“I can see the wheels turning in your head.” He clasped her hips and effortlessly hefted her onto the mattress. “I’ll never lie to you, never offer platitudes. I’ll always be honest.”
She believed him, because she wanted to believe him. “Thank you,” she replied, her tone soft. “Trust is important to me.”
“You are important to me.”
His words had the same effect as a full-body grind. Her breasts ached. The apex of her thighs ached. Every part of her ached.
“By the way,” he said. “I wasn’t flirting before. This is flirting.” He leaned down, putting his mouth at her ear. After running the lobe through his teeth, he whispered, “Tu m’excites.”
French? Melting…
“Te quiero desesperadamente.”
Spanish? Melting faster…
“Facciamo l’amore.”
Italian? Nothing but a puddle of desire remained.
Voice trembling, she asked, “What did you say?”
“You turn me on. I want you desperately. Make love to me.”
A moan escaped her. This man is mine, for now, and I’m taking what belongs to me. Woe to anyone who got in her way.
“Get naked,” she commanded, tugging at his jacket. “Hurry.”
Chapter Ten
Lyndie dropped the jacket as Brock yanked the lapels of his shirt apart, every movement frantic, buttons flying in every direction. The material gaped in the center, revealing ridge after ridge of muscle and bronzed skin decorated with the most incredibly detailed tattoos she’d ever seen.
Over his heart rested a patch of emerald-green scales. Riveted by the sight, she forced the pace to slow. Wanted time to savor.
Reaching out, tracing a shaky finger over the image, she whispered, “Beautiful.” At the moment of contact, his pec jumped.
“A reminder to always have the heart of a dragon. Survival is possible, even as fires rage,” he rasped. “Or maybe I hoped I’d look tough.”
No way. These images meant something to him. “Heart of a dragon,” she said. “What a lovely sentiment.” Her fingers descended to his abdomen where a blackbird stretched mighty wings. Chains bound its legs. Or one of its legs. The second chain was split open, hanging uselessly, as if the bird had pecked free. “And this one?”
He pursed his lips but said, “Success in the face of adversity is possible. Our trials might ground us, for now, but one day we will be able to soar as long as we keep fighting.”
And he thought she had depth? Hardly. This playboy was deep.
On his side, the image of a book with some words etched in a bigger font than others. Love. Friends. Protect. Along the binding rested a cross. A bookmark? “And this?”
“What we focus on is magnified in our lives, every time, without exception. A reminder that we shouldn’t think about the things we don’t have and can’t do. Instead, we should think about the things we do have and can do.”
This man absolutely, utterly floored her.
“Thank you for sharing with me, Brock.” She walked her fingers across each side of his collarbone. “Want to know a secret? Hearing personal information about you turns me on.”
He jutted out his chin and said in a rush, “I’m twenty-eight, and my hobbies include chess, playing the guitar, and restoring old cars. When I go camping, I take minimal supplies and live off the land.”
Her chuckle drifted between them. Such a sneaky beast. Somehow he’d managed to provide facts without revealing intimate details about his life.
“I prefer not camping, but if I must, I only go glamping. Glamor camping. I like my creature comforts…and the feel of your skin.” She rose on her tiptoes to brush the tip of her nose against the racing pulse at the bottom of his neck. “The scent of you always makes my mouth water.”
A hitch in his breath. As she straightened, their gazes met, locked. Light and shadow twined, spilling over the hard cut of his features, making him look beautiful but cruel, haunted and haunting.
Who could have guessed Lyndie Scott would find such a man so…perfect?
Her ovaries seemed to raise their hands and shout, Me, me, me!
Brock looked at her with such blatant longing that those ovaries were momentarily rendered speechless. Then he raked his smoldering gaze over every inch of her for a third time, and she wondered if he was mapping all the places he planned to touch and taste.
