I still had some resolve left in me. Just enough to squeeze my hands between us and shove at that brick wall of a chest. He moved the barest inch. I was able to tear my lips away. I opened my mouth to demand that he stop and get out of my room, but suddenly he flipped me over on the bed.
On my back, I gasped, speech lost at the sensation of his big body over me, between my splayed thighs. His hand flexed on my thigh, beneath my skirt, searing me through my tights, and I found myself wishing I wasn’t wearing tights so that I could feel his palm on my bare skin.
He took advantage of my open mouth and claimed my lips in a kiss again, his tongue colliding with mine. His weight felt delicious, pinning me to the bed without hurting me. A dazed fog rolled over me, obliterating all thought, all logic. There was only sensation.
His lips ate hungrily from mine. Devouring is the only word. When his hands found my breasts and cupped them through the bra, liquid heat coursed through me. He kneaded the small mounds and I parted my legs wider, inviting him without words.
He sank deeper between my legs. My skirt was hiked up to my hips, my purple tights a barrier that kept us from direct contact, but I still felt him there, his erection hard and probing, rubbing against me, pushing and prodding as if he could reach gratification that way. I didn’t see how. The pressure and friction of him there drove me mad. I wanted more. I wanted it harder. Deeper.
I dug my fingers into his biceps and bucked against him, grinding my pelvis to his.
“Shit,” he cursed, breaking his mouth from mine. Before I had time to mourn the loss, his hand was yanking one bra cup down, pulling the strap tighter across my shoulder. His warm mouth closed over my left nipple, taking the entire tip and pulling it deep into the wet warmth of his mouth.
I cried out and arched. It was too much, and it only got better as he turned his attention to my other breast. He laved that one with his tongue, too, sucking it deep into his mouth.
His name tore from my throat.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, looking up at me, his face even with my breast, his dark eyes promising more. “I want to hear you.”
I shook my head no. It was the most I could manage. I couldn’t actually spit the word out. Not if it meant he would stop. Because I didn’t want this to end. I actually might die if that happened.
His slipped both hands beneath my skirt and seized the waistband of my tights. Sitting back, he pulled the tight fabric down my legs. Alarm bells went off, but they weren’t as loud as the rush of blood in my ears or as strong as the clenching ache between my legs.
His rough palms settled on me then, rasping against my naked thighs. “Oh, God,” I moaned.
He came back over me, his bare chest pressing flush with me. I felt his erection then through the thin fabric of my panties. My face burned, mortified to know he must feel how wet I was down there. And all because of him. All he needed to do was push the thin fabric aside and he could slide inside me.
The very idea thrilled and terrified me in equal parts. I couldn’t let that happen. Right now, with the core of me aching and throbbing, it might feel like I wanted him to do that, but I didn’t. My mind knew better, even if my body didn’t.
“I meant it,” I gasped as he rotated his hips and pushed directly against a sensitive spot that threatened to make my eyes roll back in their sockets. “I’m not having sex with you.”
He dark eyes feasted on me as he continued to rub against me. “Did I say I expected you to?”
“N-no.” But it sure felt like where this was going.
I pushed against him, whimpering at the hard outline of his cock, unable to stop, unable to keep myself from seeking fulfillment, wanting him to fill me so badly it practically hurt.
His hands slid under me, palming my ass through my panties, grinding his erection against me even more intimately—if that was even possible.
“Oh, God,” I moaned, quivering in his hands.
“When we have sex, it won’t be a surprise.” His voice eddied through me, deep and dark, a current of heat that shot right between my legs. “You’ll know it’s coming. You’ll want it. Mind and body. You’ll beg me to make love to you. I’ll make sure of that, Emerson.”
Make love? No way. “What makes you think—”
“There won’t be any doubts or accusations after the fact,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard me. “In fact, we’re not going to do it until you ask me for it.”
