Deep (Pagano Family #4)(44)

It was so much more than her breast, too. His long, fantastic, fully naked body was on hers, and he was not still. She could feel the muscles of his thighs flexing between hers as he drove his hips against her, keeping time with his mouth and hand. She could feel his hard length digging into her stomach. In all of it, she could feel his need, strongest of all. This strong, intense man, so dangerous, so full of controlled power, was nearly desperate in his need. Of her. Her clear sense of that truth was the most erotic, overwhelming part of this erotic, overwhelming occurrence. He needed her.

Moaning, she flexed her hips hard, driving herself up against him, trying to let him know, in this silence he clearly needed, that she was in, that she was his, that he could have her, take her, take what he needed. When she did, he grunted and tore his mouth from hers.

And then, staring down at her, he shifted, releasing her breast, reaching down and hooking her leg over his arm, dragging it up high, high enough that her thigh, ten days without yoga or much exercise at all, complained a little. Bev didn’t care. It could join the complaints of her ribs; she was ignoring it all in favor of the other, beautiful feelings filling her. He shifted again and pushed into her with impatient force, still staring into her eyes, his tormented expression illuminated only by the pale light reaching them from the kitchen, where she kept the light over the range on at night.

Nick was big, bigger than she’d been prepared for, and the stretch and sting was at first intense. And then he thrust again, harder, grunting. And then he seemed to lose all control. With one arm around her leg and the other shoved under her back, he dropped his head to her shoulder and just f*cked her, wildly, fiercely, rapidly. Punctuating every brutal thrust with a violent, growling grunt in her ear, he slammed into her again and again and again.

At first, Bev was afraid—it was far more intense than any sexual experience she’d ever had, and she could feel that it was more than physical need, somehow. There was something dark and dangerous in his wild abandon, something that she knew, that she could sense, transcended his assertion that he was not a gentle lover.

But her fear was quickly overtaken and silenced by her own need. He felt so good. His body on hers, in hers, felt incredible; his need of her, wild and consuming, suffused every physical sensation with emotion and intensified it all. Soon she was grunting with him, bringing her free leg up and around his waist, closing her fists in his hair, biting down on his shoulder as the waves of ecstatic frenzy rose and rose inside her until they crashed, and she threw her head back and cried out.

His thrusts continued their frantic pace for long afterward, extending her release until her body was a quivering, over-stimulated, exhausted mass, and then his pace changed, became syncopated, and he went still, with one last, anguished grunt that went on and on.

All at once, he relaxed, his full weight coming down onto her for the first time. Her need sated, her release achieved—and his, too—the complaints of Bev’s still-healing body began to clamor. She withstood for as long as possible, loving and wanting this supreme closeness, but she couldn’t breathe, and the pain grew until she thought she’d cry.

“Nick,” she whispered, trying not to sound distressed. He didn’t respond. “Nick, my chest.”

Her words took a beat to sink in, but then he said, “Fuck,” and pulled away—and then all the way up, out of her, off the bed. He grabbed his track pants off the floor of her bedroom and pulled them on, then left the room completely.

Bev lay there, stunned. She watched, too shocked to feel anything else, as he walked down her short hallway to the living room. Expecting him to leave, she felt a surge of relief when he went to her sofa and sat down. Then he put his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands.

She sat up and watched him for a minute or two. He didn’t move. So she got up and went to him.

When she sat next to him, one leg tucked under so she could face him, he didn’t react. She scooted closer and kissed his shoulder. Keeping her voice calm and soft, feeling like she was trying to soothe a wild animal, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

He lifted his head and dropped his hands, letting them dangle between his thighs. But he didn’t look at her. “I’ll send someone to the drugstore when it opens.”

She hadn’t expected him to say anything like that. “What?”

He turned his head slightly, but still not enough to make eye contact. “I didn’t use a condom.”

“Oh!” She let that sink in some more. “Oh! No—it’s okay. I’m on the Pill. And I’m healthy. If you are, then it’s okay.” She had no concerns about his health. Maybe that was stupidly trusting, but she simply felt sure he was healthy.

Now he looked at her. “You didn’t think that was something I should know?”

“Well, yeah. Of course. But I don’t know…it’s a weird thing to just bring up out of the blue, you know? Usually I use condoms anyway until I’m serious with a guy. When I know it’s safe. But it’s okay—I’m not worried.” A tiny nit of worry goosed her then. “Should I be?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a barely-smile. “No.” Now that his eyes were on her, he studied her, that small smile gone. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

She smiled brightly, teasing, trying to lighten his mood a little. “I thought you didn’t have regrets.”