by Lia Riley
Intensity and hesitation warred within.
“Neve.” His voice seemed to ache with the same need gripping her, squeezing at her center, throbbing through her thighs.
“I . . . I feel sort of shy?” She was acutely aware of just how small her underwear was and the fabric was more or less see-through given her wetness.
“You just tore off my pants.”
“Hey. I’m allowed these feelings.”
“Right now you’re only allowed to be one thing.” She felt the force of his gaze like a tantalizing caress.
“Illuminate me.” Her voice was faint.
“Hungry for my cock.”
Blue stars exploded on the edge of her vision.
That was it. He won all the dirty talk forever. She couldn’t beat his mastery, but needed to regain some power. Some foothold here in the bedroom. He wanted to be dominant, that was fine. She was here for it.
But if she was going down, she’d bring him to his knees.
Crawling up, she spread her legs over his face, her knees pressing into his broad shoulders.
She expected him to slide her panties to the side and feast. That was what she’d mentally prepared for. Instead, he stared, stroking the ledge of her panties leg elastic until she was almost begging him for relief. Then slowly, oh, so slowly, he slid a finger under the thin, soaking fabric and hissed a breath.
“Good lord.” It sounded like he had to force the words out. “Do you always get this wet?”
Her ears turned pink. The room was so quiet that she could actually hear herself as he stroked her.
“You smell incredible,” he growled. “And I already know you taste even better.” And then he was there, driving his tongue straight into the center of her slick, tight pussy.
Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and she let her lips close around his shaft. He tasted like clean, warm skin with a faint trace of salt. She circled her tongue around his smooth head and the tangy flavor intensified, as did the shuddering in his muscles.
She’d never done this, never worked over a guy’s shaft while he brought her the same pleasure. She gripped his hard thighs, back arching, as the connection thrummed between them. When she took him down all the way to his root and held him there, pressed against the back of her throat, she relaxed the muscles so she could accommodate his last impressive inch while grinding down on his hungry mouth. True to his word, he fell on her like a starving man and she twisted and turned her hips, grinding over his face with so much greed that she’d be embarrassed if she wasn’t so needy.
He groaned and she felt the sensations all the way to her core.
Her heart thundered and then he was there, nipping at her clit, setting a slow, fluttering pace that was gentle and yet increased in pleasure. She bobbed her head, gripping him at the base. He was big enough that it took all her focus to ease him down her throat, and yet she couldn’t concentrate. She braced her hands on the mattress, her fingers digging into the sheets.
The sound that came out of her was so bare, so exposed and needy. It was a cry of near want. A mewl. She’d never believed she was able to make such a helpless sound. He hooked three fingers inside her. Crooking his fingers, he pressed hard. She didn’t just see stars but the origins of the entire universe and the forever blackness that preceded everything. And she made that sound again and again.
She was coming. The force of it slammed her head down on him, and she felt his legs tense as his cock throbbed. He was there too. And she’d brought him to that point.
He lunged a tongue down straight into her contracting pussy and that decided it. She’d never swallowed. Never wanted to with another guy. But her brain must be blown because she reached down, skimmed his sac with the bottom of her finger and he lost himself.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuck. Holy fucking shit.”
She took it all, loving every second. Shudders racked them. Their bewildered cries vibrated into their most secret skin. All she knew for certain was that she had one hell of an unfolding crisis on her hands. Because while Tor Gunnar might be infuriating, he was also completely irresistible.
Chapter Twelve
“Sorry there, Mr. Pie, I want cake,” Neve rambled in a husky voice.
Tor choked down a laugh. Good one. She’d woken him a half hour ago with more sleep talking, most of it unintelligible gibberish, but some lines were pure gold:
Into the dungeon!
Is it shank or shark? Never mind, he had it coming.
Grey dawn light seeped beneath the curtains. He hadn’t moved a single muscle, unwilling to break the strange spell spun around the bed, even to taste her soft lips. This moment was good—better than good. The mattress a perfect balance between soft and hard, her naked body spooning into his. When was the last time he’d felt this relaxed in his own skin, this peaceful—
“You have to die,” she announced drowsily, eyes still closed. “But it’s okay because it’s funny.”
Christ. She was something else. His brow wrinkled in amusement as he smoothed a strand of damp hair over her flushed cheek. Maybe not peaceful, but one thing was for certain—being in the company of Neve Angel was anything but dull.
Memories from the night before engulfed him like a rising river, leaving him tossed about and breathless. The lithe weight of her body settling over his torso. The shy way she initially ground into his mouth, tentative at first but more confident and insistent as the need set in. Never had he experienced anything close to the wild urgency that had taken hold. It wasn’t as if he’d spent the past twenty years as a meat-and-potatoes missionary man, but he’d never been that uninhibited. The idea of loosening up was as foreign as another language. It was hard to take down walls that he’d built during his earliest childhood.