Lyndie gulped. I have a few suggestions. But first…
As she traced the other images inked on his body—stars, an hourglass, a compass and a clock resting on the crown of a top hat, a deck of cards rising from the petals of a red rose—he remained quiet, almost rigid, his breathing shallow and quick. How easily she affected him, with so little effort. Feminine power continued to go straight to her head.
“Tattoos were never my thing,” she admitted, shamelessly breathless, “but you’ve converted me. I have a fetish now.”
His hands returned to her hips, his grip light but unmistakably there. Hot and firm and deliciously possessive. “Consider my tattoos your personal playground, Red.”
Red? “Don’t be ridiculous.” Eyelids hooded, mouth curling in a half grin, she said, “I consider all of you my personal playground.”
“No wonder I like you,” he said, nuzzling her ear. “If you want to play, we’ll play.”
Shivers rocked her, intensifying when he lifted his hands, grazed the sides of her breasts, and cupped her jaw. Little mewling sounds left her as he lowered his head…and fed her an earth-shattering kiss. The kind she’d always considered a fairy tale. He tasted her, laved, licked, and sucked, until no one and nothing existed beyond the bedroom.
His mouth seduced her, body and soul—his mouth owned her.
“Scottie,” he said, maddening her. “Never stop playing with me.”
Already she was too far gone to measure her words. “Never.”
As if to reward her for agreeing, he tilted her head to the side and thrust his tongue deeper, devastating her senses. The calluses on his palms tickled her. The warmth of his breath caressed her skin. The scent of dark spices addicted her while the taste of passion electrified each of her nerve endings.
Yes, oh yes, passion had a taste, and she couldn’t get enough.
“You drive me wild.” As he shifted forward, urging her backward, he uttered more phrases in different languages until she responded with incoherent pleas.
“Yes…more… Brock…please…”
He cupped her breasts and pinched her nipples through her bra’s lace, and she couldn’t stop her breathy cry. Sensation overload! Too much, far too much, and yet she needed more.
“Brock!” Lyndie spread her legs to welcome him closer. When the long, hard length of his erection pressed against the throbbing heart of her core, she gasped. He groaned.
What remained of her restraint fled. Control snapped. Desperate for release, she deepened the kiss and kneaded the muscles in his back and his ass, and urged him to rock against her. Yes! Just like that. Coils of pleasure unfurled low in her belly.
“Again,” she demanded.
He obeyed, nearly sending her over the edge. Mindless, she arched her hips to meet his next forward thrust.
“Not able to please a man?” Brock grated. “Screw that. You are setting me on fire.”
Fire. Yes. She burned. Burned so deliciously. Every cell had erupted in flames. She’d become an inferno.
Brock nudged her bra aside, the action jerky. The moment her breast popped free of the lace, his mouth descended, closing around the crest. Pleasure shot through her, shoving a moan past her lips.
As he sucked, he glided his fingers along her stomach, played with the waist of her panties before sliding underneath the fabric. Another moan from her. A gasp as he parted her, slicked through her wetness and then, oh, then, thrust one of those naughty fingers deep inside her.
Her hips jolted upward, sending him even deeper, and he groaned her name.
“So tight, so wet,” he praised. “Going to
give you more, gorgeous. Can you take it?”
“Yes. Please. Give it to me!” A request and a command all at once.
On his next thrust, he worked a second finger inside her, stretching her. Her nails sank into his shoulders, perhaps cutting skin. He didn’t seem to care. No, as he lifted his head to peer down at her, he seemed…awed.
As she panted, he lowered his head and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth, then sucked the other straight through her bra. She moaned. She writhed. She combed her fingers through his hair, even tugged the strands. Only when both buds were swollen, puckered and aching in time to her needy core did he return his focus to her mouth.
“You’re going to make me blow.” Beads of sweat trickled over his temples as he met her gaze. Strain etched every line of his beautiful face. Fighting for breath, he added, “I’m not ready. Want to savor you.”
Inexperienced Lyndie had made this rough, tough playboy desperate.
“Come,” she said, nodding. “Yes, yes. I want you to come.” Wanted this to be as pleasurable for him as it was for her. “Let’s come together.”
