The Great Escape (Wynette, Texas #7)(21)

Who was the forbidden fruit? Herself or him? She didn’t want to think, only to feel. He dipped his head to her shoulder, but she wasn’t going to be the only naked person in the room, and she tugged off his towel. It fell across their feet as their bodies met. His lips touched her collarbone. He nipped. Moved onto her neck. He hadn’t shaved, and his beard scraped lightly over her skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps.

She’d spent hours today pressed against his body, and now that she’d made up her mind to do this, she wanted to feel more of it. She splayed her hands against his chest. He lingered just below her earlobe. She didn’t want him to kiss her, and she turned her head before he could reach her lips. The movement exposed more of her neck, and he accepted the invitation.

Before long, his hand went to her breast, his thumb to the crest. Hot blood rushed through her. He flicked it, and she did the same to him. His breathing came faster, and so did hers. He hooked his arms under her bottom, lifted her, and carried her to the bed she’d staked out for herself. No kisses. No endearments. Nothing that would remind her of Ted.

He flipped the covers back with one hand. As they fell into the sheets she accidentally scratched him. She didn’t care. She dug her hands into his wild curls and tugged simply because she wanted to.

“Ouch.”

“No talking,” she said.

“Like it rough, do you?”

Yes. That was exactly how she wanted it. No solicitude or consideration. No tender caresses.

She slipped her hands between his legs and squeezed. Not hard enough to cause him pain. Just enough to make him feel the tiniest bit vulnerable.

“Watch it,” he said.

“You watch it,” she said.

He reared above her, one corner of those sadistic lips kicking up. “Aren’t you full of surprises …” And just like that, he’d pinioned her wrists to the bed and pressed her into the mattress with his body.

A dangerous thrill shot through her.

He dragged his unshaven jaw across her nipple. The deliciously painful abrasion made her gasp. He did it again. She twisted beneath him, a movement that left her open and vulnerable.

“I was hoping for a little more foreplay”—he ripped the foil around the condom with his teeth—“but if that’s the way you want it …”

She’d never imagined anyone could pull on a condom so fast. He recaptured her wrists. With one powerful thrust he drove inside her.

She gasped. Her legs fell open. He gave her no time to adjust to his size before he began to pump. He displayed no finesse. Only deep, powerful strokes that touched her very core. Strokes that required nothing of her but a submission she didn’t feel like offering. She wrapped her heels around his calves. Bucked beneath him. His teeth gleamed as he smiled.

Before long, sweat beaded on his forehead, but still he thrust. Refusing to give in until she did.

But she wouldn’t go first. She’d hold out forever. Die before she let him win this battle, which, like most wars, had lost its point. His dark eyes grew glassy. His weight heavy. A whimper slipped through her lips. Another. His grip slackened on her wrists. She curled both hands around his sides. Dug in her nails. She owed him nothing.

And with that knowledge, she gave him everything.

At the exact moment he lost his own battle.

His back arched, shoulders lifted, hips drove. Flurry. Quake. Flood.



“WANNA BEER?” HE SAID AFTERWARD, not looking at her, every bit the great Neanderthal.

“No. I want to sleep. Alone.” She pointed toward the other bed, as rude as she could be.

He didn’t seem to care.



THE SOUND OF THE MOTEL room door awakened her the next morning. She forced her eyes open. Panda stood there, holding two cups of coffee he must have picked up in the motel office. Being a skank was a new experience—not nearly as much fun the morning after. She wanted to pull the sheet over her head and beg him to go away. She left the sheet where it was and reached for a little attitude. “I want Starbucks.”

“Hurry up and get dressed.” He set the coffee on the dresser.

Pretending last night hadn’t happened would only make her feel worse. “Sex is supposed to be a mood enhancer. What happened to you?”

“Real life,” he retorted, as prickly as his day-old stubble. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

So much for cozy chitchat, but what did she care? She’d broken one more link—the final link?—in the chain that bound her to Ted. He was no longer the last man she’d slept with.

Panda was standing impatiently by the bike, her helmet dangling from one hand, his coffee cup in the other, when she emerged from the motel room. A storm during the night had left the air heavy with humidity, but she doubted that was the reason he looked like a time bomb about to detonate. Trying to conjure up all the impertinence and bravado of her fourteen-year-old self—her fourteen-year-old virginal self—was useless in this case, but what about Viper, her biker chick alter ego? Her eyes narrowed. “Chill, dude.”

Ohmygod! Had she really said that?

He scowled and pitched his cup into an overflowing trash can. “It’s two weeks, Lucy. Time’s up.”

“Not for me, babe. I’m just getting started.”

She’d thrown him off balance almost as much as she’d thrown herself off. “Whatever you think you’re doing,” he said with a glare, “stop it.”