A Deep and Dark December(75)

Her lips parted at the look in his eyes. “Yes,” she breathed.

“You’re going to feel me on you…in you. And just when you think I’m done, that you can’t take any more, I’ll do it all over again.”

“Do it.”

*

A dare. Graham liked it. He liked her and everything about her. She didn’t come with a set of rules he was supposed to follow, a predetermined mold he was supposed to shape himself into. He could just be and she accepted. With her, he was both vulnerable and invincible. There was no agenda between them, no competition in which he had to constantly look over his shoulder, wondering when she’d plunge the knife into his back. He’d told her the worst, expecting judgment. Instead he’d been given acceptance.

And now after all she knew of him, she wanted to take him into her body, to be his at least for tonight. Instead of satisfaction, he found the idea intolerable to the point of pain. One night wouldn’t be enough. He’d have to find a way to make her want him again and again until they were both finally sated and he could leave her to find a man worthy of her.

Backing up his boast, he took her mouth, kissing her as he’d love her—long, slow, and so thoroughly, she’d cry out his name in pleasure long after they were over. She met him kiss for kiss, thrusting her hands in his hair and drawing him down on top of her. The feel of her under him, wrapping herself around him, struck something base and primal within him. She was his and not just for the night.

He bit her breast, sucking gently as she gasped and clutched him tighter. He pulled back to see what he’d done. His mark, his brand on her skin. His. She squirmed, drawing his attention to where he was seated between her thighs. She shifted again and he had to put a hand on her hip to still her movements.

“Slow,” he whispered, bending his head to take her nipple into his mouth.

She arched back, presenting her full breasts to him, as he reached down between her legs. Wet. So wet. For him. He wanted to pull his head back and howl like the beast he was for the things he was about to do to her. He left her breast to work her panties down her legs, weaving a trail of kisses across her abdomen and down one thigh.

Murmuring a protest, she tried to bring him back up her body, but he liked where he was. From the foot of the bed he saw her as he’d never seen her before. She was a feast laid out just for him. He took her feet in his hands, caressing her arches. She sighed and settled back, watching him with eyes that pierced straight through all of his bullshit.

He wanted to pull her to him right then, open her legs, and drive deep. But he’d promised her slow. Sliding his hands up the back of her calves, he drew light circles with his fingertips on the underside of her knees. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. He pressed her legs open, breathing in the scent of her, basic and tempting. But he wasn’t after the now. He wanted her to remember him, remember this night, and compare all others to it.

Her skin was so soft, so pliant. He raised her knees, exposing her deep center. She’d wanted mindless, to feel nothing but sensation, wantonness, abandon. He’d give her that and more. His mouth was a tool he used to drive her, licking up her thighs, nipping, kissing, until she thrashed about, her pelvis tilting. And still he didn’t relent. He kissed her everywhere and yet not where she craved it the most.

By the time he crawled up her body, sweaty with exertion, she begged him to come, begged him to release the tension he’d strung out between them. And when he finally thrust into her, heard her cry out his name, he knew he was lost. He’d never make love to a woman like he’d loved her. Would never feel the completion he felt with her.

As their bodies cooled and their hearts beat a regular rhythm, he knew he’d never feel the way he felt in that moment. Would never again love a woman the way he loved her. Her. He sucked in great lungfuls of air, knowing he was lost and not caring a lick about it.





The grayed light of daybreak filtered through the curtains, illuminating the bed where they lay entwined. They’d remained tethered all night, never breaking contact, an unspoken need to remain bound. If she moved away, he followed. If he rolled, she rolled with him. And now she lay alone in the bed, listening to the water hit the shower tiles. Graham had told her to stay in bed and get some more sleep, but she’d been unable to without him beside her. She snuggled deeper into the bed, feeling connected to Graham in a way she’d never experienced before.

Their discussion, argument, whatever, had shifted something between them. She understood so much more about him now. And had a feeling he’d shared more with her than he’d wanted to, but in the end, not as much as he needed to. That was okay. She could wait. Loving him wasn’t going to be easy, but it would certainly have its rewards. She squirmed, thinking about all the things she’d done with him last night. Dirty, naughty things.

He’d driven her to the edge, then pulled her back over and over to the point where she’d begged him for release. And when he’d finally relented, had finally thrust hard into her, she’d cried out—his name, the lord’s, incoherent nonsense—until she’d gone hoarse and her lips went numb. He’d followed shortly after, hitting deep on a long, low groan. They’d lain like that, joined in the most intimate way possible until he’d shifted, lifting some of his weight off her. He’d gazed down at her with the most endearingly quizzical look, as though he couldn’t quite fathom what they’d done. All she could do was stare back at him, mirroring his expression. If he didn’t have the answer, how could she?