Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(51)

He fed his left hand into her hair, holding her head firmly in his huge grip. “You go ahead and keep your secrets, long as you need to. I’m coming in. And I will make you beg.” With that, he dropped his head to hers and kissed her, overpowering her with his mouth and tongue and hands.

oOo

The inn was quiet when they got inside—no guests on this mid-week night, after bad weather, and with Hollywood finally, if only temporarily, gone. On nights like this, when the inn was empty and all hers, Shannon usually felt a little lonely. Even now, with Show behind her, walking through the parlor felt odd, like everyone else had disappeared from the earth. With a little shiver, she led him through to the snug comfort of her apartment. She dropped her coat over the back of a tall armchair just inside the door, and he followed with his own coat and kutte.

“You want a drink? I bought another bottle of Jack.” She turned into her little kitchen. It wasn’t much, but it was plenty for her, and the appliances and fixtures were nice—stainless steel appliances, white cabinets with frosted-glass fronts, and dark grey granite counters. Shannon had been charmed when she’d first seen the décor in this apartment. She liked her space to be light and bright. She’d grown up surrounded by dark, heavy wood—wood paneling on the walls, wood furniture, everything dark, dark, dark. Gloomy.

Not waiting for his answer, she opened the cabinet where the booze was and got the Jack down, with a glass. She intended to get vodka out of the freezer for herself, but then Show was behind her, right up against her, pushing her hair around to lie over her shoulder. She felt his fingers on her throat, his thumb over her spine. Making light circles with that thumb, he caressed her neck. She put her hands flat on the counter and closed her eyes with a sigh. His free hand rested on her hip “Shannon.” His voice was low, like thunder at a distance, and she felt it in her core. “I want you to trust me.”

The very last thing in the entire world she wanted to do in this moment was to pick up that conversation. His huge, hard body was against hers, his rough hand on her skin, feeling his hot breath, his voice. She took his hand from her hip and pushed it between her legs as she leaned against him.

“I trust you. I do. But I don’t want to talk.”

He grunted, and she wasn’t sure whether it was frustration or desire she heard in the sound. When she felt his mouth on her neck and his hand pulling the collar of her top away from her shoulder, she had an idea it was the latter. Good. No talking.

Suddenly, he bent and lifted her into his arms. Leaving the Jack where it stood on the counter, he turned and carried her to the bedroom. The way Show carried her, flipped her, dragged her, moved her where he wanted her was incredibly sexy. It made her feel incredibly sexy.

Once they were in the bedroom, he stood her at the side of the bed and started to take off her top. Well, he tried. He couldn’t work out the wrap tie, so she gently pushed his hands away and did it herself. Then, figuring she’d already started undressing herself, she continued. Show, who’d shed his shirt and beater in the meantime, looked disappointed, but then carried on with his own clothes. Finished before he was, Shannon lay in the middle of the bed and watched him undress as she waited for him to join her.

He didn’t wear underwear—or, at least, she’d never seen him wear underwear. Just him and his Levi’s.

She liked the sight of the thatch of sandy brown hair that nested his cock emerging as he unbuttoned his fly.

He didn’t have a lot of body hair—his legs, his forearms, under his arms, that delightful, narrow swath between his navel and his cock. Shannon didn’t like a lot of body hair on her or anyone else, but Show had just the right amount. A deliciously manly amount.

She loved his cock, too. God, the way it made her feel. She hadn’t even touched it yet, not with her hands. And not with her mouth. They’d only been together a few days like this—the night of Badger’s party would never, ever count—but still, it seemed odd. She’d offered, she’d wanted to—but he’d held her off, taking control and entering her instead. He liked to be in control. He liked her passive. Generally, she was quite okay with that, just giving herself over to what he could do to her, but she wanted to touch him, too.

Really touch him. Get to know his body the way he was already getting to know hers. Let him feel what she could do to him.

He got onto the bed and leaned over her, his hand reaching around her hip to grab her ass. This was hot —so hot. But she wanted to touch him. She pushed on his shoulder, trying to convey to him that she wanted to shift positions, but he caught her hand and put it on the bed. As he bent down to take a nipple into his mouth—and oh! for a second she lost focus—she wriggled her hand free and reached down between them.

Again he grabbed her hand away and held it down on the bed. This time, though, he said, “No, Shannon.”

“Why not? I want to touch you. I want to feel you.”

He released her hand and slid his palm up her arm and down her chest, over her breast to her belly, and between her legs. She gasped and flexed. “I’m all over you. That’s not enough?”

She was shocked to discover that it wasn’t. “No. I want to explore. I want to participate. At least part of the time.”

With a huff, he rolled and sat up, leaning against her headboard. For a second, he looked like he was going to do more, like get off the bed, maybe leave, and she felt a thrill of worry. But he stayed put. She was confused. A guy who didn’t want his dick touched?