Running Free (Woodland Creek)(25)

“Harder. Do it harder,” I urge breathlessly against his lips.

My words fuel him on and he thrusts into me like a madman. A teasing curl of intensity knifes its way through my lower abdomen and I know in a few seconds I will orgasm.

“Gun, don’t stop!”

He sucks onto my bottom lip and I cry out, my climax seizing every nerve in my body. The blackness storms through me again and it takes every shred of me to keep my Doberman at bay. That would be a mood killer if I lost total control.

Heat suddenly gushes into me and fills me deep inside.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

I knew he didn’t have a condom on and I didn’t care. A part of me — the sated animal within — still doesn’t f*cking care. But the sane part of me blanches in horror.

What have I done?

“Oh, f*cking f*ck,” he grunts, his thrusting slowing to a stop.

I expect him to freak out or yell at me for not reminding him to put a condom on. In fact, I want him to yell at me. To tell me I’m a selfish, reckless bitch. Anything to solidify the stupidity of my behavior.

“I’m so sorry.” My words are barely a whisper and tears threaten my eyes.

His mouth is on mine again and he kisses me without urgency. I expect him to soften inside me but he starts to rock again into me. I’m still wet and dripping from his explosive orgasm.

I should be pushing him from me — telling him we just f*cked up badly.

I should be forcing him to drive me to the drugstore to buy a morning-after pill.

I should be at least ransacking his room looking for a condom.

Instead, I’m stupidly moaning again — letting him take me soft and sweet. I’m melting with each gentle kiss he presses on my lips and cheeks and neck.

This man is too much. So different than any other man I’ve ever encountered. He’s gentle yet fierce. Protective yet not overbearing. And he’s utterly sinful to look at.

“Oh, God,” I whimper, another orgasm teasing me just out of reach.

“Frankie, let me love you.”

I know what he means. Let me make love to you. But my mind hears it differently. The part of me that’s imprinted to him — the part of me that’s never loved or been loved by anyone — nods her pretty little head in agreement.

“Yes, love me.”

My words are lost in his mouth and soon his finger slips between us, touching me in all the right spots.

I need to stop him.

To not let this happen again.

Be f*cking mentally strong tonight, Frankie!

“Gun, stop… ”

But he doesn’t stop. He kisses me with all the emotions I’ve never felt from another person before. They flood through me and soothe me.

“You don’t have a condom on,” I whisper. It’s like I don’t want to ruin the moment but it needs to be said.

“I know.”

I jolt at his confession and he chuckles in a way that drives me wild with need. His assault on my clit intensifies and I slip my fingers through his thick hair. When his face buries into my hair and his lips find my neck, I lose it.

The stars sprinkle my vision again, chasing away the blackness, and I climax, his name a repetitive melody on my lips.

It’s when I feel his heat once again pour into me that I’m snapped back to reality.

“Shit!” I hiss, “Gun, you just f*cked me twice with no condom on!”

He lifts up and flashes me a cute lopsided grin that does nothing for calming my libido. “I trust you wouldn’t sleep with me if you were crawling with diseases. And I’ve only ever slept with my ex-wife.”

I roll my eyes at him. “I don’t care about that. I’m talking about you probably just got me pregnant. Twice.”

He bellows with laughter but makes no move to unlink himself from my body. With each passing second that his cock softens from within, more of his seed pours from me.

“I’m pretty sure I’m sterile.” His words are said with a smile but I don’t miss the sadness behind his eyes. I should be screaming with joy but instead, I’m…

Disappointed.

Frankie, cut the weirdo shit!

“Pretty sure or really sure? Which is it, Gun?”

He sighs but finally pulls out of me. I watch his lean body, rippling with muscled movement as he saunters into the bathroom. When he returns with a rag to clean me up, he’s somber.

“Carla and I tried for years, hádanka. A test proved that my sperm count was incredibly low — to the point that it’s doubtful I’ll ever have children. Doctor said if I did, it would be a miracle from God.”

Hádanka. That word again.

His words should calm my beating heart but instead, all I can focus on is the sweet foreign word.

“What does that mean?” I ask as he sets to cleaning us both up. Once he’s finished, he slides into bed beside me and pulls my naked body to his.

“Hádanka is Czech for puzzle,” he says in a soft tone. Even though my cheek is pressed to his chest and he kisses the top of my head, I sense the smile in his voice.

“I’m a puzzle?”

I want to be offended but he says it with such pride and love that I know it is something special. Instead of flying off the handle, I wait for his explanation.

“When I was a kid, long before Mom got ill, she’d take me to a Czech restaurant in downtown Chicago every Friday and Saturday night. At the time, I thought she was simply in love with the sp?tzle and strawberry kolacky,” he says, a chuckle reverberating through him. “Turns out, she waited tables there for a second job. I thought she was helping out the old couple who worked there because they were friends of hers — and they were — but the real reason was that being a single mom was hard. She struggled to make ends meet. Working at the restaurant brought in some extra income that teaching didn’t. And since she had nowhere to leave me, she’d set me up in the breakroom with all the salt and vinegar chips I could eat.”