This is nothing like it was with Griffin.
The thought insinuated itself into her head, but then it was gone again almost instantly as Lucas’s large, long-fingered hands clamped around her hips and she was being taken down onto the floor and pushed onto her back.
The bare floorboards were hard, but she barely felt them as his long, powerful body stretched over hers. She looked up into his beautiful face, shaking and shaking like she was in the grip of some fever.
And then her heart almost stopped, because his perfect features were drawn tight with hunger, fierce as a starving predator finally taking down its prey. The blue of his eyes was a gas flame, incinerating her, his hard, sculpted torso covered in smears of red, orange, and gold paint There was even some in his blond hair. Nothing remained of the ice-cold sniper, the emotionless, tightly controlled SEAL.
This man was all fire and she was fuel to the flame.
With one hand he jerked down the zipper of his jeans, and she tried to help, frantic to touch him, but he knocked her hand away. Then he was shoving her legs apart, his lean hips pushing between them, denim rubbing up against her inner thighs. Her breathing was wild, out of control, and she had to reach up to those broad, powerful shoulders again, needing to hold on to him, because she knew she was going to come apart. Any second now.
He reached down and she felt the blunt head of his cock pushing through the sensitive folds of her sex, hitting her clit, and she gasped like she’d taken a shock to the heart, the orgasm hovering right there.
His gaze was burning her alive, watching her intently as he rubbed himself against her, as if he knew how close she was and yet was deliberately holding the climax out of her reach. She heard herself start to plead, moving restlessly beneath him, near to screaming with frustration.
Then, just when she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, he was pushing against her, pushing into her, hard and hot and big, God, so big. And the orgasm was rolling over her before he was even halfway inside, flattening her beneath the weight of it, drawing a hoarse scream from her throat.
Lucas didn’t stop. He kept pushing, stretching her, making her feel the burn of it, making her internal muscles clutch around him as if she were ready for more and not lying there overwhelmed by the most intense orgasm of her life. And then he made everything even more intense, gripping her hips and tilting them, sliding deeper, drawing another wordless sound from her, until he was seated as deep as he could get and she could feel him everywhere.
His breathing was hoarse, his skin shone with paint and sweat, the feral look on his face doing things to her, making her own hunger begin to ache again. Which should have been impossible, since she’d only been a one-orgasm-per-session kind of girl. But her body apparently didn’t know that. And when he began to move, pulling out, then driving into her, hard and deep, and with fierce intent, the pull of another climax got even stronger.
“Lucas,” she whispered raggedly. “Oh my God.…”
He said nothing, but the look on his face was savage, as if he were determined to wreck her, destroy her, and nothing was going to stop him. He began to thrust harder, his dog tags swinging in time with his movements and brushing against her breasts, and she found herself arching up into him, moving with him, her nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders. Relishing the slick slide of his cock in her sex.
Sounds escaped her, raw animal noises of pleasure as sensation wound like a clock spring inside her. So tight. Jesus Christ. When it released she was going to come apart.
Then he moved again, his hands gripping tightly to her hips, and suddenly she wasn’t on the floor anymore but sitting in his lap while he remained buried deep inside her. His mouth was on hers as he yanked the paintbrush out of her hair, letting the mad, frizzy cloud of it uncurl over her shoulders, then the kiss turned savage as he flung the paintbrush away and resumed his grip on her hips, lifting her, then slamming her back down on his cock, his hips thrusting up as he did so. It made her as feral and savage as he was. She bit his lip hard, angling her hips so every time she sunk down on him, the base of his cock hit her clit.
Lucas growled, the sound electrifying, his fingers tangling in her hair and dragging her head back, exposing her throat. She gasped as he bit her, his teeth closing around the tendons at the side of her neck before moving farther down. A large, hot hand cupped one breast and then his mouth was on it, closing around one achingly sensitive nipple and sucking hard. She wailed, sliding her fingers down his back, scratching him as the pleasure became blinding, the pressure of the impending climax making her tremble.
Oh, she was going to scream when this one hit. He was going to annihilate her. He was going to leave her in pieces.
His mouth ravaged her breasts, sucking, teasing, biting. Releasing her hair, he resumed his grip on her hips, digging into the soft flesh. She was going to be left with bruises, she knew it. But that didn’t matter, because he was lifting her up, then slamming her back down again, the sound of flesh meeting flesh and their frantic breathing an erotic soundtrack, the stunning heat of his body beneath her, inside her, making her feverish. Making her flame like a bonfire.
She was babbling, she could hear herself, helpless words spilling from her mouth under his and running together in a long stream.
PleaseLucasohGodpleasehardermorefasterdeeper.
She couldn’t stop them, an earthquake beginning to tear her apart. And then he took his lips from hers and his hand slid between their straining, slippery bodies, his fingers finding her clit, circling, then pressing down at the same time as he thrust up. “Come, Gracie,” he growled, his voice hot and rough, the voice of a stranger. “Fucking come for me.”
And like her body had been holding out for precisely that command, the pressure released and she screamed, torn apart just like she thought she’d be.
Just as she hoped she’d be.
