Come A Little Bit Closer (The Sullivans #7)(67)

He thought he heard the sweet sound of her laughter, but then she was opening up and taking him inside and he was lost to everything but the heated pleasure she was giving him.

“Valentina.”

Her name was a prayer. A plea. A benediction.

And a vow that he would give her just as much pleasure as she was so unselfishly giving him. Soon.

If he were a better man, a stronger one, he would have stopped her to make sure she was satisfied more than once before he even thought about himself. But the way Valentina so openly tasted him, the fact that she wasn’t holding anything back from him as she hummed her pleasure at his loss of control, stripped him bare.

He’d had to be in control his whole life. For his family, for his mother, for his siblings, on movie sets and with the press. But with her he could let go of all of it.

And just be.

On a roar of pleasure that reverberated throughout the trailer, he gave himself entirely up to Valentina’s mouth, her hands, the greedy little sounds she made as she used her hands and mouth to take him to the edge and then all the way over it.

When she sat back on her heels, licking her lips like a contented cat, Smith couldn’t manage to do anything but stare down at her. Her hair was knotted from his hands, her lipstick was long gone, her skin was slightly damp, her cheeks flushed.

The words I love you were on the tip of his tongue, but even as far gone as he was after what she’d just done to him, he knew better than to tell her now. When he finally told her how he felt, he would make damn sure she didn’t try to write his feelings off as driven by the heat they generated between the sheets.

Or on the couch, for that matter.

But even though he couldn’t tell her tonight, he could show her. And even though he knew she was afraid to hear what he was telling her with his mouth, his hands, his body, he would make her listen.

The same way she’d just made him.

Chapter Twenty-four

Valentina had never done anything so crazy, so wild...or so wonderful in her entire life.

She could still feel the rush of exhilaration in her veins from the way Smith had lost control beneath her hands and mouth. It had been perfect. And so sweet.

Shockingly so.

“Your turn now.” Smith punctuated his words by wrapping his large hands around her waist and pulling her onto the couch. Before she knew what was happening, he’d reversed their positions and he was the one kneeling between her legs.

Feeling suddenly vulnerable, she knew she should make a joke or say something sexy. Instead, all that would come out was, “But I just had my turn.”

His eyes, already so dark, went even closer to black as he put his hands on either side of her face and kissed her. His tongue slipped and slid against hers in a shockingly sensual rhythm, so much like what they’d just been doing when she’d been the one on her knees.

“In that case,” he said in a low voice that reverberated up, then back down her spine, “it’s my turn now, isn’t it?”

All she could do was swallow. And maybe nod just a little bit so that he’d know what a good idea she thought it was.

Only, he didn’t do anything more than stare at her, his dark gaze roving hungrily, possessively, over every inch of her skin exposed in the naughty lingerie he’d bought for her.

He was so tall that even on his knees, when he straightened she had to look up at him. Even after his climax his erection had barely abated and now, as she used her legs to pull him so close that the sheer silk of her bra was brushing against his bare chest, his erection pressed against her, right where she was so desperate for more of him.

“Smith, I can’t wait. Not tonight. I want you. I need you. Now.”

Yet again, she openly admitted just how much she wanted him.

Needed him.

His dark eyes flashed with pleasure and so much heat she lost her breath just as his mouth crashed into hers. And then his hands were cupping her hips and he was moving them so that she was lying beneath him on her sister’s couch, still in her thong and bra and heels.

As his mouth found her neck and she arched into the bite of his teeth on the sensitive skin just beneath her ear; as his fingers slid silk away; as he found protection then moved inside of her in one hard thrust so that her gasp of pleasure joined his desperate groan; as her nails dug into his shoulders and her ankles crossed tightly across the small of his back while she urged him for even more—Valentina realized the foundation for her fears was disintegrating.

Because when they were loving each other like this, with no boundaries and even less control, he wasn’t a movie star anymore, wasn’t any part of the famous Smith Sullivan that millions of women fantasized about.

He was simply a man that she couldn’t stop falling deeper and deeper for with every laugh, every hug, every kiss. And every one of the dark, heated looks he gave her, every stroke of his hand across her skin, was full of something she’d been afraid to let herself acknowledge.

“Valentina.”

She opened her eyes to find Smith staring down at her, his beautiful face awash with pleasure and need and something she’d been trying so hard to pretend wasn’t there.

Love.

And it was with the word resonating in her head and Smith’s hands slipping through to hold hers on either side of her head that the first tremors of release tore through her.

“You’re mine,” he said, and she was.