Reckless Hearts (Oak Harbor #2)(46)

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking shameful. “I don’t know what the hell came over me. I know I acted like a jerk.”

“I was thinking more an ass,” I say, smiling. Will relaxes.

“I know you wouldn’t . . . I just . . .” He sighs again, real regret in his eyes. “My last relationship, she cheated, and it messed me up good for a while.”

I soften. “I had no idea. I’m sorry,” I tell him.

He gives a shrug and looks away. “What’s done is done. But you’re right, and I know you’re not anything like her.”

“I should think so,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m much more beautiful, and smart, and funny . . .”

Will laughs, silencing me with a kiss. I sink against him, wondering how the hell could anyone run around on him. Will is the guy you grab and hold on tight, not the one you leave at home while you sneak around with someone else.

I break away, and press a palm to his cheek. “Just for the record,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss that curve of his jaw I love so much. “She’s insane. Whoever hurt you, whatever she did. She is out of her mind, certifiably insane.” I pull back, and look into his eyes. “She’ll never find anyone as good as you.”

I can see the emotion in Will’s eyes—and when the moment turns to pure, charged lust. He pulls me from the truck and into the house, his mouth finding mine as we slam against the wall, hands stripping hungrily at clothes and bodies pressing closer.

This time, there’s no holding back.

I can feel the urgency, the raw need in his kisses, and I want to give it all to him. Whatever demons I’ve been fighting, Will has had his own battle too, and now I need to show him that I’m his now. Whatever some other girl made him question, however the past made him feel, it’s different now.

I belong to him.

We stumble into the living room, Will stripping my shirt over my head and yanking my bra down. His mouth closes over my breast, hot and sinfully sweet, and I moan aloud, sinking against his wicked touch. He teases and nips at my nipple, sending a shock of pleasure all the way to my twisting, aching core.

God, yes.

I grab his belt and quickly shove his jeans down, wanting to touch him, take a taste of the raw, hard length of him, but too soon, Will spins me around and pushes me face-down over the arm of his couch. I gasp, thrilled, and thrust back my hips against him, grinding against his cock. Will lets out a growl, then he’s shoving up my skirt and tearing my panties aside, landing a sweet, stinging slap against my bare ass.

Oh.

His hands slide around me, roving between my thighs to stroke possessively at the molten heart of me. It’s hot and frantic, and I moan into the couch cushions, pressing into his fingers, needing more. Then Will parts my legs wider, and I feel him nudge against me, one hand yanking my hips back, controlling, the other tangled in my hair.

He slams inside me in a single, devastating stroke.

God, the feel of him: so thick, so deep. He withdraws, then thrusts again, a pounding, punishing rhythm, but oh, how it sets my body on fire. I arch back, grinding to find him with every stroke, clutching at the cushions and whimpering in total surrender. Every plunge is a tidal wave of pleasure building; every hard thrust drives me closer to that crest. Will tugs at my hair, arching my body back up to meet him, and then he’s grinding up inside me, god, so deep I have to scream his name.

“Fuck, Dee.” His gasp is ragged, an animal groan in my ear. He f*cks me wildly, and I can’t get enough. Nobody’s ever done it like this before, nobody’s ever made me come undone the way I feel when he’s inside me. Thrusting. Demanding. Every inch, so deep. Already I can feel my orgasm start to shiver through me. I try to hold it back, I want to savor ever touch, every hard, commanding thrust, but Will has total control of my body and it’s all I can do to take him, gasping, over and over as the shiver builds to a crescendo and then I shatter with a rush of pleasure so pure, so epic that I come apart with a cry. Will’s arms are around me, holding me down, his body slamming hard and then I feel him come; his animal groan mingling with my cries of pleasure until the last ebbs of ecstasy drift away and we both tumble, sweaty, to the floor.

I cling to him, my pulse galloping so fast it matches the pace of his heartbeat, wild in his chest.

“Damn, you’re going to kill me if we keep this up.” Will’s voice is laughing and sleepy.

I grin. “Get used to it, baby. I’m just getting started.” I twist around to kiss him, damp and sweaty and pretty damn satisfied.

This is the beginning, I realize, my heart unfurling in my chest. This is the beginning of love.





Sixteen.


The next Friday, I finish up work early at the office and we drive into Charlotte with Will’s truck loaded with his best pieces of furniture. He’s been working late into the night all week, and I can tell he’s nervous; he’s uncharacteristically quiet on the road, distracted and deep in thought.

“Your friend is going to love those chairs,” I say, breaking the silence. Will looks over, and I give him a reassuring smile. “They’re so beautiful, I just want to sink into the leather and never get out.”

“Maybe you should take the meeting, not me.”

“You’ll be great,” I insist. “Besides, it’s just one place. There are tons of showrooms all over the country, designers, dealers, all kinds of places to approach if this doesn’t work out.”