Fury on Fire (Devil's Rock #3)(65)

He sucked in a deep breath, searching and digging for the words buried somewhere inside him where goodness and right still existed. Go. Get away. Leave me alone. Don’t come back.

Screw it. Tossing his well-intentioned plans aside, he seized her wrist and tugged her inside, slamming the door shut behind her.

He plucked the plate of brownies out of her hands and set both his beer and the plate on his countertop.

“What are you—” she started to ask.

Turning around, he took her face in both hands and pulled her toward him. “I’m interested in a different kind of dessert.”

He kissed her hard and fierce. She said something. Mumbled words fought between their lips, but he ignored them and kissed her harder—until she was panting and their hands were wild, groping and tearing them free of clothing.

When they were both fully naked, he grabbed her by the waist and plopped her on top of his kitchen table. Her wide eyes met his. “North . . .”

He heard the hesitation as clear as day in her voice. “You’re good, baby,” he assured her, ignoring the whisper in his head that told him to stop, to not do this again with her. To her.

He reached for his wallet inside his jeans and quickly removed a condom, watching her, naked and quivering on top of his kitchen table as he tore it open with his teeth. His hand gave the barest tremor as he rolled it down his aching cock. He reached for one of her small rose-tipped breasts. He fondled her roughly. First one perfect breast, then the other.

Her head dropped back and she released a keening moan. One glance down and he could see she was already glistening wet and ready for him. It was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. She was. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her toward him with a growl, until he was right there, poised and brushing against her sex. She choked out a sound that might have been a word. Her fingers grabbed him, nails scoring deep into his biceps as she urged him closer, her eyes so shining and radiant that he was certain he could find her in a room void of any light.

He couldn’t wait a moment longer. He plunged into her with no ease or delicacy. It was base and primal and hard, and exactly what he craved. Maybe what he had craved for years. It felt more satisfying than anything he’d been chasing, anything he’d had, except maybe the last time with her.

She screamed and dropped back on the table, her arms flung wide and outstretched above her head in abandon.

A curse seethed between his clenched lips as she surrounded him, hugging him like a silken glove. He looked down at her, spine arched, upturned breasts flushed pink with desire. She was so pretty it actually hurt to look at her. Her lips were puffy and bruised from his mouth and her eyes looked so wide and guileless and slightly stunned as he worked in and out of her. He was corrupting her. He knew it, and while he hated himself, while he couldn’t bear it, he couldn’t stop either. Her sex pulsed and flexed around him, pulling him in impossibly deeper.

Digging his hands into her hips, he slid out from her and flipped her over on the table, lowering her legs to the ground. He spread her feet apart so that she was standing on the tile floor, bent waist down for him. As tall as she was, the angle was perfect—and so was the view of the sweet swells of her ass.

He stroked her, finding her slick heat, so wet and swollen for him. Her clit was distended and so sensitive she cried out when he gave it the barest graze.

“Too. Much,” she gasped, squirming away.

“You can take it, Faith,” he rasped, wrapping an arm around her waist. He bore down on the little nub, rubbing it in a fast little circle.

A shuddering sob racked her body, followed in quick succession by another one. She cried out, pressing her palms against the table and pushing back against him. “North!” she pleaded.

He answered her by plunging back into her tight *. A deep growl spilled out of him. He stroked a hand down her spine while still working his other one between her legs.

For each of his thrusts she pushed back, meeting him with similar force until they were both crying out, both shuddering. She exploded first, shrieking and grinding against him, her sex milking him, squeezing him like a vise as she hit her climax.

He followed fast behind with his own release, shouting like he never did. Like the man he wasn’t. A man who wasn’t burdened.

He draped over her for a lingering moment, his forehead resting against her back as his breath crashed out of him. She was bewildering like that, making him forget who he really was in a moment of passion. A dangerous thing. He could never forget.

He pulled out from her body and moved into the kitchen, forcefully tossing the condom in the trash. When he turned around she was already on her feet. Hands shaking, she dressed herself. He leaned one hip against the table, cautioning himself not to touch her again when that was exactly what his body cried out to do. He swallowed back a sound of self-disgust. Needing to do something with his hands, he picked up a brownie and took a giant bite, schooling his expression into something impassive.

“Are you going to get dressed?” she asked with a nervous little laugh. Only a good girl like her could feel awkward after what they had just done. Especially considering it wasn’t even their first time.

He shrugged, not even glancing down at himself. “I’m comfortable.”

“That was . . . amazing.” Her smile turned shy and definitely nervous. “Different.”

Unease trickled through him. This was starting to feel too intimate, too much like what other well-adjusted couples did after they f*cked.