For the first thirteen years of his life, he’d watched his father systematically abuse his mother. There’d been the time when he was seven and jumped in front of his mom, facing down his drunken father with a scream of rage. Stop hurting her! Dad didn’t listen. That time he hurt Tor too, took him into the garage and beat welts into his ass with jumper cables. Afterward, his mom made him put his hand on the family Bible and promise to never speak up when his dad drank again, to stay quiet and never ever air their family’s dirty laundry in public. Not to relatives. Not to teachers. The worst thing a person could do was share their business. And then she got the cancer and his old man quit drinking and took up religion, never losing an opportunity to praise his dead wife as the best woman he’d ever known.
Tor frowned darkly. He couldn’t find a way to forgive or forget. Dad had ruined his mother’s life as a lousy husband. A waterfall of crocodile tears couldn’t bring her back. In college the next year, on a hockey scholarship, Tor had declared a major in psychology. He’d never felt easy with other people, and yet, it seemed smart to get a better understanding of the way they ticked. What motivated them. What enraged them. Their hopes. Their dreams.
And he was damn good at the subject, at least when it came to his specialty—sports psychology. But when it came to women, all bets were off. He didn’t understand them. But he also knew why. He was afraid to get close to them. He’d lived through his parents’ devastated marriage and then his own. He’d learned his lessons from childhood well, too well—suck it up, don’t cry, don’t feel—and despite every wish to the contrary, had never been able to fully drop his guard. Even with Maddy. Instead, he put his head down, toiled like a caveman hunting water buffalo. And it worked. He had professional success. No one could fault him as a good provider.
But it hadn’t been enough. Apparently the old saying was true and money couldn’t buy happiness.
Thump.
The noise came from the bathroom.
“Enchilada,” Neve mumbled.
The Adeline was an old hotel. It could have been a pipe—hot water kicking on in another room.
Just as he began to turn, ready to wake Neve up with that certain ear-sucking trick that drove her wild last night— Slam! The bathroom
door banged shut.
He jerked. “What the hell?” He swung his legs out from under the blanket. Feet pounding the floor, he grabbed a towel and slung it around his bare waist. “Olive, honey? Is that you?”
Silence answered.
He walked around the corner. No one was there. He opened the bathroom door and flicked on the light. His own reflection stared back. A bite mark on his chest.
No one was there.
Goose bumps broke out across the base of his neck as he turned to check the windows. All were closed.
“Mmm, what’s going on?”
Tor turned around as Neve rubbed two fists, grinding the sleep from her eyes.
“Nothing,” he said quickly. Not wanting to look like a Ghostbuster. “Nothing at all. Just checking the weather.” He opened the curtains. The peaks were shrouded in iron-grey clouds. A few sullen flakes swirled past the window, hit the small balcony and disappeared. “Might snow later.”
“I’m not that big of a cold-weather fan.” Her gaze focused on his chest. “I prefer it warmer. Hot even.”
It was cute how she checked him out. Her cheeks were a little flushed and her hair looked freshly fucked. They hadn’t gone that far and yet . . . he had the unsettling sensation of seeing her more exposed than she’d been last night, writhing and falling apart over his hungry mouth.
“Have I grown horns?” She patted the top of her head in a self-conscious gesture.
“No.” He picked up his dead cell phone and plugged it into the charger.
“That’s it,” she asked with mock incredulity. “That’s the sum total of your reaction? And here I gave you a perfect setup for a horny joke. Most guys would have gone for it.”
“I’m not most guys.”
She nodded. “Ain’t that the truth.” But she didn’t sound like she poked fun. No, she sounded as confused as he felt. “Tor,” she said, right as he said, “Neve.”
“Ladies first.”
“Last night . . .” She hiked the sheets against her chest, hiding the swell of her breasts. “I—look—do we need to talk about what happened last night?”
“You don’t sound like you want to?” He was expecting a conversation, to make a game plan to set some ground rules. Neve was the bravest, strongest woman he knew. She faced down his bullshit and called him on it every time. And here she was, wiggling into her lace bra and tiny panties and sliding past him as if she hadn’t swallowed him balls deep. As if they were strangers.
“I don’t know what to think, let alone what to say. Honestly, I’d rather get up, take a shower and go for a run.”
The room was haunted all right, by all the things going unsaid. He had two choices. Start rebuilding his walls or build a bridge to Neve.
“Want company or is this a solo mission?”
She gave him a double take. “Are you asking to share my shower?”
“The forecast is for a lighter-than-normal snowfall in the Rockies this winter. I figured I’d be proactive with water conservation.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Hey. No pressure. But if you’re on the fence, I’m an excellent back washer.” He kept his tone light even against the weight of her assessing stare. He was putting himself so far out there that the branch he was clinging to might crack and fall at any second.
“Okay,” she relented and it was all he could do not to exhale. “But I like a hot shower.”
“I like anything that involves steam and you being naked,” he said gravely.
She did a double take again and burst out laughing. “I never knew you were funny. I like it.”
“I’m being serious.” He winked. “Come on, Angel. I’ll scrub your back and then you can scrub mine.”
The tub was an old claw-foot. They were already barely dressed, so it was short work to drop the towels and step into the warm spray once it hit the proper temperature.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Neve said, tilting her head back, eyes closing as the water streamed through her dark hair. He took the opportunity to look his fill. Her areolas were small, the size of a quarter, and pale pink, like the inside of a conch shell. They rose up, puffing out from the smooth mound of each breast, as if little invitations. His mouth watered but he forced self-control, even as his cock heated, rising proud and resistant.
