Baddest Bad Boys(18)

“Good God, aren’t you all the way inside yet?” she asked.

“We’re getting there.”

“Who knew there was so far to go?” she said testily.

That feral wolf smile appeared on his face, and his hips shoved hard against hers. “You have no idea how far we’re going to go.”

She stared into his face. His thrusts deepened. The feeling was so strong. She felt helpless, every nerve in thrall. Her heart was about to explode, but he didn’t want her to love him, and what the hell was she going to do about that?

She wanted to pierce through the armor of his self-command. She wrapped her arms around his neck, jerked his head down and kissed him. His eyes popped open, startled, and after a second, he kissed her back, demanding more. As if she hadn’t given him everything.

Even the parts he did not want. Like her heart.

She pushed that thought away. This was for pleasure, for opening herself up to all the possibilities in her life. This was a gift to herself, and she would damn well enjoy it without getting all wound up with it.

The kiss opened up nameless depths inside her, a wilderness of unknown, terrifying sensations. She drew him deeper, bathed his phallus with slick warmth to make the glide easier, and it was so good, so sweet, so fine. All pain was forgotten in the swelling surge of bliss.

She almost dragged him along with her, but Jon clenched his teeth and breathed it down, forcing himself to wait while she exploded.

He wanted to feel it. The bright wash of her pleasure shooting up, her * clenching hard, pumping him. He could blow his own wad later. This was special. He’d never been with a woman so responsive.

After her orgasm eased down to a shimmer, her eyes opened, heavy-lidded and dazed. Her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sort of…um…on a hair trigger.”

“You’re apologizing?” he asked, incredulous. “There’s nothing in the world better than making a woman come with your cock inside her.”

The generic statement was not what she wanted to hear, but he was too far gone for self-censorship or delicacy. In fact, he was about to explode from the strain of holding back. “I’m not done,” he said.

She arched beneath him, moving her hips in a gesture of sweet, sensual surrender. It made his chest ache. “Do it,” she said. “Anything.”

He scooped her legs up, draping them over his elbows. Her smile was so sweet, he could hardly bear to look at it. Something swelled inside him, strained, then snapped. He took her at her word, going at her harder than he’d meant to, but once started, he was helpless to stop. No way out but straight through to the pounding finish, and he hoped to God those sounds were wails of pleasure—

His climax thundered down. He spurted out his very soul.

They lay there for a sweat-drenched, panting eternity. He would have been horrified at himself, if it had not so obviously worked for her.

Wild and raw. When he really let go, which was rare, it all came roaring out. Too much for some women. “You OK?”

She hid her face against his shoulder. “OK is not the first word that comes to mind.”

“Did you like it?” He felt like an idiot for persisting, but whatever.

She peeked up at him. “You mean, you didn’t notice?”

“Oh yeah. You coming like crazy.” He grinned. “It was hard to miss.”

He rolled onto his side, and eased out of her. Slick and wet as she was, she still tugged him with a tender parting clutch as he withdrew.

He reached down to keep the condom in place, and saw blood on his fingers. It sent a jolt through him. Not a lot, just a pinkish smear, but still. It shook him. She’d been so trusting. He’d been…rough.

“Got to get rid of the condom,” he said, getting up. He fled to the bathroom, splashed his belly and his dauntless dick, which would not calm down. He washed until the water swirling down the drain was no longer pinkish and stared into the mirror, realizing with wonder that he could breathe. No soured, dead feeling. No cramp. The air went in and it came out. Smooth, natural. Just as it should. Ah.

He met Robin on his way out. Her cheeks were pink, eyes downcast. “My turn,” she murmured, disappearing into the bathroom.

She was in there for a long time, and he spent the whole interval staring at the reddish smears on the sleeping bag. He had to buy a new one tomorrow. His chest felt so strange. Hot and soft. Shaky.

He retrieved the other sleeping bag, unzipped it, and tossed it over the bed for a blanket. When she came out, she was startled to see him in the bed. He lifted up the sleeping bag in silent invitation.

Something inside him loosened as her face lit up.

She fitted herself to him. Cool, smooth, silky soft. He rolled her on top of him so the feeling could penetrate his whole body. Hell, who knew? Maybe he could even sleep. If his dick would settle down.

Catastrophe. Doom. Apocalypse, said the frantic chorus in his head.

Fuck you all, he said to them silently. He hadn’t felt this good in longer than he could remember. Hell with the chorus, the rules, Danny.

He wanted to breathe, to sleep. To feel that warm, soft feeling, after being clenched like a fist for so long. He wanted this.

It had been freely offered to him, and he was damn well taking it.

Julia parked down the street from Amendola’s duplex, trying hard to calm down. She vibrated with excitement. It was going so smoothly, so quickly. Amendola’s colleague had innocently revealed that he was on vacation. She’d ferreted his address out of a public database, and driven all night to get to this shabby North Portland neighborhood.