I attempted to snort, but the sound came out like a choked gasp as one of his hands slid around to cup my mound. He used the base of his palm to press up into the core of me and my head flew off the bed with a sharp cry.
“For tonight, I’m just going to make you come.” I shook my head wildly on the pillow. I was already close to doing that. “Something tells me you don’t get off that much. Doubt half the guys you waste your time on even bother to make sure you’re satisfied.”
Understatement of the year.
He lowered his head, licking my bottom lip as he spoke, low and deep and sexy into my mouth. “Not tonight, Emerson. Tonight I’m not stopping until you scream. Until you see stars.”
His words sent a trickle of unease through me. He wanted to take care of me? Give me pleasure? Without satisfying himself?
He tugged the panties that shielded me to the side, one finger slipping along my moist heat—and I forgot everything else. I practically came out of my skin. I had never felt anything like it. He stroked me expertly, his finger burying deep and then pulling out, circling that really sensitive pleasure point, inching closer but not touching. I writhed, panted, small incoherent sounds bubbling up from my throat.
“Please,” I begged, hating myself—him—for making me want this so badly. It was clear to me that he could have me. If he wanted sex, I couldn’t resist. He could take me now.
He finally gave my body what it craved. His thumb landed on my clit and pushed down, rolling it in a swift circle at the precise moment he eased a second finger inside me.
I arched off the bed with a shriek. He moved his fingers, thrusting inside me with deep, slow drags. He caught my lips in another searing kiss, drinking the sounds from my mouth as he worked his hand against me, his thumb pushing and circling, his fingers working in and out of me.
“You feel so good, Emerson. So warm. So tight.” I brought my hand between us, reaching for him, determined that I push him to the edge the way he was pushing me. My fingers brushed him, but he dodged out of the way and seized my hand.
“No touching, remember?” His gaze pinned me.
I growled my frustration but soon gave up. I couldn’t even think with the intense sensations he stoked in me. The deep, twisting pressure built and my head fell back on the bed again.
“C’mon, baby,” he murmured against my mouth. “I know you want to let go.”
I shook my head, denying it. Denying him. Myself. I couldn’t let go. Ever.
I never had.
And then his lips were gone. His chest lifted off from my chest. Blinking, my head came up off the bed, bewildered.
“What are y—”
All speech fled on a strangled shriek as his mouth landed expertly down there. I tensed and shoved at his shoulder. His lips closed around that nub and sucked, his tongue laving the sensitive pearl until I fell back on the bed with a low, keening moan.
Pleasure exploded inside me, centered directly where his mouth was fused to me so intimately. My orgasm washed over me in waves. Hot ripples that seemed to go on forever as he sucked me into his mouth.
I buried my hands in his hair and tugged hard on the ends, not for him to stop but for him to never stop. His hands slid beneath me, gripping my ass and bringing me up closer to his mouth. His mouth kept working its magic until the last shudder left me.
I fell back on the bed, panting, chest heaving like I’d just finished a marathon. He came up over me, grinning in the most smug, satisfied way. He looked sexy as hell with his arms braced, one on either side of me, his biceps flexed taut
to support his weight.
“That was hot,” he murmured. He lifted a hand and traced a finger down my cheek to my mouth. If possible, his eyes grew darker. Unbelievable or not, the simple stroke of his finger over my bottom lip brought the intense ache between my legs back and I wanted to go another round with him. I clamped my thighs together as if I could somehow assuage the throbbing there.
His voice continued in a deep purr. “Aren’t you glad you let me do that?”
Let him do that? I guess choice had been involved. He was no sadist. I could have stopped him at any time. He would have listened to me. And that made me even more enraged at myself. Because I should have stopped him.
I shoved at his chest, pushing him off me. I sat up, pushing my skirt down with fumbling hands and sliding my bra straps back in place. “You should go.”
The smile slipped from his face. He stared at me, his expression unreadable, but there was something there in his eyes. Surprise, maybe?
