Mean Streak(103)
“No, you don’t!” His shout echoed off the walls of the confined space. A few seconds passed, then he said in a low voice, “Trust me. You don’t.”
His strained enunciation, his unyielding expression intimidated her. She backed away from him. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I don’t want to know.” Looking around frantically, she said, “In fact, why did I even come here with you?”
“That, I will answer.” He took measured steps toward her. “I didn’t drag you off that balcony and force you to come with me. But I would have if necessary.” He let that sink in, then took a step nearer and kept closing in until his face hovered above hers.
“If I’d had to, I would have wrapped you in bailing wire and carried you off. Because I’d rather see you shy away from me, rather see you cringing with fright and mistrust like you are now, rather see you any other way except dead.”
It wasn’t poetry, but it was profound. Her heart expanded with emotion. She reached up to touch his cheek.
But before it could make contact, he caught her wrist and held her hand away from him. When he finally let it go, he motioned down the hall and ordered gruffly, “Go to bed. Lock the door if it makes you feel safer.”
*
He waited.
She didn’t move.
She remained staring up at him with eyes that were calm, accepting, trusting. The opposite of what they should be.
“Okay,” he growled, “you asked for this.”
He clasped her around the waist and turned her to face the wall. He pulled her sweater over her head, then discarded her camisole in the same ungentle manner. Her bra strap fell victim to his jerky impatience. The garment fell forward from her chest. He pushed it off her, then took her hands, placed them flat against the wall, and covered them with his as he crowded in behind her.
He nipped the side of her neck with his teeth, wanting to mark her as his, damn well knowing he had no right to her, no right even to want her. “Scared?”
“No.”
“Then I’m not doing it right.”
He charted a trail of biting kisses down her throat; she whimpered but with arousal, not fear. He thrust against her bottom, making certain she knew he meant business. “Now are you afraid?”
Rather than recoil, she pushed back, adjusting the fit, increasing the pressure, causing him to hiss through his teeth.
“You’re playing with fire, Doc.”
When she did it again with a grinding motion, he removed his hands from hers, reached around, and blindly unfastened her jeans. With little finesse, he pushed his hand into her panties and between her thighs, finding her hot, wet, swollen with the same insistent desire that was throbbing through him.
His fingers curled upward, into her. He stroked the magic spot and felt her quicken. Against her ear, he whispered roughly, “I want to be right there. Right now.”
He turned her and lifted her against him, carrying her down the short hallway and into the bedroom. He stood her beside the bed, and she began to take off the rest of her clothes as hastily as he began removing his.
He was naked before she got off her second boot. Flinging back the bedspread, he sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for her just as she stepped free of her underwear.
Positioning her between his open thighs, he held her breast and took the nipple into his mouth, tugging at it with hunger, almost desperation, before folding his arms around her, drawing her closer and pressing his face into her giving middle, then lower into the sweet muskiness of her sex.
Nuzzling there, he ran his hands up and down her thighs, then parted them with more mastery than necessary, because it was clear by now that, as baffling as it was, her trust in him was unshakable.
He used his thumbs to spread her, expose her, prepare her for his mouth’s assault. He dipped his tongue into her, once, twice, three times, going deep, then applied it to the tender flesh in fleeting strokes, eliciting from her choppy breaths that coalesced into a low moan when he sucked her tight little center into his mouth.
But he didn’t want her to come until he was inside her. He guided her down onto the bed, stood on his knees between her raised thighs, and was about to lower himself onto her when she said, “Wait!”
“I can’t.”
Well, he could—he did—when she angled up, clasped his ass between her hands and took the head of his cock into her mouth. The pleasure was so immense, he clenched his teeth and wasn’t even aware of the pressure he was applying to his jaw until the tip of her tongue delved into the groove, found the sweet spot, and he tried to speak. He gasped and groaned and managed to strangle out, “Christ, I thought I’d dreamed the way you do that.” A few seconds more and he panted, “Doc, stop. Stop.”
He eased her head away, but not before she got in one quick kiss on his tat.
When she lay back, he followed her down and sank into her, pushing until they couldn’t possibly be any closer, then he settled his weight onto her and buried his face in her neck. “You’ll be the ruin of me. But f*ck if I can help myself.”
He levered himself up and, eyes focused on hers, began to thrust into her.
And it was incredible, not only because she was so deliciously tight and silky. She was. Not only because she perfectly timed a corresponding motion for each short, quick jab and every long, smooth glide of his cock. She did.