by Laura Kaye
Nick wanted to claim her and possess her and climb so far inside her heat that he’d forget about all the shit in his head. He wanted her writhing under him and boneless with pleasure and crying his name out loud. He wanted her seeking safety in his arms and comfort from his hands.
He spun the chair around to face her. She reared back on her knees and her gaze flew up to his. He shook his head, competing desires warring inside him. To possess her and protect her. To be honest and shield her from hurt. To do the right thing and do what felt right.
Damnit, he needed her.
On a groan, he reached out, grasped her neck, and hauled her up to him.
Rixey consumed her with the kiss, pouring every bit of his gratitude and desire into the movement of his lips, his tongue, his hands. She moaned in surprise, and he devoured that, too. God, she smelled of warm vanilla and tasted of mint. Little needful whimpers and sighs and gasps spilled out around their lips, and he reveled in every last note of her pleasure, of her desire. He pulled her closer and penetrated her more deeply with his tongue. The damn backrest separated them, but he couldn’t let her go long enough to rectify the problem.
“God, sunshine, what are you doing to me?” he rasped around the edge of a kiss.
Her fingers dug into his hair, pulling, grasping. He loved the bites of pain against his scalp, evidence of her loss of control.
If he didn’t stop soon, he was going to lift her into his arms, lay her out on his bed, and cover her with his body. And there would be no going back.
Get a friggin’ grip, Rixey. Now.
Panting, he pulled his lips away from hers, his hands cupping her cheeks so she didn’t dive back in for more. Foreheads together, he let himself bask in a moment more of her heat, her scent, her touch. He kissed the corner of her mouth, because he was the one struggling to resist, and stroked his hands over her hair. Finally, he pulled away. “It’s late,” he said, hating the words but needing them.
Her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I know,” she whispered, peering up at him with midnight blue eyes.
“Come on.” He pushed up from the chair and gave her a hand at the same time. Miraculously, his muscle aches were more diffuse than before her massage. As if he needed another reason to want to kiss her. “You should—”
“I don’t want to be alone, Nick.” She shook her head and ducked her chin. “Can I just . . . maybe, stay out here with you?”
“Becca—”
“Please?”
The pleading slayed him. He grasped her hand and led her to his dark bedroom.
“Get in,” he said at the side of the bed. “You need sleep, and you’re not going to get it sitting up out there.”
“But—”
“I’ll sleep here, too.”
“Really?”
The obvious relief did a number on him. It felt damned good to be needed—too damned good, so he played it off. “It’s a hardship, but for you, I’ll make the sacrifice.” He swatted her butt, and his cock rose up and took notice. “Get in.”
“Nicholas Rixey, did you just . . . smack me?” The sounds of the mattress accepting her weight and the covers shifting followed her into the bed.
He lay down on the very edge, his mind still spinning on the fact that he’d just spanked her, when a new realization hit home. Shit, I’m in bed with Becca. “Why, did you like it?” he said, forcing nonchalance into his voice when he felt anything but.
Her non-answer was a real kick in the ass, because he’d bet his right nut she was laying over there debating how to answer. And now his cock wanted back in the game. Fuck.
Yes, please.
Jesus, when your brain started talking to your cock, you were on some fucking really thin ice. “And don’t call me Nicholas,” he groused.
She chuckled and shifted positions, judging by the movement of the mattress.
“Lying on your back can’t be much better than lying on your stomach.”
He grunted, but it was true. But if he rolled on his right side, he’d be that much closer to her, and right now he swore she must be throwing off solar heat, he felt her presence so intensely.
“Nick?”
He tensed, unsure what the hell she was going to come at him with next. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Oh. The tension ebbed out of him. “You’re welcome.”
Gingerly, he turned onto his side, easing his back and restoring the relief she’d given to him with the gift of her touch.
“Nick?”
“Hmm?”
“I feel like I’ve known you a lot longer than a few days.”
So do I. But nothing good would come from making that admission. “Becca?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s time to stop talking now.”
She laughed, the sound warm and sunny in the darkness. The metaphor wasn’t lost on him.
Becca was the light to his dark.
Her honesty, her touch, her very presence settled a blanket of comfort around him like nothing else had this past year. And he wanted to wrap himself up in it and never let go. How the hell that worked without her getting hurt at his hands, without his bitterness and anger weighing her down, he didn’t know.
And he wasn’t sure it was good for either of them for him to figure it out.
Chapter 15
The warm weight was the first thing Becca noticed. All along her side, on her shoulder, covering her thigh. She didn’t want to open her eyes and chase away the dream of lying so close to Nick, because there was no way it was real.
Except the more she woke up, the more she realized she wasn’t imagining it. His jeans, his skin, his heartbeat all truly pressed against her. Sometime during the night, Nick Rixey had made himself into a blanket, and she was the beneficiary of his covering heat.
Judging by the numbness of her arm, his head had been resting on her shoulder for a while. She turned her face toward him and her cheek found the soft unruliness of his hair. A smile crept over her face. Here he’d insisted on clinging to the edge of the mattress when they’d gotten in bed, but he’d sought her out in his sleep and curled up against her.
