Hottest Mess (S.I.N. #2)(57)
Again and again they moved together, his erection never waning, his desire rising and rising. And although she was taking all of it—all of him—he still couldn’t climax. He was right there on the edge, but he still couldn’t f*cking explode.
He pulled out of her, then rolled her over, his cock in one hand as he used the other to pull off her blindfold. He wanted to see her face. He wanted to look into her eyes as he jerked off. As he came on her belly, her cunt. He wanted to cherish the way she moaned. The light that cut through her as he shattered in front of her.
He wanted to drown in the pleasure that he could see was so goddamn genuine.
“How?” he asked when the tremors of his orgasm faded. “How can I need you so much?”
Her mouth curved. “The same way that I need you.”
“Oh, baby.” He was exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Slowly, he moved beside her, then unclipped her wrists. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he said.
She sat up, looking alarmed, and he laughed, then kissed her. “No, not for this. I’m not sorry for this at all. Although I am a little bit sorry that I held back. You could go with me a lot further.”
“Yes,” she said. “I can.”
“One day,” he promised, and was rewarded with her very genuine-sounding sigh of pleasure.
“So what are you sorry for?”
“For not believing you. Not trusting you to know your own limits.”
She propped herself up on her elbow. “Just like secrets, Dallas. You have to trust I know what I can handle. What I want.”
He nodded. What could he say? She was right.
She curled up against him and sighed. “You do know what I want, don’t you?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“You,” she said simply.
He felt the smile touch his lips. “Baby, I’m already yours.”
Happy Hour
I am deliciously sore—wonderfully f*cked—and as a result I’m having one hell of a hard time paying attention to anything that Henry Darcy is saying.
“Don’t you think?” he asks, and I curse myself and Dallas and my wandering mind.
“I’m sorry, Henry.” I smile brightly. “I was trying to catch the waitress’s eye and didn’t hear what you said.”
“Just that it’s nice to get out of the office sometimes. Usually I lunch in. But when a beautiful young lady wants to interview me, how can I turn down such an invitation?”
“I’m really glad you didn’t,” I say as our waitress approaches. “You should try the yellow curry,” I tell him. “It’s basic, but delicious.”
He takes my advice and we both order, and as soon as the waitress is gone, I start to chat him up about the kidnapping. I’ve done a lot of interviews—I’ve been writing articles about kidnappings for years, and I’ve researched two books—but I’ve never done research for a dual purpose the way that I am right now. Because with Darcy, I’m interested in how one goes about contacting a vigilante organization for my own research, and also in how Darcy heard the name Deliverance, so I can report back to Dallas and the team.
As for the first, when my phone rings, Darcy is telling me that he was initially clueless about how to contact a vigilante group, but—speak of the devil—it was my brother who helped him out in that regard. He nods to my phone, sitting buzzing on the table, Dallas’s name larger than life on the screen.
I ignore it. “Dallas knows how to contact vigilante groups?”
“Oh, not exactly.” He frowns at the phone. “Should you get that?”
I scowl, then pick up the phone. “Hey. What’s up?”
“Are you on speaker?”
“No.”
“Then it’s okay for me to say how much I want to rip every stitch of clothing off you and bury my face between your legs?”
My entire body starts to burn and I clear my throat, hoping that Henry can’t somehow sense the sudden spike in my temperature.
“Actually,” I manage to say, “now’s not the best time. I’m in the middle of a research lunch. With someone you know, actually.”
“You’re with Darcy.”
“Exactly.”
“I haven’t had lunch yet. I could come join you. Listen to what he has to say. Slide my finger into your * under the table. He’d never even know.”
I force myself not to squirm, then smile at Darcy as I tell Dallas, “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“On the contrary, I think it’s an excellent one. Admit it, baby. Admit that the thought of me touching you in a crowded restaurant turns you on. That getting away with something so naughty excites you. Tell me,” he prods. “Tell me you’d like that.”
I clear my throat and squeeze my thighs together. “Actually, yeah, I’d like that,” I say, as if he’s offered to help clean my attic. “But I’m guessing that’s not why you called.” I turn my attention to Darcy. “Sorry. Sometimes my brother has trouble getting to the point.”
He chuckles. “You like it when I don’t get to the point right away. And the reason I called was to tell you I was thinking of you.”