by Maisey Yates
Maybe he could be her own personal trial by fire.
She had always imagined that meant walking through hard times. And maybe, conventionally, it did. But she was walking into the heat willingly, knowing the real pain would come after.
She might be a virgin, but she wasn’t an idiot. Jonathan Bear wasn’t going to fall in love with her. And anyway, she didn’t want him to.
She wanted freedom. She wanted something bigger than Copper Ridge.
That meant love wasn’t on her agenda, either.
They pulled up to the house and he got out of his truck, closing the door solidly behind him. And she...froze. Sitting there in the driver’s seat, both hands on the steering wheel, the engine still running.
The car door opened and cool air rushed in. She looked up and saw Jonathan’s large frame filling the space. “Second thoughts?”
She shook her head. “No,” she said, and yet she couldn’t make herself move.
“I want you,” he said, his voice rough, husky, the words not at all what she had expected. “I would like to tell you that if you are having second thoughts, you should turn the car around and go back home. But I’m not going to tell you that. Because if I do, then I might miss out on my chance. And I want this. Even though I shouldn’t.”
She tightened her hold on the steering wheel. “Why shouldn’t you?” she asked, her throat constricted now.
“Do you want the full list?”
“I’ve got all night.”
“All right. You’re a nice girl. You seem to believe the best of people, or at least, you want to, until they absolutely make it so you can’t. I’m not a nice man. I don’t believe the best of anyone, even when they prove I should. People like me, we tend to drag people like you down to our level. Unfortunately. And that’s likely what’s going to happen here. I’m going to drag you right down to my level. Because let me tell you, I like dirty. And I’m going to get you filthy. I can promise you that.”
“Okay,” she said, feeling breathless, not quite certain how to respond. Part of her wanted to fling herself out of the car and into his arms, while another, not insignificant part wanted to throw the car in Reverse and drive away.
“I can only promise you two things. This—you and me—won’t last forever. And tonight, I will make you come. If you’re okay with those promises, then get out of the car and up to my room. If you’re not, it’s time for you to go.”
For some reason, that softly issued command was what it took to get her moving. She released her hold on the steering wheel and turned sideways in her seat. Then she looked up at him, pushing herself into a standing position. He had one hand on the car door, the other on the side mirror, blocking her in.
Her breasts nearly touched his chest, and she was tempted to lean in and press against him completely.
“Come on then,” he said, releasing his hold on the car and turning away.
The movement was abrupt. It made her wonder if he was struggling with indecision, too. Which didn’t really make sense, since Jonathan was the most decisive man she had ever met. He seemed certain about everything, all the time, even if he was sure it was a bad decision.
That certainty was what she wanted. Yeah, she was certain this was a bad decision, too, but she was going for it, anyway.
She had walked into this house five days a week for the past couple weeks, yet this time was different. Because this time she wasn’t headed to the office. This time she was going to his bedroom. And she wasn’t his employee; he wasn’t her boss. Not now.
Her stomach tightened, her blood heated at the idea of following orders. His orders. Lord knew she would need instruction. Direction. She had no idea what she was doing; she was just following her gut instinct.
When they reached the long hallway, they stopped at a different door than usual. His bedroom. She had never been inside Jonathan’s bedroom. It was strange to be standing there now. So very deliberate.
It might have been easier if they had started kissing here in the house, and let things come to their natural conclusion... On the floor or something. She was reasonably sure people did it on the floor sometimes.
Yeah, that would have been easier. This was so intentional.
She was about to say something about the strangeness of it when he reached out, cupped her chin and tilted her face upward. Then he closed the distance between them, claiming her mouth.
She felt his possession, all the way down to her toes.
He didn’t wait for her to part her lips this time. Instead, he invaded her, sliding his tongue forcibly against hers, his arms wrapped tight around her like steel bands. There was nothing gentle about this kiss. It was consuming, all-encompassing. And all her thoughts about the situation feeling premeditated dissolved.
This time, she didn’t stand there as a passive participant. This time, she wrapped her arms around his neck—pressing her breasts flush against his chest, forking her fingers through his hair—and devoured him right back.
She couldn’t believe this was her. Couldn’t believe this was her life, that this man wanted her. That he was hard for her. That he thought she might be a mistake, and he was willing to make her, anyway. God knew, she was willing to make him.
Need grew inside her, prowling around like a restless thing. She rocked her hips forward, trying to tame the nameless ache between her thighs. Trying to calm the erratic, reckless feeling rioting through her.
He growled, sliding his hands down her back, over her bottom, down to her thighs. She squeaked as he gripped her tightly, pulling both her feet off the ground and picking her up, pressing that soft, tender place between her legs against his arousal.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he said against her mouth, the command harsh, and sexier because of that.
She obeyed him, locking her ankles behind his back. He reversed their positions, pressing her against the wall and deepening his kiss. She gasped as he made even firmer contact with the place that was wet and aching for him.
