It Had to Be You (Chicago Stars #1)(103)

His finger grew slippery as it pushed up a little and then withdrew, going round and round on its slow forever mission. She gasped for breath, taking short, quick pants. Her body was no longer part of the room, no longer lying on the bed, but spiraling toward some hot wet land.

He bent his head and took her with his mouth. She lost herself in pleasure. Then she felt not one finger, but two. Sliding. Pumping.

She knew he was watching her. Heard him praise her passion. “That’s good, baby. So good. Let it go. Let it go, sweetheart.”

“No,” she gasped, barely able to speak. “No. I want you.”

His fingers went deeper. “Do you, baby? Do you?”

“Yes, I . . .”

Her eyes flew open. Those fingers! They were everywhere. He knew no shame.

He laughed a devil’s laugh, earthy and lusty. “Relax, baby. Relax and let me feel you.”

She moaned and let him do what he wanted because nothing on earth could have made her tell him to stop, not even when he took her nipple in his mouth, suckled hard, and hurled her over the mountaintop.

She flew through space, end over end, spiraling, hitting the sun and then falling back to earth. He caught her safely before she hit the ground.

Long moments passed before her eyelids drifted open. “I couldn’t wait for you,” she finally whispered.

“I didn’t let you.” He settled between her legs.

She was slick and wet, but she still had trouble taking him. Feeling that sweet stretch, she tilted her hips to get more, then whimpered as he gave it to her.

He froze. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” she gasped in a thick whisper. “It’s wonderful.”

He arched his back like a great jungle cat, drove his hips, and she came again.

He laughed as he felt her shudders, then filled her mouth with his tongue and took her body away from her. It was his now. Sweet spoils won on a silken battlefield. Every inch belonged to him, and he would take it as he wished. Hard and deep, letting her feel the raw power of a strength so much greater than hers. Using her shamefully. Sensually. Making her cry out again and again in passion.

Sweat slicked his body but he wouldn’t let himself climax because he wasn’t done with her; he hadn’t felt enough of her, not even when he had put her knees to her shoulders and driven so deeply he was blowing apart.

It wasn’t enough! He wanted more. More of her sex. Her heart. Her soul.

She gave a soft cry that tore him apart, and something was unraveling inside him, something that should have remained coiled up tight and hard and safe. Frightened by instincts that had been developed in his childhood, instincts that warned him against the searing, unbearable pain of soft emotions, he turned her over like a rag doll. With one hand resting lightly on the back of her neck to hold her head down, he raised her hips, drawing her to her knees. Her blond hair swirled like a golden web on the pillow. He thrust into her from behind while he cupped the spilling bounty of her breasts in his hands and rolled the nipples between his fingers, taking her to that sweetest of all boundaries just this side of pain.

She was crying out his name, begging him to hurl her over the edge again, and this time he knew he couldn’t send her alone.

Her face was hidden, her sex jutted up for his use. He was rutting like an animal, so he shouldn’t have felt this all-encompassing tenderness, sensations so warm and soft they almost made him weep. He willed those gentle feelings away, cursed himself, but as she once again convulsed around him, he would have died for her.

His fierceness left him, and he turned her back so he could gaze down at that soft beautiful face, cheeks flushed, lips parted. Pulling her tight against him, he squeezed his eyes shut against the surge of an emotion he refused to name.

With a great cry, he flooded her.





21


Dan walked across the bedroom, unselfconscious about his nudity. As she lay in bed and gazed at the many scars on his body, she thought about all the hits he had taken over the years. He pulled a white terry cloth robe from the closet and slipped into it. “We’ve got to talk, Phoebe.”

She had never seen him look so serious, and memories of what had happened the first time they’d made love in that Portland hotel room came rushing back.

He approached the bed and sat on the edge looking down at her. “I’m afraid we both got carried away tonight. I didn’t use anything.”

She gazed at him blankly.

“I don’t know what happened. I’ve never been this careless, not even when I was a kid.”

Understanding dawned, and with it an irrational sense of disappointment that the idea of getting her pregnant was so upsetting to him. “You don’t have to worry. I’m on the pill.” He’d never know how recently she’d gone on it, right after the night in the airplane.

“These are the nineties. I’m worried about a little more than birth control. It’s been years since I’ve been with anyone but Valerie, and my contract with the Stars requires a regular physical. I know I’m healthy.” He looked her right in the eye. “But I don’t know the same about you.”

She stared at him.

“You’ve led a full life,” he said quietly. “I’m not passing judgment; I just want to know how careful you’ve been, and how much time has passed since you’ve had a blood test.”