, he was all too familiar with avoiding reality to fill the void with his cocky attitude and cheap, impersonal flings, a moment’s pleasure hiding the deeper wounds of—
Never belonging anywhere. Kiss.
Of losing his shot at stardom because of his own stupidity. Tongue dancing with tongue.
Of wanting that farm and being shunned from the inheritance. His fingers knotting in her silky hair.
Of knowing he could have run as smooth a ship as his cousin did, if only his parents hadn’t poisoned everyone to the thought of him.
Of hating that bastard who’d hurt his sister, resulting in one of the worst decisions of his life.
Of hating how he’d been screwed over so many times, by courts, by others taking advant—
“Why don’t you think you’re worth it, Trouble?” she whispered.
He gripped her hair tighter to shut out the spiraling thoughts.
Kissed her tenderly and eased himself back into loving.
He could do that for her, at least. Most girls wanted bragging rights.
But her … that’s not what she wanted. Ever since he’d lured her on stage, he’d known she was different.
And selfishly, he wanted to keep feeling this harmony with her.
Their tongues danced. Fingers caressed, his hands sliding up her tank, over her ribs, beneath her bra, familiarizing himself with her perfect body, determined to discover each of her secrets.
Why she wanted to feel wanted. Why she was too afraid to reach out and grab it.
He eased the tank up her skin, over her head, unclipped the clasp of her bra on her sternum to pop free and kissed his way along her jaw, along the column of her neck, down to her breasts, sliding free of their union as he took time to cherish the rest of her and swirl his tongue upon each soft, pink tip.
Glanced up into her eyes downcast at him as he made love to each breast, gaze holding hers and watching her lips roll in on themselves. He kept going, down … down … over her ribs to her navel…
Thin, silvery lines taut upon her flat belly. Stretch marks?
She … had a kid?