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Her head tilted back as he came within inches of her, her gaze locked with his as his hand lifted, thumb and forefinger gripping the material between her breasts.
“Eight years it’s tormented me,” he murmured, his voice a dark velvet rasp over her senses.
“Dreaming of it. Aching for it to the point that some nights, I couldn’t even touch another woman because I ached for you to the point of pain. ”
He couldn’t have ached more than she had. Couldn’t have known the brutality of remembering a touch that ruined her for any other.
“But you still took them,” she whispered hoarsely, trying to fight past the thickening eroticism building between them. “Alone. And with your cousins. ”
“And you went to another man. ” His lips drew back from his teeth in a hard snarl. “Two men. ”
He moved closer, pressing her against the dresser behind her as she caught her breath at the savage lust rising between them now. “Did they hold you? Did my name scream in your head each time they touched you, as yours screamed in mine?”
“Don’t. ” Show no weakness. She had learned that so many years ago. Show no weakness, never let him see the hunger or the need that ripped through her.
And yet she was showing exactly that.
Her hands gripped the edge of the dresser behind her as she strained away from him, knowing she couldn’t fight the hunger if he didn’t stop touching her.
And he wouldn’t stop. His hands gripped her waist, lifted her to the top of the dresser, then slid to her knees to draw them slowly apart.
“Dawg. Dawg, you don’t want to do this. ” She was panting, certain she couldn’t breathe through this. He was stealing the oxygen between them, making it thick and heavy with lust.
“I don’t want to do it?” He drew the shirt up her waist, pulling it over her breasts, then forcing her arms up to tug it free of her body.
The cool air of the air conditioner washed over her nipples, sending a talon of sensation raking down her spine.
When he tossed the shirt aside, he didn’t release her wrists. They were bound in one large hand, stretched above her head, lifting her breasts high as he stared at her.
“I should have tied you to my bed that night,” he whispered hoarsely. “I would have kept you with me, rather than allowing you to escape. ”
His other arm wrapped around her waist as he moved between her thighs, forcing them to part as he jerked her to him. A hard, quick motion that buried her nipples against his chest.
Sensation tore through her nerve endings. Crista felt her back arch, a shuddering breath ripping from her lungs as fire and ice seared her nipples, then tore a ragged, ecstatic path to her womb and the hungry depths of her pussy.
Before she could gather her breath to protest, before she could form the protest, his head lowered, his lips stole hers, and for the first time in eight years, Crista relived that first fiery kiss, that first trembling knowledge that every part of her, heart and soul, belonged to Dawg.
THIRTEEN
Crista wasn’t aware of when he released her wrists; she was only aware that the second his lips parted from hers, the velvety texture and flaming heat were gone.
Her hands tightened in his hair, she lifted closer, a keening cry leaving her throat as her nipples raked over his chest, and the denim-covered heat of his erection pressed against the saturated flesh of her pussy.
“You like that, don’t you, Crista?” He shifted against her, raking his chest over the sensitive tips, watching her face as she fought to hold back another cry.
“I like that,” she admitted, shivering violently as his calloused palms rasped down her naked back.
“I always loved your hands, Dawg. Always loved your touch. ”
She arched, her head falling back against the mirror behind her as his hands lifted her closer, his lips moving to her neck, his tongue licking her flesh before his teeth rasped over tender nerve endings.
“I dreamed of this. ” Her breathing faltered as her eyes drifted closed. “So long. I dreamed of this. ”
And she had. During those first pain-ridden months away from Somerset, through the loneliness of the years she had spent away from home, she had dreamed of him and his touch.
“Did you dream of this, sweetheart?” Rasping, rough, his voice was but a breath ahead of the silken rasp of the beginnings of a beard along his cheeks and jaw.
“I dreamed of this. ” Her thighs lifted along his hips, clutching at him as her arms moved from his shoulders, moving between them, searching for the zipper of his jeans, for the fierce, thick flesh beneath.