“Really.” I nodded, my voice coming out less shaky. There was that at least. I sounded in control even if I didn’t feel like it. “Just go.”
I searched the bed for my shirt, grateful for the excuse not to look at him. Finding it, I pulled it on over my head. From the corner of my eye I could see he was moving now, straightening his own clothing, tucking himself back in his jeans and yanking the zipper up with angry motions as he muttered indecipherable words under his breath.
He was mad. Good. So was I. And I needed to stay mad. Nurse my anger so that I didn’t let him weave another spell around me again.
He faced me. “I should have known better than to get involved with some spoiled little princess.”
I flinched before reminding myself that this was for the best. Let him think that. Then maybe whatever this thing was between us would just die. I inhaled thinly through my nose and tried to ignore the sudden ache in my chest that that thought ignited.
I needed to stand my ground. Let him think whatever bad thing he wanted to about me. Because I couldn’t handle another repeat of what just happened between us and still keep my distance. At least emotionally. The last thing I needed was to fall for a guy like him. For God’s sake, he was a Marine. Not exactly an easy-to-manipulate kind of guy.
“That’s right,” I agreed. “You should have known better. But now you do.” I lifted my hand and performed a small wave. “So bye-bye.”
He stared at me, his eyes hard. “You’re a real piece of work.”
I smiled, telling myself he was no different from any other guy I kicked from my bed. So why did I feel terrible? Why did the disgust in his eyes tear at me?
Then he smiled, slow and almost sinister. He approached almost stealthily, sinking back over me on the bed. I fell back, flattening a hand against his chest as if that could ward him off.
“Go ahead,” he whispered in a lethally soft voice. “Pretend I don’t get to you.”
“You don’t.”
He cocked his head sideways, studying me like I was some bug beneath a microscope. “You know what I think?”
I shook my head. “I don’t care.”
He continued as if I hadn’t spoken, and suddenly his hand was there, inching along the inside of my thigh. I gasped, incredibly turned on despite the voice in my head telling me to stop him. My body knew him and responded, arching under him.
His deep voice rippled across my skin. “I think that deep inside you’re dying for someone like me. You’ve been waiting for a guy to come along and shake up your world and touch you the way you’ve been aching to be touched.” His fingers rubbed against the damp crotch of my panties. “Do things to you that all your pretty college boys can’t do.” With a quick yank, his fingers were right there, playing against me, parting me, teasing at my entrance and working me into a frenzy beneath him. I fisted the covers and thrust against his hands, opening myself wider for him.
I didn’t understand it. How could he elicit such an immediate response from me? Other boys had tried what he was doing, but there was only him. Just Shaw. I was ready to go again, but instead of his mouth and hand, I wanted him there. That hardness pressing against my thigh. I wanted our bodies locked and rocking together.
He thrust a finger inside me, then followed with a second, stretching me, filling me, plunging deep inside me where some hidden, indefinable target existed. It was indescribable. Even better than before, and something told me that every time with him would be like that. Better. More intense than before.
I cried out, grabbing his shoulders as his voice continued to lash me like hot wind. “Do any of them make you feel like this?” His fingers stilled, poised just at the mouth of my entrance, stalling my pleasure, torturing me. “Answer me, Emerson.”
“N-no.” I beat a fist on his shoulder.
“Tell me,” he commanded.
“None of them do this.”
“Do what?” he pushed, just barely moving his fingers inside me.
“Make me . . . come.” And I was so close. Again. That tightly coiled spring in my belly was about to snap.
He smiled slowly. “Good. “ His hand left me then. “Remember that.” He pulled back from me and stood up.
For a moment, I could do nothing but blink, astonished and bewildered. He looked down at me, his sexy mouth curving almost grimly. But there was satisfaction there. He was pleased with himself . . . as if he had just proved something.
Cool air wafted over my exposed skin and it dawned on me that I wasn’t moving. I remained sprawled before him with my skirt bunched up around my hips, my girl parts on display. And I hated him right then.