He ground his hips against her, and her internal muscles pulsed. An arc of electricity lanced through her. She gripped his shoulders hard, vaguely aware that she might be digging her fingernails into his skin, not really sure that she cared. Maybe it would hurt him, but she wasn’t exactly sure if he was hurting her or not. She was suspended between pleasure and pain, feelings so intense she could scarcely breathe.
And through all that, he continued to devour her mouth, the rhythm of his tongue against hers combining with the press of his firm length between her thighs, ensuring that her entire world narrowed down to him. Jonathan Bear was everything right now. He was her breath; he was sensation. He was heaven and he was hell.
She needed it to end. Needed to reach some kind of conclusion, where all this tension could be defused.
And yet she wanted it to go on forever.
Her face was hot, her limbs shaking. A strange, hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach made her want to cry. It was too much. And it was not enough. That sharp, insistent ache between her legs burrowed deeper with each passing second, letting her know this kiss simply wasn’t enough at all.
She moved her hands up from his broad shoulders, sliding them as far as she could into his long, dark hair. Her fingers snagged on the band that kept his hair tied back and she internally cursed her clumsiness, hoping he wouldn’t notice. She had enthusiasm guiding her through this, but that was about it. Enthusiasm and a healthy dose of adrenaline that bordered on terror. But she didn’t want to stop. She couldn’t stop.
Those big, rough hands gripped her hips and braced her as he rocked more firmly against her, and suddenly, stars exploded behind her eyes. She gasped, wrenching her lips away from his as something that felt like thunder rolled through her body, muscles she’d never been aware of before pulsing like waves against the shore.
She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, did h
er best to grit her teeth and keep herself from crying out, but a low, shaky sound escaped when the deepest wave washed over her.
Then it ended, and she felt even more connected to reality, to this moment, than she had a second ago. And she felt...so very aware that she was pressed against the wall and him, that something had just happened, that she hadn’t been fully cognizant of her actions. She didn’t know what she might have said.
That was when she realized she was digging her nails into his back, and she had probably punctured his skin. She started to move against him, trying to get away, and he gripped her chin again, steadying her. “Hey,” he said, “you’re not going anywhere.”
“I need to... I have to...”
“You don’t have to do anything, baby. Nothing at all. Just relax.” She could tell he was placating her. She couldn’t bring herself to care particularly, because she needed placating. Her heart was racing, her hands shaking, and that restlessness that had been so all-consuming earlier was growing again. She had thought the earthquake inside her had handled that.
That was when she realized exactly what that earthquake had been.
Her cheeks flamed, horror stealing through her. She’d had... Well, she’d had an orgasm. And he hadn’t even touched her. Not with his hands. Not under her clothes.
“I’m sorry,” she said, putting her hands up, patting his chest, then curling her hands into fists because she had patted him and that was really stupid. “I’m just sorry.”
He frowned. “What are you sorry about?”
“I’m sorry because I—I...I did that. And we didn’t...”
He raised one eyebrow. “Are you apologizing for your orgasm?”
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “Yes.”
“Why?”
She tightened her fists even more, pressing them against her own chest, keeping her eyes closed. “Because we didn’t even... You didn’t... We’re still dressed.”
“Honey,” he said, taking hold of her fists and drawing them toward him, pressing them against his chest. “You don’t need to apologize to me for coming.”
She opened one eye. “I...I don’t?”
“No.”
“But that...” She looked fully at him, too curious to be embarrassed now. “That ruins it, doesn’t it? We didn’t...”
“You can have as many orgasms as I can give you. That’s the magical thing about women. There’s no ceiling on that.”
“There isn’t?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
“Hayley,” he said, his tone grave, “I need to ask you a question.”
Oh great. Now he was actually going to ask if she was a virgin. Granted, she thought he’d probably guessed, but apparently he needed to hear it. “Go ahead,” she said, bracing herself for utter humiliation.
“Have you never had an orgasm before?”
“Yes,” she said, answering the wrong question before he even got his out. “I mean... No. I mean, just a minute ago. I wasn’t even sure what it was right when it was happening.”
“That doesn’t... Not even with yourself?”
Her face felt so hot she thought it might be on fire. She was pretty sure her heart was beating in her forehead. “No.” She shook her head. “I can’t talk to you about things like that.”
“I just gave you your first orgasm, so you better be able to talk to me about things like that. Plus I’m aiming to give you another one before too long here.”
“I bet you can’t.”
He chuckled, and then he bent down, sweeping her up into his arms. She squeaked, curling her fingers around his shirt. “You should know better than to issue challenges like that.” He turned toward the bedroom door, kicking it open with his boot before walking inside and kicking it closed again. Then he carried her to the bed and threw her down in the center.
“Wait,” she said, starting to feel panicky, her heart fluttering in her chest like a swarm of butterflies. “Just wait a second.”
“I’m not going to fall on you like a ravenous beast,” he said, his hands going to the top button of his shirt. “Yet.” He started to undo the button slowly, revealing his tan, muscular chest.
