Hard Beat(52)

The room fills with the sound of sex and pleasure, pleas and moans, passion unleashed and needs unfurled. And my God… talk about drugging a man into a coma. Everything about her forces me to concentrate so f*cking hard on the moment that I’m losing so much more than a physical release to her.

Her muscles begin to pulse around me as the sounds of skin against skin heightens everything about the moment. I’m fixated on getting us both there, hips thrusting, fingers gripping her, and neck taut with my impending release.

And then the bed frame starts squeaking with each and every drive in to the point that even though I’m so pent up, so addled with need for release, it’s so damn loud that when I look down and meet Beaux’s eyes, I can see her laughing.

“We’re breaking the bed,” she pants out with a soft laugh that ends on a sharp mewl as I grind my hips into her again, sparks gathering at the base of my spine and readying for the onslaught of sensation just beyond the horizon.

But the bed’s not the only thing that seems to be breaking; I think a tiny little piece of my heart just did too. There’s no way in hell I’m telling her that, though. I hide behind the thought by flashing a devil-may-care smirk that lasts long enough to catch her eyes lighting up before I return to concentrating on getting us back in the moment, squeaky spring and all.

It doesn’t take long to propel us onto that edge where lust and desire reign, want and need merge as one. With our bodies still connected in the most primal of ways, I lean down and slant my mouth over hers, the action driving me farther into her addictive * when I thought I couldn’t go any deeper. And with my mouth on hers, her every breath mingling with my own exhalations, both my tongue and cock savoring and demanding all at the same time, I coax her over the precipice, swallow her moans as she falls, and enjoy the rhythm of her muscles as she contracts around me.

And then she does this little thing, this lift of her hips in a motion chock-full of greed that tells me she wants more to prolong her release as long as she can, and the action, the motion, of her gripping me in intervals pulls me into the vortex of ecstasy.

I crash over the edge, muscles tensing, dick pulsing, thoughts annihilated by the white-hot heat streaking through me and exploding in bursts of warmth. I can’t weather the pleasure with my mouth to hers, can’t handle the rush of fiery heat followed by drowsy bliss that courses on a pumped-up kick in my veins, so I rear up on my knees, eyes closed tight, and her name a broken cry in the air as I empty myself.

Our labored breathing is all I can hear when I look down at her, a half smirk on my lips at the satisfaction on her face – flushed cheeks, lips swollen from mine, eyes hazy – before pulling ever so slowly out of her, immediately wanting to do it all over again.

Well, after I recover some, because damn… all guys might need a recovery time but this, her, what just happened, have drained me in every sense of the word. And it’s a new feeling, to be drained emotionally, physically, sexually, and not want to lie back and close my eyes and succumb to the exhaustion like usual. I don’t want to at all. I want to lie down next to her, prop my head in my hand, and admire her, talk to her, and just breathe her in.

Shit. I think the paradox this time around is that, rather than my slipping down the slippery slope from lust to love, Beaux and I just experienced something unique to us. We bonded during the adrenaline-fueled action of the raid, the worrisome fear over each other’s safety, and then the agonizing wait to see each other face-to-face. Hell yeah, we bonded, so I’m allowed to be a little in awe of her right now.

Then again, I also try to justify that it’s just being with someone almost every waking hour that has me concerned with her safety, but I’m not real big on lying, so why lie to myself? That lightness in my head could be because of more than just great sex. It could be because Beaux’s starting to mean something to me despite the mere month or so we’ve known each other.

But the time isn’t right, so I push the thoughts away, shove the little pinpricks warning me to slow the f*ck down away, and tell myself to enjoy the moment and the warm skin of the gorgeous woman in front of me. I settle down beside her, head propped on my hand, quiet my thoughts, and enjoy the moment.

Her hair is all over the place in stark contrast to the white sheets, but at the same time the fact that it’s falling out of her ponytail softens the sharp lines of her face. She meets my eyes, and I love that even though she’s so goddamn confident everywhere else in whatever this is between us, she appears shy right now. Her cheeks flush even more, and she averts her eyes before scooting into me so that the curves of our bodies fit perfectly into each other’s.

It’s a reflex that my arm wraps around her and pulls her tighter, our lips meeting in a soft sigh of a kiss that says the moment was so much more than solely physical, and yet neither of us wants to address it yet. Because physical attraction is acceptable, but feeling like this, the intensity with which I feel it, is extraordinary.

At least that’s what I hope she’s saying when her tongue meets mine in a soft dance of tenderness and acceptance. We cement our connection this way for a few moments, all hushed words and soft laughter. Hands smoothing over heated skin and heartbeats slowing down.

We settle into such a relaxed silence in the comfort of each other’s arms – so very different than what happened after the last time we had sex – that it kills me when I have to bring up the inevitable.