Full Throttle (Black Knights Inc. #7)(61)

And he was accused of being reticent with details? Well, how about them details? He’d damn near waxed poetic! Hooah!

She shook her head. Then, in consternation, he watched her face crumble before she buried her nose into his bare chest.

“Hey, now,” he murmured, rocking her from side to side, patting her narrow back, taking pleasure in her smallness, in her nearness. “What’s this all ab—”

That’s all he managed before she pushed back to look at him, her green eyes puffy and swollen, the tip of her nose shiny. The poor woman was a mess, no joke. And, at the same time, he’d never seen her looking more beautiful.

“I didn’t know.” She shook her head. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“You were so young, Abby. Too young. And even if that wasn’t the case, I was a nobody. And you were the soon-to-be president’s daughter.”

“Why do you keep saying that like it’s a thing?”

And although he didn’t think it was possible to love her any more, those simple, heartfelt words had the warmth in his chest, the joy in his heart expanding tenfold. “Because, to most people, it is a thing.”

“You’re crazy,” she insisted, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. His teeth itched to do the same. Catch that plump piece of flesh between them before he reintroduced his tongue to hers. “If anything, you were…are…the one who’s too good for me.”

His crack of laughter competed with the rumble of the deluge pounding on the roof. “Oh, Abby.” He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the delightful aromas of cocoa butter lotion, dryer sheets, and clean, clear jungle rain. “Only you could possibly believe that.” And, then, the idiot in his pants finally took notice of the fact that her skirt-covered bottom was pressing down on it. A telltale rush of blood surged to his groin.

His thoughts instantly turned from the past to the present. From old hurts and misunderstandings to new possibilities. He loved her. She admitted to adoring him—which wasn’t exactly the same as dropping the L-bomb, but it was close, right? Right. And the storm was probably going to rage for at least another hour. So he had a minimum of sixty minutes to finally, finally do the things to her in reality that he’d been doing to her in his fantasies for nearly a decade.

It wasn’t going to be enough. Not nearly enough. But it was a start. And for now, it’d have to do. He turned his face slightly, whispering in her ear, “I wanted you Abby. I wanted you then. I want you now. Let me have you.”

*

Abby’s body thrilled at his nearness, at his hot breath whispering in her ear. But her heart ached with sadness. Oh, how she wished she could give him what he wanted. But, if she let him have her without him first knowing what had happened, her part in what had happened, it would be another deception. And she was finished with lies. Finished with secrets.

She’d wanted to wait. Wait until they were somewhere safe. Somewhere he wouldn’t think twice about heading for the door and leaving her behind. But, unfortunately, the time for her confession had come…

“Carlos,” she whispered, her breath shuddering when he flicked his tongue into her ear. Her toes curled at the warm, wet intrusion. Her sex throbbing when her mind conjured up the image of him sticking it somewhere much more intimate. “There’s something you need to know about—Oh, God!”

His hand had traveled under her tunic. His big, callused fingers finding her nipple and pinching gently. She felt that caress from her breast all the way down to her clitoris. The little bundle of nerves tingled violently with every skillful pluck of his fingers.

No. No! She couldn’t give in to the pleasure he pressed on her, to the hot demand of his mouth when his lips landed atop hers. She turned her head, panting. Dizzy. “There’s something I have to tell you, something you have to know.”

“Not now, Abby,” he groaned, taking her hand and placing it over his distended fly. She’d felt the twitch of his big thigh muscles beneath her bottom, noticed the subtle trembling of his solid arms around her, but that was nothing compared to the throb of his hardened length against her palm. So big. So hot. So tempting. It took everything she had not to curl her fingers around him. “I want you too badly.” He bit the flesh over her throat, his teeth a gentle, stinging reminder of the power he kept in check. Her breath huffed from her lungs in a stuttering exhale. Her brain went fuzzy with passion, with pleasure. “I’ve wanted you for too long. I need you to let me—”

“But you wouldn’t want me if—”

“God, Abby,” he implored her, flipping her onto her back against the mat, wedging his hips between her thighs and stroking against her. Her eyes crossed and threatened to roll back in her head. “Please, please. Let me have you. Let me show you all the things I’ve been dreaming of showing you since you were eighteen.”

Sonofa—! This man. This man was killing her. And in that moment, for one split second, she allowed herself to revel in her own glorious death.

“B-but the—” she began, only to lose her words on a gasp as he stroked forward again. The cotton of her skirt was deliciously abrasive, damp from the deluge and from her body’s excitement.

“Don’t worry,” he said between kisses against her throat. “We have a while. Long enough, I think. And the rain will drown out our cries.”