And as the pieces of her scattered in the air, she was dimly aware of him moving faster, and then came the sound of his own release, the guttural roar of it echoing in the room around them, his whole body stiffening under hers.
But she didn’t have the strength to do anything more than wrap her arms around him and hold him tight as he came to pieces.
Just as she had.
* * *
Lucas turned his head into Grace’s neck, feeling like a missile had exploded somewhere nearby and his head was still ringing from the blast. His pulse was thundering, his chest heaving like it was Hell Week back in Coronado. Shudders jolted him as if all his nerve endings had been hooked up to a power socket and someone kept flipping the switch, turning him off, then on again, over and over.
He could hear her panting, could feel the tight grip of her pussy around his cock, the ripples of her own orgasm wringing more sensation out of him.
It was agony. It was perfection.
Jesus … what had he done? What the fuck had he done?
He’d spent all morning helping Van rescue Chloe from Cesare de Santis’s clutches and had been ready to finish that up and get back to Grace and their unwelcome visitor when he’d been called back with a curt request to take Chloe to the airport. Van wanted her out of the city and away from de Santis’s clutches.
That had been fine. He didn’t mind doing that. He didn’t have the bond with her that Van had—she’d been far too young for him to really connect with, and besides, he didn’t let himself connect with anyone anyway—yet he still felt protective toward her. She was his little foster sister, a Tate, and Tates stuck together.
Then he’d had orders from Van to drop her at Rockefeller Center instead of the airport—for what reason he’d had no idea—so he had. And not long after that, his phone had buzzed with yet another text from Van and there had been a video attached.
You’ll see this eventually, Van had texted. De Santis will post this everywhere very soon, but I wanted you to know first.
A video of Van kissing Chloe.
The sight of that kiss had hit him like a brick to t
he side of his head.
His brother was supposed to be protecting her on orders of their father. His brother, the oldest, the Tate heir. His brother, the leader. Who’d been looking after him, then looking out for him, since he’d been five years old. Who was supposed to be above reproach. Who was supposed to set the example.
His brother who was screwing their foster sister.
Lucas didn’t know why the sight of them had made him so furious. Sure, there was the fact that Van was meant to be keeping her safe and that did not mean fucking around with her, Lucas was pretty sure. Van was a lot older than her and way more experienced, and it was just plain wrong.
Van should have kept it in his pants and he hadn’t. And in the end, it would be Chloe who’d end up getting hurt. She was young and innocent. She’d grown up in Wyoming and that was her home, whereas the Navy was Van’s life. He wouldn’t give that up for anyone, Lucas knew that for a fact.
But it wasn’t until he’d gotten back to the apartment that he’d realized exactly why he was so pissed. It was because he too had a woman he was supposed to protect. A woman he’d been fighting his attraction to. Yet he’d been the good one, not Van. He’d been doing what he always did, keeping it locked down and under control.
Keeping everyone safe, like his father had taught him.
You can’t let this anger of yours go again, Lucas. You can’t let it control you. You have to control it, understand me? You don’t want anyone else to get hurt, right?
So he had controlled it. And not just the anger, but everything else as well. He’d kept himself locked down. Never letting himself want anything, never letting himself need anything. And that had worked and worked well, for years.
Until Grace. Until that fierce, inexplicable electricity that sizzled between them.
He’d never felt that before, not with anyone, and he hadn’t liked it. Had tried to stay detached the way he always did. Because he knew what fire could do when it escaped. How it could burn and burn so hot, incinerating flesh, incinerating bone. Burning until there was nothing left but ash.
He didn’t want that for Grace. It was dangerous to let that fire out for anyone, let alone a woman who was grieving and whose life was under threat.
So he’d decided to deny himself and he’d been good with that decision.
Yet he’d gone up the stairs to Grace’s studio, not even sure why he was doing so, propelled by that anger at his brother, slamming open the door to find her crouched in front of that damn canvas. She had a paintbrush in her hair again, wearing a stained T-shirt and leggings, slender fingers covered in paint, and when she’d turned and looked at him her amber eyes had gone wide.
She’d never looked more desirable and he’d abruptly thought, Fuck it. Why not?
Why couldn’t he have her? She wanted him, he knew that already, and shit, he’d been denying himself since he was thirteen years old. He’d pushed aside his own desires, ignored his own needs. Channeling everything into his career. Into the target at the other end of his rifle.
Yet it felt as if there was a pressure inside him, building and building like steam collecting against the lid of a pot of boiling water. And that if he didn’t let that steam out somehow he was going to explode. Normally, when he felt like that he took his gun and shot targets, or rode his motorcycle way too fast on the freeway, or beat the shit out of a punching bag. But there was an asshole in his shooting range and his bike seemed like a poor substitute for what he actually wanted. And he really didn’t want to hit anything.
Grace. He wanted her. He wanted her. And he’d been so good, telling himself he was stronger, that he was better. That he wasn’t going to let his own desires rule him. But he was over it. He was done.
Deep inside he knew that he was simply looking for a reason to take her and that Van and Chloe were merely convenient excuses, but he wasn’t going to listen to that noise anymore. He had to relieve the pressure somehow and he’d do it with her.
