Some of the things he wanted to do to her in that moment didn’t bear dwelling on. Not if he wanted to retain an ounce of control.
He burned to do all those things, but he couldn’t tear himself away from desecrating her sweet mouth.
Not that Ursa seemed to be complaining. She was writhing and twisting beneath him again. He felt like he lay on top of a small, but powerful volcano that was about to blow to the high heavens. He could feel every nuance of her supple, curving body. And when had Ursa become so fucking strong? Jesus, she’d been so weak when she was little. He used to wheel her down to the beach in an old rusty wagon to conserve her energy.
With all her rubbing against him, all that friction, she transferred her heat into his flesh. He wondered if steam shot out of his ears. When she grasped his head and ran her nails along his scalp, he convulsed in pure animal-like pleasure. Without thinking, he lifted his head and reached for her wrists. He pinned her wrists to the mattress above her head, keeping them in place with one hand. With the other, he poked his finger into the knot of the seemingly innocent, but in reality hugely sexy, satiny tie on her blouse. He made a rough flicking motion. The sensation of the soft fabric running through his fingers made his cock lurch.
It hit him what he was doing. He pinned her wrists to the mattress while he took pleasure in stripping her. Was he scaring her? His gaze jumped to her face.
She watched him with a sharp focus. Her eyes shone with excitement… and trust.
It was the latter that almost undid him.
He’d taught her how to ride a bicycle, and taken her out on her first kayak ride on Lake Tahoe. Stephen, Mr. Esterbrook, and Z had built an elaborate dollhouse for her as a birthday gift when she turned seven years old. When she was twelve, he’d taken Ursa for her first motorcycle ride on a warm July night on one of his own custom made racers. She’d been so frail, he recalled. So delicate. But when Ilsa Esterbrook, Ursa’s mother, had argued against her youngest daughter going for that ride with Z, Ursa had defended her position with uncustomary zeal.
“I’m going. It’s Z, Mom. He’ll keep me safe!”
He’d been touched by Ursa’s trust in him back then, even if he had been too much of an immature dick to express it.
And here she lay beneath him, her body fevered and soft. She was so damn eager.
He should stop this. It was complete craziness.
“Z?” she whispered.
He found himself staring at her parted, flushed lips.
But he wouldn’t stop it. Because he couldn’t.
Even if it did damn him forever.
His entire body ached with unremitting strain as he turned his attention back to unfastening her blouse. His knuckles brushed against the firm swell of her breast as he slid a button through its hole. He felt his anticipation mounting and pulsing inside him. By the time he finally spread open her shirt, he’d grown grim in his task.
He stared down at her. His hand looked brown next to the pale, silky looking skin of her midriff. He was almost afraid to touch her.
Almost.
The cream-colored bra she wore was nothing fancy, but it hugged her breasts like a second skin. On Ursa, it was the sexiest garment he’d ever seen.
He got rid of it faster than he could blink.
When he stared down at her a moment later, he found it difficult to think, let alone form words.
How could something so pretty, so fucking perfect, be the ruin of him?
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he rasped, jerking his gaze off her gorgeous, round, pink-tipped breasts and looking at her face. Her carriage was so slender; her breasts appeared even lusher by contrast. He couldn’t get the image out of is head.
“Very sure,” she whispered.
“You don’t know what I’m like. I’m not… good with women.”
“You mean you’re rough?”
He blinked, caught off guard by her matter-of-fact question.
“No. I mean that the women I’m accustomed to are rough. Or they like it rough, anyway.”
Her skin was like silk, just like he’d suspected. How could he be rambling on about roughness when he touched something so soft? His hand had moved of its own accord, sliding along her taut ribcage. His big, strong body quaked like he’d grown suddenly sick. He groaned.
The skin on her breast was impossibly softer.
“I’m not afraid. You would never hurt me.”
He paused in the action of shaping a perfect breast to his palm. He registered the absolute trust he saw in Ursa’s eyes. That old, familiar need to protect came over him. But her parted lips, and the feeling of her breast in his hand, battled against it.
In the end, his selfishness won. Z always eventually got what he wanted.
And as he sucked Ursa’s pebbled, pink nipple into his mouth and drew on her until she gasped, he acknowledged the truth: He’d never wanted something this badly in his life.
Her rough moan and the feeling of her fingernails scraping his scalp brought him back to himself. Her stiff nipple pressed against his laving tongue. Her other breast felt delectably firm and succulent in his molding hand. His restraint tank running dangerously low, he willed himself to rise off of her. Her eyelids fluttered open.
“Z?”
Who would have ever thought Ursa’s voice could grow so smoky and sexy?
“Hold on, baby girl,” he grated out, enduring moderate levels of pain as he stood and began attacking his clothes. He did it blindly, his stare fixed on her beautiful breasts, damp, hard nipples and lust-glazed, big eyes the entire time he stripped. It seemed to take her a few seconds to register what he was doing, but then a sharp edge of interest crossed her face. She leaned up on her elbows and watched closely as he finally freed his cock from his clothing.