“Trust me?” he asked now.
“Yes.” Perhaps more than any other man…ever.
Motions hurried, he dragged her panties and garters down her legs, tossed the garments aside. Then he stopped, just stopped, and drank her in, as if riveted by the sight of her.
“Strawberry-blond, even here.” He reached out to trace a fingertip between her legs. “My wife is exquisite.”
Her pleasure-cry snapped him out of his reverie. Hurried once again, he tore open his slacks. The head of his shaft stretched well above the waist of his boxer briefs, the tip glistening. When he anchored the cotton beneath his testicles, revealing his massive length, she gawked.
Brock Hudson was loaded for bear.
“The way you look at me…” He spread her legs and pressed his erection against her throbbing heat.
Control gone, she thrashed her head.
Using her wetness as lubrication, he rubbed, and rubbed. Again and again. Faster and faster. Her breasts bobbed. With every upward glide, he exerted more pressure. More pressure, more pleasure. Continuing to build… Her skin seemed to stretch too tight. Her blood turned to fuel, burning. Soon a bomb would detonate inside her, and she would explode.
Oh, please, please, please.
“You’ve enraptured me,” he said, his voice nothing more than smoke and gravel. “I would do anything for you.”
Little mewling sounds rose from her as she thrashed atop the mattress. “Brock. Brock, please.” Thoughts, derailing. “I need you. Inside. Inside now. Changed my mind. Please. Show me how badly you want me.”
“If I showed you that, I’d break the bed.” A bead of sweat trickled from his temple, splashed onto her chest. Tension strained his features. “No sex. Not tonight. Not until you want it before we reach this point.”
Darling man. Frustrating man! Gimme!
Holding her gaze, he brought his fingers to his mouth. The fingers he’d just had inside her. He licked away every bit of desire and moaned, as if he savored her intimate flavor. The sight of him…the knowledge…
Lyndie screamed as she climaxed, her back bowing, her muscles clenching and unclenching on bone.
As she clawed at Brock’s back, he sucked on the hammering pulse at the base of her neck. At the same time, he gripped her bottom, lifting her lower body, still rub, rub, rubbing. And oh… Oh! As his muscles seized underneath her nails, his body going rigid, his back bowing, he roared her name—Scottie!—and came on her stomach.
When she lifted her head to bite his lower lip, Brock claimed her mouth in a brutally sexual kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, prolonging her world-rocking orgasm. And, clearly, his own. With one hand, he anchored her arms above her head, ensuring her breasts smashed into his chest. With the other, he clutched her knee to hold her legs closer, flush against his side. One body shook against the other.
At long last, she floated down from her high, wonder filling her. She—Lyndie Scott-Hudson—had made the playboy roar and come and shudder. Go me!
I want more.
When breathing was possible again, Lyndie met Brock’s pale green gaze, melted into the mattress, and thought: This isn’t going to end well for me.
Chapter Eleven
Never, in all Brock’s days, had he experienced such explosive pleasure. Despite the fact that he hadn’t even gotten inside his partner. For the first time in his life, he’d known the woman in bed with him. He’d known the ins and outs of her violent past, knew how rarely she laughed, how special her smiles were, had known fear was often her default setting, and pleasure had been an afterthought…until recently. Underneath his mouth and hands, she’d blossomed. Arousal had pinked and heated her skin. Her nipples had puckered, ready for his attention. Her belly had quivered, and she’d whimpered with desperation and need. A sex kitten—his sex kitten.
Now Lyndie curled into his side, drawing lazy circles over his tattoos, thrilling him.
Though he had a vast amount of experience, the very moment his lips met Lyndie’s in a searing kiss, he’d mentally and emotionally reached a point of no return. Like a teenager with his first girlfriend, he’d lost track of everything but the woman beneath him.
Finally he understood the term “come your brains out.” Circuits in his mind were fried beyond repair. The rest of his body hadn’t fared much better. His heart still raced, his breathing had yet to calm, and a deep sense of satisfaction had taken up permanent residence inside him.
