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Everything inside her melted. Her gaze fused with his dark, tormented one. “I do.”
He curled her fingers around the top button of his shirt. She latched on to the direction like a lifeline, slipping the buttons free with hands that shook slightly but managed the job in a far less efficient process than his had. When she had them undone, he yanked the shirt from his trousers and threw it to the floor. He had the most amazing chest she’d ever seen on a man. She rocked back on her heels to take him in. Hard, muscled, honed by the hours he put in at the gym every week, he was the most perfect example of masculinity she’d ever seen. It was almost intimidating to touch him, but she couldn’t help herself. Her hands moved by instinct, sliding up and over him, wanting to learn every inch with this liberty she’d been given.
Everything about him was impenetrable, indestructible, except tonight his vulnerability allowed her a way in. It was intoxicating.
She slid her palms over his nipples. He tensed under her touch but held himself still. Fascinated by how rock hard the hair-roughened peaks were underneath her fingertips, like tiny pebbles, she explored them with the pads of her thumbs.
He groaned. “More.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant until he covered her hand with his and slid it down over his trousers. The scalding contact with the hard, thick length of him made the blood roar in her head. Eyes closed, she traced him, learned him. He leaned into her caress, his growl sliding into a velvety moan of approval. It made her feel empowered, emboldened. She stroked him more firmly, pressed her palm against the impressive bulge of him and felt him grow harder beneath her touch.
His palms returned to her thighs, sliding up the back of them. This time he slipped his fingers beneath the lace and caressed the ultrasensitive skin there with fingers that burned her skin. “These stay on.”
Frankie forgot her task completely as the raspy timbre of his voice shot through her. He slid his palms higher until he reached her lacy panties. Her hands fell to her sides, her head dropping to his chest as he nudged her legs apart with his knee, moved his fingers beneath the lace and touched her so intimately her back arched in pleasure.
“Harrison.” His name slid from her lips on a groan of pure pleasure. He repeated the caress again, his fingers sliding against her slick skin. Leisurely at first, he stroked her like he might a cat, caressing her nerve endings. Then he deepened it, intensified it. She let him take her weight as her knees buckled. His voice was a husky demand in her ear asking if she liked it. Commanding her to tell him when she wanted more. She did because this was beyond anything she’d ever experienced, it felt that good.
His hands left her aching flesh. She wanted to scream greedily that it wasn’t enough, beg for more, because she’d never experienced the type of pleasure he was giving her. But he was disposing with his trousers, intent on another kind of pleasure entirely. He slid off his briefs and kicked them aside. Her mouth went dry, her palms sweaty. She could have expected he’d be big because of his size but his arousal, proud and daunting, kicked her heart into a whole other gear.
He was as aroused by her as she was by him.
He pushed her blouse off her shoulders, found the back button of her skirt and undid it. She swallowed hard to inject some saliva into her mouth as her zipper went the way of her button and he nudged the skirt off her hips. Self-consciousness would have overwhelmed her then, as she stood there only in her lacy underwear, if she hadn’t been utterly fascinated by the ruddy color staining his cheekbones. The tortured look was gone. Urgent, compulsive desire was plastered across his face. He was totally and utterly fixated on her, as if he couldn’t believe she was real.
Her gaze tracked him as he backed up and sat down on the bed. He pulled a foil package from the night table drawer and rolled a condom on his impressive erection. She watched him, finding his beautiful body such a turn-on it was impossible to look away. His gaze lifted to hers when he’d finished, his eyes telling her exactly where she was supposed to be. She moved to mere inches in front of him.
“In my fantasy you had me in handcuffs.” His hot gaze singed her from head to toe. “But you didn’t need them, you had me totally under your control.”
Her legs felt as though she’d done a seven-hour shift at Masserias. He reached up, slid his fingers in the sides of her panties and stripped them off. She almost lost her footing when he moved his hand between her thighs and cupped her aching center. Squeezed. It was a blatant act of ownership that made her stomach dip. Sent her fingers clutching the hard muscles of his shoulders for support.