“Oh,” she said softly when he stood before her nude. His cock jumped an inch in the air at the wonder on her face as she stared fixedly at his erection. He winced, resisting an urge to stroke himself, alleviating the pain that shot through him. Her hunger struck him as lustful, honest, and sweet all at once.
It was too much.
“Now you,” he told her.
She blinked.
“Oh,” she repeated again, her eyes widening.
This time, he couldn’t stop himself. He fisted the base of his cock and stroked the shaft, watching as she fleetly unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, sliding her hands beneath the waistband and pushing them down over her hips. She lifted her ass and then sat up, swiftly removing her clothing down her legs and dropping them to the carpet. She started to remove the platform sandals she wore.
“Leave them.”
She glanced up, startled, and he realized how harsh he’d sounded. His jaw ached from grinding his teeth so hard. He stepped forward. She stared up at him as he dug his fingers into the lush pile of hair on her head and found the pins there. Strands of gold silk tumbled around his hands. Transfixed by her upturned face, he gently raked his fingers through her soft, cascading hair.
“Lie back,” he directly
She did so quickly, her stare on his face never breaking. She was amazing at that moment: wild, golden hair tumbling onto the pillow, lush breasts, taut, yet feminine abdomen, curving hips…
But her eyes.
Despite the arousal in their depths, her eyes still retained traces of the Ursa for which he’d always harbored a soft spot. A finger of doubt stirred around in his chest.
He dragged his gaze off the prettiest mound he’d ever seen, covered with neatly trimmed dark gold pubic hair.
“I didn’t bring a condom. Do you have one?”
She shook her head on the pillow.
He hesitated.
“I’m very healthy, Z.”
He scowled at her. “I know that. What else would you be? I’m not worried about that.”
“Then
… you think you might give me something? A sexually transmitted disease?”
“I just had a doctor’s appointment. I’m completely healthy. But yeah, I think I could give you something. A baby,” he stated the obvious bluntly, forcing himself to glance away from her. She was so beautiful, his lust started to claw at him from the inside out. He felt it running in his veins, hot and stinging. Dangerous…
“I can’t get pregnant. Didn’t you know?”
His gaze shot back to her.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Her expression had grown somber.
“The doctors told me I never could, because of the illness I had when I was little. I thought you knew… that maybe Esme had told Jude, and Jude told you.” She shrugged. “There weren’t a lot of secrets, between the Esterbrooks and the Becketts when we were kids.”
His mind went blank for a second.
“Z?”
He blinked at the sound of her soft voice.
“Do you not want to any more? Because I told you I was… you know. Sterile.”
“Sterile?” he repeated stupidly.
“I just told you—”
“Why would I care about that?”
“I don’t know. You just looked…weird there, for a second.”
He didn’t want to tell her he’d probably looked strange because what she’d said had reminded him of how fragile she’d been as a girl. He didn’t want to admit it to her, because he didn’t want to think about it himself. Not at this moment. How could he, anyway, when she lay there in front of him, like some ripe Venus come to life before his very eyes?
“I thought maybe it turned you off, thinking I was damaged or something—”
He didn’t tell himself to move, but suddenly he found himself on the bed on his hands and knees, Ursa beneath him.
“Don’t ever call yourself damaged,” he breathed out.
She blinked at him, clearly speechless by his fury.
His gaze dropped down over her, fixing on the soft-looking burnished hair between her pale thighs.
“You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen in my life, Ursa,” he mumbled, looking back at her face.
Her pink lips parted in wonder. Only then, he realized he’d sounded mad at her. Which, he wasn’t.
“Show me,” she whispered, a fevered blush spreading across her cheeks.
He just nodded, because how else did you respond when a goddess asked you to burn for her?
He rolled onto his hip next to her and reached between her thighs.
“Let’s just attend to this pretty little pussy,” he rasped.
Chapter Four
He sandwiched his hand between her thighs, groaning softly at the sensation of smooth, soft skin. Not only was his hand too large for her delicate body, she was clenching her muscles.
“Let me in, Ursa,” he said, desire making him sound sharper than he’d intended.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” she moaned, seeming only then to realize she was keeping him from his target. She parted her thighs several inches. His fingers flew to her like a bee to nectar.
“Jesus,” he muttered a second later. Her pubic hair was damp with her juices. He cupped her entire outer sex in a covetous, purely possessive gesture, pausing to just feel her for a few seconds. He rolled his hand slightly, stimulating her, and drank in her soft moan.
“You like that?” he murmured, watching her reaction closely.
“Your hand is so big,” she whispered.
He smiled, moving his hand subtly all the while. “No. It’s just that you’re so small.”
She stared at him fixedly with feverish green eyes. Still cupping her possessively, he wedged his forefinger between her labia and groaned roughly.
“You’re so wet. So warm,” he mumbled. He stirred his finger in warm honey and found her clitoris. He stroked her firmly.
“Oh—” She gasped, her eyes springing wide. Her body quaked, jostling her full breasts.