And curled up was the right way to describe it. His head on her shoulder, his leg over her thigh, his arm stretched over her stomach and his big hand tucked under her hip. Like he wanted to make sure she didn’t go anywhere.
It was actually kinda sweet. Not at all a description she’d usually apply to Nick, with all his rough edges and gruff moods and serious intensity.
Opening her eyes to the gray light of early morning skirting in around the blinds, Becca soaked in the amazing image of Nick’s body sprawled all over hers. Man, that gave her some ideas she wouldn’t mind bringing to reality. Him, over her, moving, taking, claiming.
The way she wanted him was crazy. She knew it was. After all, she’d only known him a few days. But that didn’t make it any less real. At twenty-eight, she’d never felt anything like the passionate urges he seemed to wring out of her with just a look or a touch, and who knew if she’d find another man capable of making her feel this way again. He was quintessentially masculine and quietly powerful and arrogantly commanding—sometimes to the point where she wanted to throttle him. But mostly, her body reacted to these qualities as if they were a gypsy healer’s most potent aphrodisiac, mysterious and irresistible and maybe a little dangerous, too.
Becca rubbed her hand over her face, hoping the coolness of her palm might ease the sudden heat flooding her cheeks, not to mention elsewhere. It was no use, though, because as long as this much of him was touching this much of her, desire and lust would rush through her until she was nearly mad with the aching need for him to fill her up in any and every way he could.
Maybe that should embarrass her. But it didn’t. Even if it had been a while since she’d last had it, she’d always liked sex. And there wasn’t a part of her that doubted that sex with Nick Rixey would be absolutely mind-blowing. The only question was why he kept pulling
back, when it seemed clear he was interested.
If there was one thing all the losses in her life had taught her it was that life was short, fleeting, and way too precious to waste waiting around for happiness to hit you over the head and make itself known. Happiness wasn’t something you found, happiness was something you made—by living in the moment, by cherishing the people in your life right now, by finding the courage to change those things you didn’t like. She hadn’t always gotten it right the last year or two, and that had to change. Starting now.
As these thoughts raced through her mind, a familiar pang of guilt settled in her heart for Charlie. But they would find him. She absolutely refused to entertain any other outcome. And, then, maybe after . . .
Yeah. After.
Nick shifted, rolling closer, if that was possible, and her just barely restrained lust broke free. The change in his position brought his erection against her hip. And, Jesus, he was big. Imagining taking all that masculine flesh into her hands, her mouth, her core had her suddenly light-headed, despite lying down. As if that weren’t enough, when he’d moved closer, the thick cords of his thigh had pressed squarely against the junction of her legs. Summoning all her willpower, she forced herself to lie perfectly still. Because if she lifted her hips even an inch, the friction of his body pressing so intimately and deliciously against her clit would make her come.
He sniffed and murmured, and his breathing slowly changed from the slow, shallow draws of sleep to the deeper pattern of wakefulness. “What are you thinking so hard about?” he said, his voice a seductive, raw gravel.
“Nothing,” she whispered.
“Bad liar, remember?”
She smiled. Not even awake and he was already a smart-ass. “You’re laying on me.”
He lifted his head, eyes still soft with sleep and oh so bright. “Er, oh, God, Bec—”
“Don’t move, please? I wasn’t complaining.”
“Then what—”
“It’s just . . .” The way he was looking at her, half concerned, half like he might make her every dream come true, had her spilling a fast stream of honesty that was about five point two light-years beyond oversharing. “I’m horny. And you’re hot as hell. And we’re clearly trying to be good. Although, I’m not sure why, exactly. And, anyway, I don’t want you to move. Because I like the feel of you. And I—”
His mouth swallowed the rest of the nonsense spilling from her lips. The kiss was aggressive and needful, his tongue twining with hers, his hands in her hair, his chest atop her breasts. For a long moment, she was so stunned by the kiss that all she could do was give in to the sensual assault. His leg pressed between her legs, hard against her clit, the bunching and shifting of his muscles shoving her step by step closer to the edge of restraint. A stream of moans and whimpers worked their way up her throat until finally she couldn’t stop her hips from dancing against his thigh.
“Nick,” she rasped around the edge of a kiss. “Oh, God.”
“What?” he said, pulling back. He stroked his nose over her cheek to her ear. “What’s the matter?” He eased his thigh away.
Her whimper was full of protest for the loss of him. The sexy bastard chuckled. “Don’t stop,” she managed.
Tracing his tongue around the shell of her ear, he rocked his hips against her nice and slow. “Don’t stop what?”
Becca swallowed roughly, arousal making it hard to breathe, hard to think. “You’re teasing me.”
He chuffed out another small laugh in her ear, casting shivers over her skin. “I am.”
Digging her fingers into his hair, she grasped two handfuls and held tight. “Well, don’t. I want . . .”
Nick’s tongue was in her mouth again, exploring every wet corner and stealing her breath. He pulled back, panting. “What? What do you want, sunshine?”
The nickname tugged her heart into the action, too. Did he realize he said it? “I like when you call me that.”
He bit her bottom lip and tugged, his gaze boring into hers, one eyebrow arched. “What do you want?”