No one could ever want me for more than my money, Mother? Wrong! Lyndie Scott-Hudson wants me for my mind and my body. She trusts me in a way she’s never trusted another. She smiles when she’s with me. She comes apart in my arms. I’m valuable to her.
What a fool he’d been to ever expect an encounter with his Scottie to be like any other. Fun, enjoyable, even pleasant, but always meaningless and sometimes forgettable. Lyndie wasn’t like other girls. Not to him. Over the past week, she’d become more than an acquaintance, more than a treasured friend. She’d become a necessity. Apparently, he had better sex with necessities, even when they didn’t actually have sex.
What he and Lyndie had done? Blow his ever-loving mind.
His emotions had been involved from the get go, and whether she would admit it or not, her emotions had been involved too. Every minute, second, millisecond had meant something to them both.
He smiled as he remembered the way Lyndie had reacted to his touch. The more she’d realized how desperately he wanted her, the more turned on she’d been, soon thrashing with abandon. His strawberry-blonde had loved having power over him.
Shockingly enough, he’d loved conceding that power.
A startling realization: after tonight, sleeping with a random stranger no longer held any appeal. At the very least, he needed a friend in his bed.
Now he tensed. Seduce another woman? Here, with Lyndie, he couldn’t stomach the idea.
“My mother would have loved you,” she said, her tone soft. Their minds had traveled the same path tonight. To family.
Jolted to the core, he said, “You think so?” The rawness of his tone hung heavy in the air.
“She died when I was little, but I remember the times she tickled me, and I laughed, and she told me I had the most magical laugh in all the world, and even though she hadn’t yet met the people who would make me laugh in the future, she loved each and every one for all time.”
“She sounds like an amazing woman.” Far different from his own experiences.
“She was.” Lyndie cleared her throat and rolled to her back, severing contact. “Well.”
About to tell him to get lost? Probably, but he wasn’t ready to part with her.
Before she could kick him out, he used his discarded shirt to clean her up, then stood and helped her to her feet. He was pleased to note the weakness of her knees. If he hadn’t wound his arm around her waist, she would have fallen.
“Our
bodies are as dirty as our minds,” he said, a husky note in his voice. “Let’s shower.”
She blinked up at him, as if she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “You mean…together?”
“Or I can stand outside the stall and watch you like a creeper. Always lady’s choice.”
A startled laugh bubbled from her, entrancing him more than usual—delighting him. I did that. Me. Her mother would love him.
“Let’s face facts, angel cakes,” he said. “You breathe, and I want you.”
Her cheeks flushed with…pleasure? “Angel cakes. Red. Scottie. How many nicknames are you going to give me?”
“I’ll keep giving you new nicknames until you give me one.”
Clearly trying not to smile while rapidly batting her lashes, she said, “Does Brockie Baby Boo Boo count?”
“Not even a little.”
She hiked her shoulder in a shrug. “Then I’ll keep thinking.”
“You do that…sugar tush.”
Another startled laugh only stoked his need for her higher. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and lay her flat on the mattress, wanted to spread her legs and sink deep inside her, wanted…what he couldn’t have.
Deciding to get serious for a moment, he cupped her cheeks, and said, “Just so we’re on the same page. How far do you want to go next time?”
She chewed on her bottom lip. “I still want to wait for sex because…because I’m afraid you won’t want me after we go all the way.” She moaned. “And now I sound like I’m fifteen.”
A knife twisted inside him. Talk about a man’s past coming back to haunt him. “I will want you after, Scottie. I swear it.”
“But how can you be sure?”
“Because wanting like ours doesn’t go away overnight.”
She gulped. “But how can you be sure?” she repeated softly.
“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. Trust me. Please. I know you trust me in part, or I wouldn’t be here. But I’m asking you to trust me in all.” He was asking for too much, too fast, but not asking wasn’t an option.
“I want to, I do, but the stakes are so high,” she said with a tremor.
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