Bound for Me (Be for Me #4)(45)

“Something else you want to explore, Sugar?” he laughed, pulling her close.

“Kiss me.”

She could lose herself in those kisses. And that was the problem.

She pulled back, pulled a condom from her pocket, felt satisfaction kick when his expression sharpened.

“Bruises okay?” she asked.

“Not a problem.” He snaked his hands round her waist, stroked.

He was acting brave, but she liked that he wanted her enough to put up with the pain. “The bed will be too soft, not good for your ribs.”

He looked startled, then thoughtful. “So what do you suggest?”

He had her jeans undone already. Sly.

“The floor is firmer, the rug here soft.”

“And the fire warm.”

“Very warm,” she agreed. “So you’d better get naked.”

He groaned. Then sighed. “We can’t.” His phone chimed, proving the point.

“We can if we’re quick. And you know I can be quick.”

“I know, that’s why I’m going to kiss you.” He dropped to his knees. Ignoring the phone.

“Oh no. Everything this time. Now.” She knelt too, managed to get his zipper undone.

“Demanding.”

“You’re the one who promised.” And she needed the escape right now.

His phone chimed. Again.

“Turn it off.”

He glanced at it a moment. Then at her. And switched it off.

She tossed it out of reach, bending to taste him the way she had last night.

“High-speed Savannah.”

“You’re complaining?”

“Never.”

She tried to roll the condom onto him, only her hands were shaking too much.

Seeing her struggle, he laughed, so damn sexy.

“You do it,” she snapped at him. Damn it, she just wanted him.

He took it off her, still laughing. “Slow down, I’m not taking you yet.”

“Why not?”

He hesitated.

“You think that stuff is still in my system?” She rolled her eyes. “Or is it that you’re having second thoughts?”

“I’m not the one with second thoughts all the time. I want you to be sure that this is what you want. I don’t want you to have regrets.” He watched her so closely. So intently.

“You don’t want me to think badly of you?”

“I don’t want you to think badly of you.”

So not going to happen. “Take me. Here now. Hard,” she challenged.

She wanted to forget. She wanted it fast.

Fast and hard was safe.

She was sick of fighting it. Sick of lying in her bed alone wishing he was there, caressing her, filling her… no, f*cking her.

Not having all of him last night was the stupidest thing she’d done. Because all she’d done since was think of him. Not checking out this place properly. Not concentrating. She was so damn distracted.

She stretched out on the thick rug, then rolled to her stomach, tossing her head so her hair tumbled behind her and she could see him as she shimmied her jeans and panties halfway down her thighs.

He ran his palm down her spine and she arched into the touch as he got to her butt.

“Damn it Savannah.” He muttered, his voice husky. “It’s the middle of the day, I have—”

“Do you want to or not?”

A muffled growl. “Too quick.”

“Never. I’m ready. Feel for yourself.”

He choked—a half-laugh, half-gasp. “You’re so outrageously bold. The sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He shifted, pushing one knee between her jeans-hampered legs. “Or heard.”

Truth was she’d never spoken to a guy the way she spoke to him. Had never wanted to. Never thought to. But somehow he’d unleashed all her inner naughty.

And it seemed she’d done the same to him, because it wasn’t his cock that he tested her with. But his tongue. She moaned, writhed.

“So wet.” He muttered. “So delicious.”

“Now,” she gasped. “I want to come with you in me.” She wanted him—no, his cock. She was thinking purely physical. Nothing but two bodies seeking satisfaction.

Nothing truly intimate.

“You like it a little animal?”

“So do you.”

In answer he wrapped his arms around her so he could use one hand on her clit, the other cupping her breast, his fingers working her nipple through the lace of her bra. A tight, top-to-toe erotic embrace. With all his weight he pinned her in place so she didn’t slide away as he thrust into her.

And he thrust. Fierce.

Yeah, in this, they were so well matched. Because she loved having all of him on her like this, of the limited room he had to slide inside because of her inability to spread her legs wide.

Tight. Hot. Wet. Heavy.

“More,” she muttered. “Move. More.” Sensation rippled, she pushed, wanting deeper.

He thrust again. Then again. And she met him, stroke for stroke.

His fingers rubbed. Quickly. Not gently. She trembled, her senses hurtling towards the destination. Wanting it so badly. Harder. Harder.

She moaned, another wordless plea.

He held her more tightly. Her fingers curled into the plush pile of the wool carpet.