Bound for Me (Be for Me #4)(60)

Her soul.

“Connor—”

“I’m here.”

Her fingers curled hard into him as her pleasure escalated. She felt his flinch, saw the flare in his eyes. Felt his force step up a gear.

“I want you,” he grated. “So. Fucking. Much.” He pounded. “All of you. With me.”

Her arms, legs tightened. She lifted her hips as best she could given the way he was driving her deep into the mattress. All the while she couldn’t tear her gaze from his.

A tempest of sensation streamed through her. She screamed, shuddering beneath him, her body contracting around him. His answering shout rang in her eyes, reverberating through her body. Her own pleasure doubling as she absorbed the extent of his.

So much pleasure. So much passion.

So much emotion.

The look on his face was so searing, she couldn’t take it anymore. She closed her eyes.

Long moments later she still lay pinned to the bed by his big body. Bound not by silk cords or metal chains, but by him alone. The sheer magnificence of him. And her inability to get enough of the delight he gave her.

She realized she’d been played. Bait and switch. He’d promised he’d be some kind of sex slave—that she could best him. Be the boss of this. Be the one in control.

Only he’d tricked her. Flipped her.

And now here she was, a molten mess of lax muscles and blissed-out bones. Too close to him. Too intense. Too good. And there was no denying her response. No holding back.

Sealed together with him, there was nothing she wouldn’t agree to if he asked.

As she lay unable to move, all energy wrung from her body, he lifted up onto his elbows to look at her. She read raw, masculine satisfaction in his expression. A level of relief in his features that she’d not seen before.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “That’s what I wanted.”

Savannah shut her eyes even as her body warmed and slicked and sought his possession all over again.

What he’d wanted was her sexual submission. Sex. That was all.

But what he’d taken, was her heart.

She’d fallen for him. He owned the source of her father’s heartache. Her heartache. He might have been trying to do the right thing but inadvertently he’d made it so much worse.

And now?

She was as much of a fool as her father. As her mother.

And the only thing she could do, was run away.





Chapter Eighteen





Connor stretched out, smiling, eyes still closed, rousing slowly from the best sleep ever. Satisfaction still warmed him, so did the residual soreness.

Physical? Yes.

Fast? Hell no.

He curled his arm around her, drawing her back against him. He liked the whole body contact and her soft sleepiness.

But she stiffened and pulled away. Sitting up.

“What’s wrong?” Why wasn’t she looking at him?

Why wasn’t she rolling to face him and welcome her into her heat? He wanted to be with her again, damn the aching muscles. But she pulled away, getting right out of bed.

“Nothing.” She pulled the nearest shirt over her head.

It was one of his Summerhill tees. It skimmed the top of her thighs. And suited her.

“And I’m a flying pink flamingo,” he muttered dryly. “You can’t hide your bad moods from me. Or anyone.” How the hell could she wake up moody after what they’d shared last night?

His own mood plummeted, vulnerability slipped its sharp blade beneath his skin.

“Don’t be smart.” She turned, hunting out her panties and jeans.

“You got a headache?”

“No.”

His phone buzzed. Mentally he cursed the caller. “What is it?” he snapped.

“Sorry Connor. There’s someone here to see you.”

At this hour? “Who?”

“He hasn’t given me his name. But he’s very insistent in a very quiet way. He’s been waiting here since eight thirty.” His manager was speaking in low tones. “I think you need to come and meet him.”

“Eight-thirty?” What time was it now? Connor glanced at his watch and sprang from the bed. Just after ten? When in his life had he ever slept in? “Why the hell didn’t you call me sooner?”

“I... uh.. Didn’t want—”

“I’ll be down in five,” he growled.

He glanced over at Savannah. She was finishing dressing, with ferocious attitude and jerky movements.

He yanked pants and a shirt on in record time, ensuring he was only a pace behind her down the small spiral staircase.

“I’m leaving,” she finally said something just as they got to the bottom.

“To go to work?” He held the door for her to go through the small lounge near his private entrance on the ground floor.

“Leaving Summerhill.”

“Not yet you’re not.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“Now is not the time for drama. You’re not leaving. Look last night was—”

“I’m sorry if this is a bad time.” Another voice chimed in.

Connor froze. He hadn’t realized his manager had let the guy wait in here.

“Of course not.” Connor span towards the sound of the voice, automatically switched into hotel mode.