Blue-Eyed Devil (Travis Family #2)(85)

"Go on, damn you," I said. My voice cracked. "Go on and do it." But Hardy didn't move except for the hand on my back. His palm glided up and down, and then around my waist to my stomach. He bent farther over me, his other hand cupping my breast. His mouth came to my shoulders, my spine, and he was groaning and kissing me while his fingers worked down below, opening me. I could only breathe in gasps, my body relaxing, yielding. I pictured his hand with those star-shaped scars on them . . . the last time we'd been in bed I'd made a project of kissing each tiny mark. And remembering, I went wet, responding helplessly to the touch, scent, warmth, that had become familiar.

"Do it," I said again, panting.

He seemed not to hear, intent on fondling the soft pleated flesh beneath his fingers. His legs pressed between mine, widening my stance.

The last traces of fear melted away. I pushed my h*ps back, quivering as I felt the stiff length of him. But he wouldn't give it to me, only massaged with agonizing gentleness until I clawed the velvet sofa, my breath coming in sobs.

Darkness wrapped around us, cool and cradling, while he centered himself. I whimpered, my entire being focused on the place where he pressed me, inner muscles working in anticipation.

He thrust forward, and I came from the thick-skewering pleasure, and he rooted deep while his hand stayed on my sex, stroking and stroking. He took me down to the floor, kneeling, pulling me against his chest. My head tipped back on his shoulder. I was raised and lifted, moaning in rhythm with the full slippery pitch of flesh into flesh until the delight broke and spread and flooded me with fresh heat.

Hardy let me rest on his thighs, his arms locked around me.

When my breathing had slowed, he carried me into the bedroom, His grip was tight. He was in a dominating mood. And it was primal and even a little threatening, but at the same time I was aroused beyond belief, which stunned me. 1 would have to figure out why . . . I needed to understand . . . but I couldn't think with his hands on me. He knelt on the bed, reaching beneath my bottom to hoist my h*ps off the mattress.

I was filled in a slow plunge, one of his hands going to the wet triangle between my thighs. The steady pumping and teasing, while he kept me lifted and supported, sent me hurtling into new sensation, cresting, easing, surging again. When my pleasure had finally spun out, Hardy pushed me flat, my arms and legs spread wide, and he spent inside me with violent pulses. I curved my arms around him, loving the feel of his shuddering body over mine.

Gasping, he rolled us both to our sides. I heard my name carried on a taut breath. For a long time he held me to him. His hands compressed my body at slow intervals, molding me closer.

Resting my head in the crook of his arm, I slept for a little while. It was still dark when I awoke. I felt from the tension in Hardy's body that he was awake too. I rocked slowly against the insistent throb of his erection, my temperature rising. His mouth came to my neck and shoulder, kissing the soft skin, tasting.

I pushed at his shoulders, and he went over easily, letting me straddle him. Gripping his sex, I positioned him and sank down. I heard the faint whistle of his breath through his teeth. He steadied my h*ps with his hands, letting me find a rhythm. He belonged to me absolutely . . . I knew it, I felt it in that moment of masculine surrender. I was riding him, giving it to him, and he groaned and arched his h*ps to meet every downward pump. His hands slid up my thighs to the center, caressing with his thumbs until I came, and that set him off too. He stiffened beneath me, the pleasure spiking. His hand closed behind the nape of my neck as he pulled me down to kiss him. A forceful kiss, flavored with desperation. "It's okay," I whispered afterward in the quiet room, feeling the need to comfort him. "It's okay."

Morning was nearly over by the time I awoke. The covers had been drawn up carefully around me, and my discarded clothes had been retrieved and draped neatly over the back of a chair. I called out sleepily for Hardy, wanting him to come back to bed. But as I was greeted with silence, I realized he'd left me alone in his apartment.

I rolled to my stomach, wincing a little as I felt an accumulation of tiny strains and pulls. An embarrassed grin spread across my face as I remembered the previous night. I might have thought it had been a long erotic dream, except that my body was letting me know it had definitely happened.

I felt curiously light and buoyant, almost feverish with happiness.

The night had been different from anything I had ever experienced before. Sex on a new level . . . deeper, more intense, opening me emotionally as well as physically. And it had affected Hardy the same way, which had probably scared the crap out of him.

I realized Nick had always regarded sex as a kind of annexation. I had never been an individual to him, certainly not someone whose thoughts or feelings mattered. Which meant that when Nick had sex with me, it had really been nothing more than a form of mast***ation.

Whereas Hardy, even in his wildness, had made love to my mind and body, to me. And he had let me in past his defenses, however unwillingly.

I no longer believed in the idea of soul mates, or love at first sight. But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life, if you were lucky, you might meet someone who was exactly right for you. Not because he was perfect, or because you were, but because your combined flaws were arranged in a way that allowed two separate beings to hinge together.

Hardy would never be the easiest man to have a relationship with. He was complex and strong-willed and rough-edged. But I loved those qualities about him. I was more than willing to take him exactly as he was. And it didn't hurt that he seemed equally game to take me on my own terms.