“I’m not averse to a woman tying me up,” he continued, easing his grip on her to fill her with a long finger instead. “But then you wouldn’t get this. And I want you as hot and wild for me as you were in my fantasy.”
Frankie closed her eyes at the seductive heat in his voice. It raked over her nerve endings and sent warmth flooding to the very place he was caressing. She couldn’t help her response, couldn’t help moving her hips against his hand every time he filled her. It was incredible.
He added another of those amazing fingers, palming the soft flesh of her buttocks with his free hand to hold her where he wanted her. A low moan escaped her lips.
“That’s right,” he murmured, spreading the fingers he had inside of her to maximize her pleasure. To ready her. “That’s exactly how you were.”
He withdrew from her. Left her hot and aching again, but only to shift both his hands to the backs of her thighs and lift her on top of him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her thighs making contact with his hot, aroused body. Too many contact points fried her nerve endings. The unleashed power of him beneath her made her pulse speed up into an almost impossible awareness of his masculinity. But most intense of all were his eyes. Dark and full of want, she felt him all the way inside of her.
“You do something to me,” he rasped. “I can’t explain it.”
She couldn’t, either, but she felt it, too. She watched the desperation flicker back to life in his eyes as he fought it, fought the physical and mental connection they shared. The lack of control...it was a last-ditch effort to hold on to the darkness and she wouldn’t allow it. She brought her mouth down on his in a kiss so intimate, so soul-consuming, she was sure she would never forget it.
His hands bit into her bottom as he lifted her up and brought her down on the hard column of flesh that telegraphed his desire for her.
“Tell me,” he muttered against her lips, “if I’m hurting you...”
But he had brought her to the edge, to a greedy, grasping place where he was all she wanted. Inside of her. Exactly like his fantasy. Her body was malleable, soft as she accepted the tip of him. He was big; he stole her breath as he brought her down on him with firm hands. It was a tight, exquisite fit, one she almost couldn’t stand. But when he had filled her completely, she wanted more.
“Then what did I do? In your fantasy...?” she whispered.
He took the weight of her hips in his hands, his eyes locked on hers. “You rode me like an angel.”
Oh. She went down then, lost in the way he made her feel. She circled her hips around him. Took him deep inside, then retreated. His eyes caught fire. His hands helped her move. Then there was nothing between them except the sensation of being impaled on him. She took him again and again until her body was all soft heat, grasping him, needing him.
It was unmistakable, the sweet intensity that built inside of her then as his size, his girth touched a spot that promised heaven. She gripped his shoulders harder. He slid a hand between them and rubbed his thumb against her center. Back and forth in a path of fire that had her limbs clenching around him. “Give yourself to me,” he commanded roughly.
She closed her eyes. Let his thumb take her over the edge. Her back arched, white lights exploded in her head as an orgasm racked through her. Her gasp as it tore into the night was raw and pleasure-soaked. Animalistic.
It was hot and amazing and never-ending. When she finally came down. Harrison was watching her, a deadly heat in his eyes. Her lashes lowered. “Don’t,” he commanded, his thumb claiming the curve of her lip. “You were spectacular.”
She opened her eyes. Allowed him to part her mouth with his thumb, her breath coming hot and hard against his skin. She could taste herself on him. Taste what he’d done to her. It was too much. Overload.
He rolled onto his back and took her with him. He was buried deep inside of her, pulsing and rock-hard. Unsatisified. His gaze morphed into the darkest, deepest granite as it ate her up. He wanted her to blow his mind. To obliterate his thoughts.
She leaned forward, pressed her palms to his chest and rotated her hips in a slow, grinding circle. His hands tightened around the flesh of her bottom. Faster, harder, he urged her down on him until his eyes were glazed and she knew he had lost it completely. But she drew it out, knew he wanted her to. He drove up into her with awe-inspiring stamina, again and again, his erection sending sparks of aftershocks through her. Slowly, amazingly, she felt her pleasure build again, hovering over the edge of another sweet surge of heaven. This was why he’d made it last. Because he could give her this.
