Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy #1)(14)
She tasted like the cupcake he’d called her. So delicious he wanted to eat her up. So sweet he couldn’t get enough, no matter how much he immersed himself in the kiss. He burned for her. She trembled for him. His cock pulsed with excruciating need beneath the fly of his jeans, and lust, thick and heavy, fogged his brain.
With his mouth fused to hers, he guided her backward, until her ass hit the edge of the table they’d just been sitting at. His hands dropped to her hips, and with a slight lift, she was sitting on the flat surface. Breathing hard against her parted lips, he pushed her legs wide apart and moved in between, so that the rigid length of his erection aligned with the front panel of her panties. Even through the denim, he could feel her heat and dampness, and it drove him wild.
He thrust his tongue deep inside her mouth, matching the grind of his cock against her sex. She whimpered and shamelessly tightened her thighs around his waist. Her soft hands found their way beneath his T-shirt and skimmed over his abs and continued up to his chest, until her fingers reached his nipples and plucked at the tight, sensitive tips.
He groaned and shuddered. His dick throbbed almost painfully, and he barely managed to clench his jaw against the onslaught of relentless heat surging through him.
What the hell was he doing? If she’d been any other woman, he would have been balls deep inside her by now, driving them both toward a mind-bending orgasm. But he intuitively knew that Samantha Jamieson wasn’t someone he could f*ck mindlessly and casually walk away from afterward. She was well-bred, refined, and probably didn’t venture beyond traditional missionary sex. He was rough around the edges and liked his encounters hot and sweaty and down and dirty.
He jerked back so that there were a few inches of space between them and more than enough room to put an end to their very near miss. She looked up at him, her lips wet and swollen from his kiss, her face flushed with desire, and her gaze exhilarated and oh-so-hopeful for much, much more.
It wasn’t going to happen. “You’re playing with the hottest kind of fire there is, Cupcake,” he said, his voice tinged with an unmistakable warning.
Her chin lifted ever so slightly, and the corner of her mouth curved upward in a brazen smile. “You didn’t seem to mind a few moments ago.”
Jesus f*cking Christ. He wanted to do dirty things to that sassy mouth of hers, wanted to show her how he handled impudent women in the bedroom. Resisting the urge took effort—because just imagining the feel of her bare ass quivering beneath the smack of his hand made him harder than stone—but he managed to keep his head focused on drawing those all-too-important lines between them. He needed to set her straight, establish clear boundaries between them, and the only way he knew to do that was to be blunt and crude enough to shock some sense back into her upper-class sensibilities.
Bracing his hands on the table on either side of her hips, he leaned in close and gave her his best intimidating scowl. “I’m not a gentleman, Samantha,” he said harshly. “I don’t do soft and gentle and sweet. I like to control and f*ck so hard and deep you’ll scream and be sore the next day. I’d want you on your knees, with my hands fisted in your hair while you suck my cock, and then I’d bend you over this table, spread your legs wide, and f*ck you all over again.”
That definitely got her attention, but not in the way he’d hoped. Her eyes widened, and her breathing deepened, and she licked her lips in a way that told him she was playing every one of those wicked scenarios through her mind.
“What…what if that’s what I want?” she asked softly.
The muscles in his stomach tightened, and he exhaled a slow, deep breath as he straightened once again. “It’s not going to happen.” He had to be smart enough for them both. “If you’re going to be staying here, we need to set some rules.”
She frowned at him, jerking back in a way that told him he’d hit a nerve. “I’m twenty-six years old, and I’ve spent my entire life being told what to do. I’m done with rules, Clay. I’m done being a straight-laced good girl when the woman inside of me wants excitement and passion and a man who can show me both.”
“I’m not that man, Samantha,” he said gruffly. “You’re just being wild and rebellious now that you have a little freedom, and you like the way it feels. There’s no way I’m going let you do something you’d regret later.”
She pursed her lips but didn’t argue further, and that, more than anything, made him nervous. Whoever she’d been before, this incarnation of Samantha Jamieson clearly had no problem going after what she wanted.
And she’d made it clear she wanted him.
* * *
SAMANTHA LIKED KATRINA immediately. She was friendly, kind, and arrived at Clay’s place with a tank dress and a pair of flip-flops for Samantha to wear since her blouse and pants were still dirty. Katrina was shorter and more petite in size, but the dress was cut in a way that hung loose on Samantha’s body and would work until she could get something else that fit properly.
“Ready to go?” Katrina asked once Samantha walked out of Clay’s bedroom, now wearing the more comfortable outfit.
“Yes. Thank you again for the loan on the dress and shoes,” Samantha said, feeling momentarily self-conscious because she’d had to borrow someone else’s clothes. That was another first for her. “I really appreciate it.”