Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(124)

She was scared of it. It was up to her to put her foot down, to make him stop, but this was too big to stop. Too strong.

"This is what I want, Erin," His soft voice challenged her. "Prove to me that you're my woman. Show me that you know that I'm your man."

"But you're angry," she said unsteadily. "You're—you're—"

"Furious," he agreed. "I'm so angry I think my dick is about to explode. Suck on me, Erin."

He pushed himself against her lips, made her taste his salty heat.

She was too aroused to resist him. She clutched his hips and drew his hot, smooth member deep into her mouth. She bathed him with hot, wet, suckling tenderness, with the swirl and flutter of her tongue.

She forgot the dress, forgot Mueller, forgot everything except this raw, elemental dance of lust and longing, and amazingly, she found her power over him again in his harsh, sobbing breaths, in the desperate way he thrust himself against her. She gripped him in her hands, exulted when she felt his climax gather, tighten, about to burst. He flung his head back, gasping, and pulled her head away from his penis. The pulsations of the orgasm that he had denied himself throbbed heavily against her gripping, sliding hands.

She looked up at him. "Connor? Why—"

"No," he said. "I don't want to come yet. I want to f*ck you first."

He jerked her up to her feet and dragged her close to him, sliding his hand beneath the curve of her bottom and into her cleft, seeking out the liquid excitement hidden there. "I won't force you if you don't want me," he said. "But I don't scare you, do I, Erin? You're sopping wet. I want to bend you over and f*ck you hard. Do you want it?"

She had no words, no strength to resist this dark tide of passion. Her thighs clenched around his hand, silently begging for more.

"Oh, yeah." He set his teeth delicately against her throat and licked away the sheen of sweat on her skin. "I take that as a yes. Tell me if I'm wrong. Tell me quick, because in a few seconds it's going to be too late."

Her voice was locked in her throat She craved his strength and passion, she craved the savage, conquering warrior behind his mask. She moved against his hand, seized his penis, and gave it a long, slow, swirling caress. A sensual demand he could not misunderstand.

That was all the answer he needed.

He exploded into movement. She spun through the dim room, dazzled by hot red streaks of light and darkness. Always before, her rustic basket lamp had struck her as homey and cozy. Now the effect was as voluptuous as an erotic dream set in a Victorian bordello.

He bent her over, shoving her face down onto the table. The teapot and the vase of dried flowers toppled, rolled, and shattered on the floor. The sugar bowl tipped and spilled sugar across the table. Scattered granules glinted in the reddish light like snow at sunset. Connor shoved her hair out of her face. She saw his shirt fly off behind him out of the corner of her eye. He thrust his legs between hers, kicked them open.

She was desperate for intimacy with him, but this incoherent, furious sexual energy separated them as much as it aroused them. The room was silent but for their harsh breathing. He pressed against her and thrust inside, too hard. It hurt, deep inside. She let out a sharp cry.

He stopped moving instantly. She hadn't softened enough yet for such a total invasion. Tension gripped her. An awful, shrinking fear that this could turn really bad. That he might punish her with his body.

He did not He curved himself over her in mute, trembling apology and petted her, soothing her with his hands. His fingers silently begged her forgiveness as they slid around her hips and into her damp thatch, seeking her clitoris. They coaxed and sought her pleasure with tireless, tender persistence. When she relaxed and moved herself against him, he finally began to rock inside her, gliding in tender, careful thrusts.

He pressed his face against her throat, an animal gesture, nuzzling its mate. "You are so goddamn beautiful, Erin," he said roughly.

Her throat began to shake. His thrusts deepened. Tears wet her face, pressed hard against the spilled sugar on the table. Salt and sweet against her open, panting mouth. No matter how angry he was, he could not bear to hurt her.



Connor sucked in a deep breath, concentrating until the drum roll of impending ejaculation had receded. He didn't want this to finish quickly. He wanted it to be extremely memorable for her. He wanted to lay his claim, put his stamp on her, no matter how futile the effort.

He stared down at their joined bodies. His cock gleamed as it emerged from the slick, clinging recesses of her body. Her delicious scent was a humid, intoxicating cloud. Her flushed face was turned to the side, eyes squeezed shut, hair a dark tangle against the table. Her rosy buttocks quivered, and the tight folds of her cunt clasped around him. She was beautiful and red-hot, and she was his.

Goddamn it, she was his.

He'd started out with every intention of being hard and selfish with her, but it happened again, like it always did. She surrounded him with her heat and her scent and her softness, and bam, he'd already coalesced into one writhing entity, totally fused with her. Tuning into her feelings so he could find just the angle, just that perfect pressure that would stoke the hot glow deep inside her that he sensed, like a burning coal in his mind. The table rocked on its wobbly legs with every slap of flesh against flesh, with every gasping pant. She was dripping, whimpering, her sheath so softened that he could finally dare to let go, and f*ck her as deep and hard as he longed to without hurting her.