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Dawg lifted his head, tore his T-shirt from his shoulders, and stared down at her for a long, intense moment.
As her lashes lifted, he watched the pleasure rising inside her, the hunger and needs, and keeping a rein on his own was almost impossible.
“Now,” he growled. “I need you now. ”
Crista stared up at Dawg as his fingers hooked in the loosened waist of her jeans and began to draw them, along with the thong she wore beneath, slowly over her hips.
Naked, aroused, his eyes glowing with unsuppressed hunger and raging need, he looked like a vanquishing conqueror. All the warriors and warlords that the best romances wrote about.
But this wasn’t a story. It wasn’t a book, and it wasn’t fiction. It was the man blackmailing her into his bed and stealing her soul with his touch.
“Dawg. ” Trembling fingers slid over his shoulders as she tried to force strength into her arms to push him away, to push herself away from the temptation.
“I dreamed of you, Crista. ” The material slid over her thighs as he drew back. “I dreamed of your kiss, your taste. I dreamed of every wicked fantasy a man could have about his woman for eight years. ”
His voice strengthened as he tossed the jeans and panties to the floor, and his eyes sharpened with angry desire. “Eight years, damn you. One fucking night, and you didn’t give me a chance to make up for it.
You didn’t give me a chance to prove you’re fucking mine!”
The snarl that drew his lips back held her mesmerized. Possessive, dominant. His eyes slid over her naked body, heating her insides and sending her juices spilling between her thighs.
Crista felt her head shaking, felt the denial born of a sudden knowledge that Dawg wasn’t what she expected. This wasn’t going to be an affair she could walk away from. Dawg wasn’t a man she could watch walk out of her life a second time and survive it.
“Yes, damn you,” he cursed, calloused hands pressing her legs apart as he slid deftly between them.
His lips lowered, stealing her protest and replacing it with passion and fire, with a whipping hunger she had no defenses against. As his tongue entered her lips, she felt the blunt pressure, the heated head of his cock pressing against the swollen folds of her pussy.
Tingling fingers of sensations began to play across her flesh. She froze beneath him. She remembered this part. Clearly, so clearly.
Her eyes struggled to open as she felt Dawg lever up, looking into his absorbed expression before she followed the point where his gaze had locked.
There, between her thighs. Her legs were draped over his thighs, spread wide, her hips angled to the thick spear of flesh pressing into her.
Crista watched as the wet folds parted, separating for his cock, hugging the wide crest as he pressed closer, penetrated the tender opening, and he groaned with hoarse male pleasure.
“So sweet. So hot. ”
Crista whimpered as her body began to stretch to accommodate the impalement. She shook her head against the cushion she lay on, dazed by the pleasure beginning to build inside her.
No, this went beyond pleasure. It went beyond words that Crista could compare it to. It was like being the center of a flame. It was burning in rapture.
“Dawg…It’s so good. ” She watched. Watched as the wide crest disappeared inside her. As aching pleasure-pain began to fill her.
“Easy. ” He held her as her hips twisted, as she fought for more. A deeper stroke, a hard, filling thrust. “You’re too tight, Crista. We’ll go slow. Easy. ”
“You didn’t before,” she whispered feeling the agonizing need clawing through her system as her gaze lifted to his. “Like before, Dawg. All of you. All over me. ”
His hips bucked, piercing her another inch before he controlled the impulse. She didn’t want his control. She wanted his hunger. As frightening as it could be, as dominant and possessive as it was, she wanted it all.
Her hands lifted from the cushions her nails had been digging into. Lifting her arms, she arched them behind her head, stretched, lifted, then lowered them until her hands could cup her breasts, and her fingers could play erotically with her nipples.
“You were wild that night,” she whispered.
She had seen his desperation to separate dream from reality, and now some wicked imp insisted that she help him remember.
“How wild?” His gaze blistered her with erotic hunger.
“You didn’t hesitate. ” She brought a finger to her lips, dampened it, then painted her hard nipple with the moisture.