She pulled his wrist from her face and guided his hand to the heat between her legs. With only her panties separating his skin from hers, no doubt he could feel it.
“Jesus,” he ground out, his forehead falling upon hers and those bright green eyes absolutely on fire. “You want to come?”
“Yes.”
Nodding against her face, he whispered, “Yeah. And I want you to come.” He devoured her in a kiss and hooked a thumb in the lacy band of her panties. Slowly, he pushed them down to her knees, then she curled her legs and he pulled them the rest of the way off.
Nick kissed her again, and there was nothing tentative about the way he worked his mouth. The passion with which he tasted her with his lips and tongue, and nipped with his teeth, and caressed with his hands was all-consuming. Appreciative little grunts and moans worked up from the back of his throat, like he was eating the finest meal after a long fast. She was lost to him. “You need this, don’t you?”
“So much, Nick.” Emotion rose up within her, tightening around her throat and pricking at the back of her eyes. She wasn’t sure exactly what caused it, but suddenly she was absolutely overwhelmed with sensation and desire. “I need you.”
He kissed her jaw, her throat, her collarbones, and then he pulled her shirt up and off and exposed her breasts. More of those appreciative noises spilled from him as he drew himself atop her to kiss and lick and suck at her flesh.
His hand dragged downward and cupped her core. The sprinting beat of her heart made it hard to breathe. “Already so wet.” He swiped his tongue over her bottom lip. “Is that for me?”
Jesus. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, for you.”
“Damn straight.” His middle finger sank deep. Throwing her head back into the pillow, she cried out, one hand fisting in the covers, the other digging into the muscles of his shoulder. He fingered her slow, letting her get used to his presence deep inside, and soon she rocked her hips to urge him to give her more. He did. For a moment, he pulled all the way out, then he slid back in with his middle and ring fingers together. The man had big freaking hands, and his fingers stretched and filled her until her blood hummed and raced. He flicked her clit with his thumb, once, twice, and an orgasm crashed over her, catching her off guard, contracting her muscles, sending her flying. She slammed her thighs closed around his hand and arm, hoping she could hold him there forever. He growled. “That one was too easy. Again.”
Dizziness threatened. “I can’t—”
“You will.” Withdrawing his hand from inside her, he pushed her legs open and crawled between them. His big shoulders overflowed the space between her thighs. “I have to taste you.”
He tilted her hips up with his hands and dragged his tongue through her folds. Becca cried out, one hand darting to his hair and holding tight. His tongue was relentless, licking, stroking, penetrating, circling until she was pure overloaded sensation. Too much, too much, it’s too much. But it was like he was in charge of her body and it bent to his will. Arousal shot through her again, more intense, more demanding. He flicked and sucked at her clit and slid his fingers deep inside again. The combination shoved her toward the edge.
Panting and moaning, her body tightened, sensation gathered, and pressure built . . . but then she hung there. For a long moment, she was suspended until she was holding her breath and gritting her teeth.
“Come all over my fingers,” he ordered against her lips. And then he focused on her clit with a series of fast, hard licks. She came in a flash of blinding light that momentarily sucked in on itself before exploding outward in a million pieces. She moaned and thrashed beneath him and finally tugged at his hair to get him to stop.
In a flash of movement, he rose up over her and claimed her mouth in a hard kiss. “I want you, Becca.”
Elation roared through her. “Yes.”
Rising out of bed, he kicked off his jeans and boxers. His co
ck jutted out, long and thick. His body was lean, strong, all hard planes and cut muscles. Ink marked his skin in more places than she’d previously seen, but then he was rolling on a condom and dragging her hips to the edge of the bed. “I want to be able to see you.” He took himself in hand and dragged his tip through her folds, his face a gorgeous mask of lust and desire. “Sure this is okay?” he asked, his voice a raw scrape.
“More than okay. I want you, too.”
He pushed inside, slowly filling her with a delicious pressure. She moaned, unable to look away from the roiling heat in his eyes. Finally, his gaze moved from her face to where he penetrated her, his eyes absolutely on fire. Something snapped inside him. Holding her hips in a tight grip, he withdrew and thrust, his rhythm hard, fast, almost frantic. The intensity was mind-blowing and sent her flying. She grasped the edge of the mattress to keep herself in place against the demanding pace.
On a groan, he fell forward, bracing himself above her with one hand and grabbing her shoulder with the other, his hips flying. The change in position pushed him deeper inside her and dragged his body tight and hard over her clit. God, the way he moved, like a great wave rolling up over her, covering her, claiming her. She was awash in sensation—the incredible fullness between her legs, his heat on her skin, his tight grip. “So fucking good,” he said, meeting and holding her gaze. His face was all hard angles and utterly appealing. “I can’t hold back.”
She smiled. “Don’t try to.”
Holding her tight, he hammered into her, and then he unleashed a guttural shout and came. His muscles rigid, he moved through the orgasm, pulsing inside her, the ecstasy of his expression one of the most erotic things she’d ever seen.
His whole body went loose and he eased his chest atop hers, his forehead resting on hers with his eyes closed. For a moment, they lay like that, their breathing evening out, their bodies cooling. She stroked her hands over his sides and back.