Hard Rules (Dirty Money #1)(56)

“I told you. I couldn’t stay away. And…” I hesitate a moment on a confession, a piece of myself I’m supposed to deny now, but I can’t. Not with him and what I know of his father now. “And because,” I continue, “my father killed himself and I know what it’s like to love and hate a parent at the same time. And I know how that guts you and fills you with guilt.”

I have barely said the words and his hands are framing my face, and again, he is looking at me, but not with a question this time, but rather with shock that fades into heat and desire, and then he is kissing me, deeply, completely. And he lets me taste the guilt I’ve proclaimed to understand. The anger, that I know and expect, is there too. Hot. Fierce. Intense and barely contained. It is raw, the way I know his emotions have to be as well and I am certain he wants to drive them away, at least for now. For a moment in time that lets him forget what will never truly be gone.

The elevator dings and he tears his mouth from mine, lacing our fingers together and leading me into the hallway without stopping. With purpose in his steps, he walks toward his apartment, and I am right there with him. I am ready to be alone with him, to revel in every second I have with this man. I know it can’t last. And I am ready to be the way he escapes and finds just a little peace in the war that rages in his reality.

By the time we are at the door my heart is racing and my knees are weak, not from nerves, but from the pulse of energy radiating between us. He opens the door and we are inside his dark apartment at almost the same moment. He releases me then, leaving me chilled in all the places he’d made me warm, which is pretty much everywhere. The door shuts behind me, sealing our deal to spend this night together. A moment later, maybe two, Shane’s hands settle on my arms, and before I know what is happening, I’m facing the wall, my purse clattering to the floor, my hands pressed to the hard surface in front of me. He steps into me, his big body cradling mine, wrapped around me, hard where I am soft. Right in every way that nothing could ever make wrong.

“We’re going to f*ck. Just f*ck and I need you to tell me you know that.”

“I’m the one who said—”

“Say it.”

“I understand.”

“Say it.”

“We’re just f*cking.”

He leans in closer, his breath a warm tickle on my neck, his voice a firm demand. “You do what I say. You trust me. Without question.” Trust. It is not something I give easily, and yet, I sense that this isn’t about just wanting my trust. It’s not even really about trust, but rather the control death steals from you.

“Emily—” he begins.

“Yes,” I say. “You can have the control.”

“I asked for trust.”

“Same thing,” I say, and he must not disagree, as he unzips my skirt, letting it fall to the ground, and already he’s dragging my jacket down my shoulders, his fingers caressing my skin and leaving goose bumps in their wake. I shiver and oh so easily, I am lost, not in worries or fears, but in this man, a thunderstorm of emotions and sensations assaulting my senses. There is no time for anything else but him, no room, and already my shirt has fallen to the ground, my bra is unhooked. Another blink, and Shane is on one knee, his fingers twining in the lace strips at my hips, dragging my panties down to my ankles. I have an instant to realize just how naked I am, inside and out, before his teeth scrape my backside, and I moan with the tightening of my sex and nipples. I’ve barely recovered from a rush of pleasure, before he’s standing again, lifting me, and kicking aside my clothing, my shoes lost in the process.

And then he is turning me to face him, tearing away my bra, his hands bracketing my waist, eyes lowering to rake over my breasts, then lifting to my face. “Trust has to be earned. Control can be taken and if you think control and trust are the same thing, you’ve been with the wrong man. I’m not the wrong man. At least, not tonight.”

“No,” I agree. “You are not the wrong man.”

“No, I am not, but right now, I just need to f*ck. Hard and fast, and then we’ll do it right.”

“Hard and fast is right, if that’s what you need.”

“What do you need?”

“You,” I say, repeating what he’d said to me that first night we were together. “Just you.”

His eyes darken and he tugs his shirt off over his head. Before it even hits the ground, my hands are on his chest, fingers nestled in the springy hair there, heat seeping from his body, to mine. He cups my head and kisses me, and I sink into him, melting … Oh yes, I am melting into one big puddle of lust and desire, free in a way with this man that is indescribably different than with the men of my past. The way everything is indescribably different with Shane. And he is touching me, caressing me, pinching my nipples one moment, his fingers in the slick wet heat of my sex the next. We are wild. We are ready for more and more and more, but he pulls back, pressing his hands on the wall behind me. “Holy f*ck. I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on the pill,” I blurt out, and quickly add, “I don’t do unprotected sex. I just … I’m on the pill. I swear to you. The last thing I want is to get pregnant.”

He cups my face. “For who?”

“What?”

“Who did you go on the pill for?”