Mortified, I sat up, shoving my skirt back down. “Get out!” The words launched out of me at missile speed.
He grabbed his shirt from where he’d dropped it on the edge of the bed. He moved with unhurried movements, collecting his jacket where he had discarded it on the chair.
“I never want to see you again.” My voice trembled on the air with barely suppressed emotion, and I hoped he did not mistake the sound of it for fear. That would be humiliating, and he had already humiliated me enough for one night.
He paused at the door. Still bare chested, he turned to look at me, apparently unconcerned about stepping out of my room partially dressed.
I stood up from the bed and turned my back to him, trying to dismiss him from my sight if not from my mind. Crossing my arms, I fixed my gaze on the blinds and waited for the sound of the door shutting behind him.
“Don’t think this is over, Emerson.”
I swung around at these words, my eyes snapping to him, startled by the determination I heard in his voice. He stood with one hand on my doorknob, the other one clutching his crumpled shirt. The line of his shoulders was rigid and tense, and I knew I wasn’t the only one angry. He looked huge in the cramped space of my suite. Even now, looking at the sculpted expanse of his chest made my face flush hotly.
I lifted my chin. “Well, I say this is finished.” Whatever this even was. It was too complicated, too full of emotions and feelings that I’d never felt before. That I never wanted to feel. “We are done.”
“You keep telling yourself that, princess.” He pulled the door wide open. “See you later.”
Then he shut the door, plunging the room into muffled silence . . . leaving me staring after him, wondering what precisely in the hell had just happened.
Chapter 9
THE NEXT MORNING I woke to the smell of coffee. Espresso, to be precise. Wafting deliciously close to my nose. I crept one eyelid open to find Pepper standing in front of me, holding a large-size cup from the Java Hut.
Georgia sat propped in her bed across the way, already cupping her drink in both palms. I barely remembered her coming in the night before. It must have been late though because I had stared into the dark long after Shaw left me.
Georgia smiled at me. She had one of the sweetest smiles. Natural and unaffected. She really was the modern southern woman. Sophisticated but still clinging to a certain gentility and w
holesomeness that eluded the rest of the female population of Dartford. I could well imagine her waltzing at all those high school cotillions her mother made her attend. “Pepper brought us coffee.”
“Hmm.” Pushing myself up on one elbow, I accepted the proffered cup. “You’re an angel.”
“Not really.” Pepper settled in the beanbag chair in the corner, plunking her own drink down on the floor, near her feet. With her free hand, she rattled a brown paper bag. “Scones?”
I nodded and she tossed me one, which I managed to catch without crumbs flying all over me.
Pepper continued.“I’m just dying to know what’s going on between you and Shaw.”
Georgia turned interested eyes on me. “Shaw? Who’s Shaw?”
“No one,” I mumbled. The chocolate chip scone was still warm as I bit into it. “Yum. This is delicious.” I chased the flaky goodness with a drink. Heaven.
“Who’s Shaw?” Georgia repeated.
“Shaw is a guy that Reece went to high school with. Just back from the Marines.”
“Oh.” Georgia’s eyebrows, several shades darker than her blond hair, winged high over her expressive eyes.
I wagged my scone at her. “ ‘Oh’ nothing. It’s not like that.”
“Is he hot?” she asked, looking back and forth from me to Pepper.
I squared my shoulders. “What difference—”
“He’s smoking,” Pepper interjected.
I glared at her. “You have a boyfriend.”
“What? I can’t look? It’s hard not to notice something like that. He either is or isn’t. And yeah, he definitely is.”
Georgia nodded, absorbing this as she rose to investigate the bag of scones. She selected a scone and sat back, crossing her legs Indian style. She was still wearing her pajamas with little red Santas even though Christmas was over. She probably grabbed them because they were her warmest pair.
“So this Shaw, Reece’s old high school buddy . . . is hot.”
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