“So creamy. Are you really that turned on?” he asked, a little incredulous and a lot aroused. She didn’t answer his stupid question. She didn’t need to, of course, with the answer right in front of his eyes and just beneath his fingertips. He moved the first digit of his forefinger faster, pressing and agitating that sweet little button, subtly altering his pressure given the feedback on her expressive face.
She winced.
Thinking he’d applied too much friction, he snapped his hand back. She put both hands on his wrist and pushed him back to her sex.
“Please, Z.”
He began sliding and pressing against her clitoris again. Her body tensed, her thigh muscles contracting tight. Her cheeks looked like they’d been stained dark pink.
“Oh, God,” she gasped.
She clutched at the bedding and turned her head on the pillow, her eyelids clamped shut. Damn.
She was about to come. Already.
“Let go, Ursa,” he insisted, moving his hand faster. “Give me what you’ve got.”
He watched, spellbound, as she began to shake in orgasm. Her cry sounded uncertain. Surprised? Incredibly hot. Her breasts trembled. Her nipples had hardened into tight, dusky pink buds.
Z leaned down to taste one, sucking with single-minded lust.
Later, he wondered if he’d brought her fully through her orgasm. He hoped he had. Because the next thing he clearly recalled aside from her warm juices slicking his fingers and the sensation of her pebbled nipple beneath his pressing tongue, was being on his hands and knees over her and lifting her legs to bracket his hips. Only one thing consumed him in that moment: the need to be buried inside her.
He pressed the head of his cock to her slick entrance and tightened his hold on her hip. He thrust.
And went nowhere.
“Let me in, baby girl,” he grated out, now bona fide wild with lust. She still appeared dazed from her orgasm. Which was probably good, because if she focused too much on him, she’d realize she was in bed with a madman.
He opened his hands at the back of her thighs and matter-of-factly parted her fully. He thrust, groaning at the sensation of the head of his cock penetrating slippery, snug flesh.
“I need you, Ursa,” he insisted, desperate now. “I need you to let me inside.”
Her eyelids blinked open. He felt her pressing up against him and heard her soft moan. He found himself pushing at the back of her thighs, forcing her hips to roll back on the bed.
The sensation of easing into her tight channel seemed to make everything go black for a period of time. Maybe it was a survival instinct on his part. He couldn’t look at her beautiful, sex-flushed face: Ursa’s face.
Not if he wanted to endure this exquisite torture for more than a few seconds.
A triumphant shout rang in his head. It took him a moment to recognize that rough yell had been his own voice. He realized he was buried in her, his balls pressed tight against her damp outer sex. Every muscle in his body contracted so tight, he thought he’d break like a snapped guitar string.
Instinctively, he began to move, groaning in animal-like pleasure. You selfish, greedy bastard. He heard her soft cries twining with his grunts… a savage melody, the slap of their crashing bodies providing the ferocious drumbeat.
It’d never felt so good. She was so tight and hot and responsive, he thought he’d explode. He would explode eventually, but dear God…he never wanted this to end.
He made the mistake of opening his clamped eyelids. Her beautiful breasts jumped every time he crashed into her. Her lips were parted in a surprised, erotic O shape. A tiny cry popped out of her throat each time he buried himself in her to the hilt.
A vicious need to possess her even more fully ripped through him.
The next thing he knew, he reared over her, digging his feet into the mattress and
tensing his arms. He stroked her from tip to balls, shouting as pure pleasure sheered through him. He continued, slaking himself on her flesh, pumping unrestrainedly, so thirsty, so desperate to lose himself, the sound of their slapping flesh egging him on and on like an escalating drumbeat…
Through the rumble in his ears, he heard her call his name.
And he was coming violently, hair standing on end, cock bursting, roaring in anguished pleasure, detonating in Ursa Esterbrook’s sweet flesh.
He dropped helplessly to his knees a moment later, panting, unable to catch his breath. Dizziness assailed him. He regularly worked out in his custom-built gym in a shed in the backyard of his house, plus did at least five miles of roadwork daily. But this girl—this woman—had completely turned him inside out.
He clamped his eyes shut, willing his mind and body to slow, praying for steady ground.
Christ, he thought bitterly as he fought for his breath. Who could have guessed in a million years that his day would have turned out like this?
He felt the walls of Ursa’s enveloping sex tighten around him, pulling him back to the inevitable. He lifted his head and forced himself to meet her stare.
Her expression as she stared up at him was open, frank, and… fresh, somehow, despite her sex-flushed cheeks and the sheen of perspiration on her skin. He’d thoroughly debauched her. Yet somehow, instead of appearing despoiled, she looked even more beautiful… like he witnessed firsthand the blooming of a rare flower.
Ah, Ursa. You sweet, kind, fairy-girl.
His automatic thought struck him like a lash. He swallowed thickly between pants for air and withdrew from her. He noticed her cringe as he came down on his hip next to her.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “Are you?” she countered with breathless earnestness.
His mouth fell open at her guileless question.
“Of course I am. I’m not the one who—”
Just got ridden harder than a raunchy biker whore.
Wild, Wounded Hearts Page 4