Her hips were narrow, the bones in each one sharp and hard. But her stomach was soft, the faintest hint of a belly, and it fascinated him. He wanted to drop to his knees and kiss her there, then travel lower, settle between her open thighs and lick her past the point of sanity.
“I know you’re staring.” She wiped her eyes and glanced down.
“I want you.” He spoke plainly, the need for her, to possess her, to make her his if only for a few stolen moments, left him without the ability to tease, flirt and banter. “But I’ll have to go to the store and grab condoms if we’re going to go further.”
“Did you fail Eagle Scouts?” Her gaze shot to his face. “I thought, like, every guy kept one in his wallet.”
“I don’t do the whole hookup thing,” he admitted. “I haven’t been with a woman in a long time.”
“Long sounds different depending on the person. I knew a guy who considered it a drought if he went longer than two weeks. And I can tell you right now that my dry spell is years. Literally years.”
“Same. Seven to be exact.”
That got her attention. “Seven years?”
“Since my divorce. I . . . haven’t been with another woman like that. Or at all.”
“Same. Not the part about being with another woman. I mean seven years. That’s where I’m at.”
Now it was his turn to be surprised. “But you’re so . . . sexy.”
“I could say that same for you.” She reached out and rested a hand over his heart. “But I am on the pill, have been since sixteen. If you’re serious about this whole dry-spell thing, we could, you know . . .”
“You’re sure?”
“Let me process.” She pressed her hands over her eye. “I’m considering having sex with Tor Gunnar. It’s a lot to take in.”
“I hear he’s a great lay. And did I mention the charm?”
She dropped her arms to her sides. “If I have one nemesis in this world, it would be you, Mr. Fuck-a-Penguin. But maybe the altitude’s getting to me. Because the idea of you inside me is . . .” She broke off, searching for the precise word.
“Nice?”
She made a face. “Puppies are nice. So is chocolate milk. Sex with you would be the reverse of nice.” She peered up, nibbling the corner of her lower lip. “Bad in the best of ways.”
“We’re doing this. You want it?”
“I think . . . yes. I am amenable to having your penis inserted into my vagina.”
“Inserted?”
“Injected? Implanted.”
Nothing about her jokingly clinical tone should make him hard, and yet . . . his cock twitched. “Maybe leave the dirty talk to me, babe.”
“So how do we start?” Neve’s uncertain laugh echoed from the tiles. “It feels like I’m Cinderella getting an erotic offer to the ball.”
“I recommend we do a little of this.” He closed the distance, then wrapped his arms around her hot, slippery body. His mouth found hers and there was nothing in this kiss but confidence.
For all he didn’t know about women—particularly the woman in his arms—he knew he wanted this. And maybe once he was inside her, everything would make sense.
Even though he held her tight, making sure she was completely kissed, her head tilted back as his tongue boldly explored hers. She remained curious. Her hands exploratory and restless. She roamed his lats, grabbing and squeezing as if trying to root out softness. A wild hope flared that maybe he’d finally found a woman he could open up to and risk exposing his secret sensitive underbelly. A woman who was fearless. Who wouldn’t run from his demons. Who wouldn’t flinch or back down if she saw him for who he was.
“Hurry,” she pleaded. “I need—�
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“I know exactly what you need,” he growled. And the thing was, he did.
He hadn’t touched a woman in years. And yet . . . he knew how Neve was going to want him. Not slow and gentle this first time. He flipped her around. “Stick out that sweet ass for me, Angel.”
Her gasp was audible but she obliged. He bent and licked and bit the side of her neck until she rocked against him.
Sliding down a hand over her trembling belly, he cupped her pussy, held it in a firm grasp. “This is mine.”
She leaned back, her hands pushing off the tile. “If you can earn it.”
“Challenge accepted.” He wasn’t going to pop in a finger or two and rub until it was wet enough for his dick. This was a focused, deliberate campaign. He wasn’t going to stop until she’d fallen apart, her smart talk replaced by begging. And that would only be the beginning. He put his dominant hand over her clit, already beginning to swell like a hot pearl. With his left, he slipped a finger inside, just the tip, caressing her inner lips with slow, gentle pumps.
“Do you like it better when I fuck you with two fingers or three?” he murmured in her ear.
“The more the merrier . . .” she panted.
“Greedy.” He obliged and she arched, the crease in her ass sliding over his cock, working his shaft in a tight clench.
His fingers were soon covered in her natural lube. He got the best reaction when keeping the pressure right on the rough patch a few inches into her pussy. When he pressed the top of her pubic bone with the heel of his hand, it became more exposed.
“Oh God, oh my God,” she groaned. Shudders rolled through her with growing intensity.
He switched over from the light pressure on her clit, drawing back the hood and giving a few quick taps as he pressed harder to her G-spot.
Her head fell back and he leaned in over one shoulder and kissed her hard, let her scream into his mouth, holding up her weight as she collapsed against him. The force of her orgasm broke over his fingers, milking them in waves.
Her lips parted, her eyes glazed. “I’ve never come that hard in my life.”