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John could feel a burning agony tearing through him. He should have never left Boston. Not so soon. He should have forced her to see him, found a way past her stubbornness. He should have been there to protect her.
With the backs of his fingers, he stroked down the underside of her arms and the purple marks that led to her full, hard-tipped breasts. Harsh finger marks marred her flesh, but her nipples, so sweet and tight and hard, were the same tender pink, unbruised and tempting as hell.
Below her breasts were fainter bruises, where she’d been struck, though the blows hadn’t connected as hard as he knew they were meant to. He could tell by the placement that the son of a bitch had been trying to damage her ribs.
Lower, along her rounded thighs, was heavier bruising. Finger marks, thumb imprints.
He parted her thighs gently, trying to ignore the dampness he could see against the silk of her panties. Trying real fucking hard to ignore the fact that there were no curls beneath the silk.
He hadn’t remembered that for some reason. He’d had his mouth on her pussy, licking it like a starving man devouring a treat, but he hadn’t remembered that there had been no curls there.
Drawing in a hard, deep breath, he slid his fingers beneath the band of her panties before he lifted his eyes to hers. “Let me take them off, Sierra. ”
Her hips rose. Hazy sensuality filled her gaze now, flushed her face. Pert lips parted, a lazy pink tongue licked over them with a slow, damp stroke as he drew the silk from her body.
“God, I’ve dreamed about this for a fucking year,” he whispered.
For far longer than a year. He’d dreamed before and refused to allow himself to acknowledge those dreams.
“John, touch me. ” The plea went straight to his cock.
Why the hell did he keep hearing innocence in her voice, seeing it in her eyes? When he stared into the slate gray depths, he saw a woman who had no idea the pleasure her body could experience, the heights arousal could take her.
His gaze went down her body once again, a groan tearing from his throat at the sight of the honeyed glaze glistening on the folds of her pussy. Her clit, a sweet pink little pearl, peeked from between those folds, tempting his lips, his tongue.
“You don’t know what you do to a man,” he growled as he moved closer, leaning over her until his lips could brush against hers. “You make me hungry, lollipop. ”
A slow smile curled the lips beneath his. “Your lollipop?”
Hell! He wasn’t going to survive this. The low, sleepy sensuality in her face and voice was more than he could bear.
“My lollipop. ” And he’d be damned if he let another man have a taste of it now.
His lips lowered against hers more firmly, his tongue licking at the seam of her lips until they parted for him, until her tongue came out to meet his and a low, feminine groan met his kiss.
God, he remembered her kiss. Of all the things he remembered from that alcohol-hazed memory of nearly having it, it was the taste of her kiss. Like the sweetest innocence.
How the hell did she manage it? She’d dated more men than he could name over the years. There was no way that innocence was as pure as it seemed.
He’d be damned if he cared, though. Hell, he wasn’t exactly a virgin himself and he didn’t expect to ever encounter one. He didn’t give a damn. From here on out, she would belong solely to him, though; he’d ensure it.
Threading his fingers into the thick, blue-black curls that framed her face, John held her in place and deepened the kiss. His tongue sank into her mouth, touched hers, and felt her lips close on it with a sensual grip. She suckled at his tongue with lazy enjoyment, causing his dick to clench and tighten at the memory of her lips sucking him there as well.
Damn, she was making him hot. He should have turned the AC up before bringing her to the bedroom.
The sweet brush of her nipples seared through the material of his T-shirt as she arched against him. Full, swollen breasts were cushioned against his chest, and the heat of them rushed through his body like a narcotic.
He couldn’t think of anything better than releasing his dick and sinking balls deep inside the tight, slick depths of her pussy.
For just a second, for one flash of imagery, he could have sworn he’d done so before. Felt her, so fucking tight he thought he’d die from it. Then it was gone, remnants of dreams he’d had over the years. Fantasies he hadn’t been able to help.
Tearing his lips from hers, John set about giving her pleasure. Simply pleasure. No pressure. This time wasn’t for him, it was for his Sierra.
She’d been hurt, bruised, almost broken. He wanted to wipe that memory from her mind. Wipe it and replace it with sweet pleasure, with satisfaction. He wanted her to know gentleness, to know the heated arousal, the warmth of sexual fulfillment.
She was exhausted, worn, but he knew she didn’t sleep well. That was something he intended to help her with this morning.
Sierra barely restrained the cry that would have torn from her lips as John’s lips moved down her throat to the rise of her breasts. Her entire body was sensitized, but strangely, she couldn’t feel the pain.