She almost told him to stop, except he stripped the shirt off, and she got completely distracted by the play of all those muscles. The sharp hitch of his abs as he cast the flannel onto the floor, the shift and bunch of his pectoral muscles as he pushed his hand over his hair.
She had never seen a shirtless man that looked like him. Not in person, anyway. And most definitely not this close, looking at her like he had plans. Very, very dirty plans.
“I’m a virgin,” she blurted out. “Just so you know.”
His eyes glowed with black fire. For one heart-stopping moment she was afraid he might pick up his shirt and walk out of the room. His eyes looked pure black; his mouth pressed into a firm line. He stood frozen, hands on his belt buckle, every line in his cut torso still.
Then something in his expression shifted. Nearly imperceptible, and mostly unreadable, but she had seen it. Then his deft fingers went to work, moving his belt through the buckle. “I know,” he said.
“Oh.” She felt a little crestfallen. Like she must have made some novice mistake and given herself away.
“You’re a church secretary who confessed to having never had an orgasm. I assumed.” He lowered his voice. “If you hadn’t told me outright, I could have had plausible deniability. Which I was sort of counting on.”
She blinked. “Did you...need it?”
“My conscience is screwed, anyway. So not really.”
She didn’t know quite what to say, so she didn’t say anything.
“Have you ever seen a naked man before?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Pictures?”
“Does medieval art count?”
“No, it does not.”
“Then no,” she said, shaking her head even more vigorously.
He rubbed his hand over his forehead, and she was sure she heard him swear beneath his breath. “Okay,” he said, leaving his belt hanging open, but not going any further. He pressed his knee down on the mattress, kneeling beside her. Then he took her hand and placed it against his chest. “How’s that?”
She drew shaking fingers across his chest slowly, relishing his heat, the satiny feel of his skin. “Good,” she said. “You’re very...hot. I mean, temperaturewise. Kind of smooth.”
“You don’t have to narrate,” he said.
“Sorry,” she said, drawing her hand back sharply.
“No,” he said, pressing her palm back against his skin. “Don’t apologize. Don’t apologize for anything that happens between us tonight, got that?”
“Okay,” she said, more than happy to agree, but not entirely sure if she could keep to the agreement. Because every time she moved her hand and his breath hissed through his teeth, she wanted to say she was sorry. Every time she took her exploration further, she wanted to apologize for the impulse to do it.
She bit her lip, letting her hands glide lower, over his stomach, which was as hard and rippled as corrugated steel. Then she found her hands at the waistband of his jeans, and she pulled back.
“Do you want me to take these off?” he asked.
“In a minute,” she said, losing her nerve slightly. “Just a minute.” She rose up on her knees, pressed her mouth to his and lost herself in kissing him. She really liked kissing. Loved the sounds he made, loved being enveloped in his arms, and she really loved it when he laid them both down, pressing her deep into the mattress and settling between her thighs.
Her dress rode up high, and she didn’t care. She felt rough denim scraping her bare skin, felt the hard press of his zipper, and his arousal behind it through the thin fabric of her panties.
She lost herself in those
sensations. In the easy, sensual contact that pushed her back to the brink again. She could see already that Jonathan was going to win the orgasm challenge. And she was okay with that.
Very, very okay with that.
Then he took her hem and pulled the cotton dress over her head, casting it onto the floor. Her skin heated all over, and she was sure she was pink from head to toe.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said, touching her collarbone, featherlight, then tracing a trail down to the curve of her breast, to the edge of her bra. “You’re beautiful.”
She didn’t know quite how to feel about that. Didn’t know what to do with that husky, earnest compliment. She wasn’t embarrassed because she lacked beauty, but because she had always been taught to treasure modesty. To respect her body, to save it.
He was respecting it, though. And right now, she felt like she had been saving it for him.
He reached behind her, undoing her bra with one hand and flicking the fabric to the side.
“You’re better at that than I am,” she said, laughing nervously as he bared her breasts, her nipples tightening as the cold air hit her skin.
He smiled. “You’ll appreciate that in a few minutes.”
“What will I appreciate?” she asked, shivering. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“My skill level.” Instead of moving her hands, he bent his head and nuzzled the tender spot right next to her hand, the full part of her breast that was still exposed. She gasped, tightening her hold on herself.
He was not deterred.
He nosed her gently and shifted her hand to the side, pressing a kiss to her skin, sending electric sensations firing through her. “Don’t be shy,” he said, “not with me.”
She waited for a reason why. He didn’t give one, but she found that the more persistent he was—the more hot, open-mouthed kisses he pressed to her skin—the less able she was to deny him anything. Anything at all. She found herself shifting her hands and then letting them fall away.
As soon as she did, he closed his lips over her nipple, sucking deep. She gasped, her hips rocking up off the bed. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her against his hardness as he teased her with his lips and tongue.