So he’d started walking toward her, backing her up against the wall, his cock hard and ready, his pulse going through the roof like he was twelve years old again, looking through the copies of his father’s Penthouse magazines that Van had stolen.
He wanted her and he was going to fucking take what he wanted.
So he had. He’d gone completely feral. Taking her to the floor, all that pressure inside him escaping as he’d driven himself into the tight, wet heat of her body. He’d never felt so free. She’d been beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders, begging and pleading, caught in the same madness as he was, and it was as if for the first time in years he was himself.
Which didn’t make any sense to him yet nevertheless felt true.
Now Grace’s grip on his shoulders loosened, her breathing getting slower. And he knew that the sensible thing to do since he’d released a bit of that pressure would be to get up and leave, put the fire that blazed between them back into the box it had escaped from. Pretend it was all over.
But it wasn’t over. His cock was still hard, like he hadn’t had the orgasm of his life, and the musky scent of sex and the soft drift of her hair over his bare shoulders were making him crazy.
Once was never going to be enough, not with Grace Riley.
She was heat and wildfire and sunlight. She was golden and glorious and Christ … He wanted her so badly. He wanted all that he could get. It would be a really bad move to indulge himself, but shit.… The spark had gotten out of that box and there was no putting it back in. All he could do was take his fill of her and hope it burned itself out.
She shifted on him, her hands sliding over his chest still slippery with paint. He lifted his head from her neck and met her gaze. Sitting in his lap, she was pretty much at eye level, her big amber eyes staring into his. She looked shell-shocked and not a little wrecked, which satisfied a very male part of him very much indeed.
He lifted a hand and slid it into the glory of her hair, cupping the back of her head. Then he kissed her again, sliding his tongue into her mouth, tasting coffee and sweetness and the heat that was all Grace. She responded to him without hesitation, kissing him back, giving a delicate little shudder as she did so that sent shocks through him.
Jesus, he’d never had a woman like this before. Never let himself go before. Basically because he’d never met anyone he’d wanted to let himself go with.
Grace, though, was different. She was so fucking hot. She’d burned the cold right out of him, gotten her color all over him—literally—and he simply couldn’t bring himself to let her go.
He lifted his mouth from hers, keeping his fingers wound tightly in her hair. “You want more?” His voice sounded roughened and cracked like he hadn’t spoken in a hundred years. Or maybe a thousand.
“Yes.” There was no hesitation in her at all, her own voice not sounding much better than his.
He didn’t know he’d been hoping she’d say that until she did, sending a thread of sheer relief winding through him. He let his gaze drop down over her body, indulging himself totally, taking in all that bare skin covered in long smears of red and gold and orange paint. She should always be like this. Always be naked, covered in paint and sheened lightly with perspiration, her hair sticking to her forehead, her mouth red from his kisses.
“Are you sure?” He slid his hands around her and down, cupping her butt in his palms. “Because you’d better tell me right now if not.”
“I want more.” Her pretty little tits rose sharply as he squeezed the soft flesh in his hands and she inhaled, arching against him. “Please.”
She was so responsive. So sensual. She’d opened her mouth to his as if she’d been waiting for his kiss for years and years. And then she’d put her hands on his chest and held on tight, her whole body trembling as he’d shoved his thigh between her legs, right up against the damp heat of her pussy.…
Time to get themselves into the shower, because as much as he loved wearing her colors, he wanted to taste every inch of her delectable naked body a
nd he didn’t particularly want to do it around a mouthful of paint.
Without a word he pulled out of her, some dim corner of his brain registering the fact that he hadn’t worn a condom and that was obviously concerning. But he didn’t want to think about it right now, so he didn’t. Instead he rose to his feet with her in his arms and went down the hallway to the bathroom.
The shower was large and white tiled and he ran the water good and hot, getting off the rest of his clothing, then pulling her into the stall with him. At first she tried to touch him, running her artist’s fingers all over his chest, but he gripped her wrists firmly and shook his head. “It’s still my turn,” he said brusquely before letting her go.
She made a pretty pout at that, which he ignored as he got himself a good handful of shower gel. Then he began to wash her, stroking the paint from her skin as he slid his hands all over her body. Stroking those small, perfect tits and rubbing his thumbs over her nipples, easing his hands down over the shivering plane of her stomach to the tangle of red-gold curls between her thighs. She trembled as he brushed his fingers over the slick folds of her pussy, finding her hard little clit and teasing it gently with a fingertip. She gasped, clutching at his arms, her hair hanging heavy and wet over her shoulders.
“Let me t-touch you,” she whispered, shaking in his arms. “Please, Lucas.”
“Why?” He circled her clit again. “Don’t you like this?”
“I do, but I … really want to touch you.”
“Too bad.” He pressed down on that tight bundle of nerves, drawing another gasp from her. “It’s still my turn.”
He played with her for a while, watching, fascinated, the expressions of intense pleasure that played over her face in response to his touch. She was so unguarded, hiding nothing from him. It made his chest feel tight. Made him want to tell her she shouldn’t be so open, so honest. Shouldn’t make herself so vulnerable, and yet he liked that she was.
The Wicked Billionaire--A Billionaire SEAL Romance Page 16