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She dove into the kiss, trying to use it to convey all the emotions swirling around inside her. Protective instincts told her to pull back, because one way or another, she would be moving on soon. Why make things harder? But the rest of her recognized the heartbreak of leaving had become inevitable. Pulling back now only hastened the pain.
Maybe he could read her thoughts, because he seemed to understand she was sinking. He cupped the back of her head, changed the angle of the kiss, and took them under.
In contrast to the way he laid claim to her mouth, his hands stayed chastely above her neck, his fingers lightly tracing her jaw. That left her hands free to roam—across the rounded muscles of his shoulders, down his hard chest, along the sloped contours of his abdomen.
When her fingers reached the waistband of his sweats, he broke the kiss long enough to murmur, “Forgive me?”
“Nothing to forgive,” she said between quick nibbles along his jaw, and then she was moving backward. He navigated them out of the kitchen, through the living area, down the hall, and, much to her relief, he bypassed the guest room and steered her directly into his room…into his bed.
He stood before her, his fingers laced through her hair, staring down at her with an expression she couldn’t name, but nonetheless did crippling things to her already vulnerable heart—a look guaranteed to make her say or do something stupid if she didn’t find a distraction. Now. Luckily a perfect distraction hovered within easy reach. She yanked his sweats down. He swore as the waistband snagged on the head of his erection and dragged it down too, and then swore again when it sprang free and bobbed back up like a buoy.
“Sorry,” she murmured, “let me kiss it better.” She slid her hands around and held onto his smooth, firm glutes, lowered her head, and set about making the unintentional abuse up to him. Within moments all was forgiven, judging by the gasps and groans coming out of him. His body pulsed in her mouth. His muscles went rock hard beneath her palms. She brought one hand around front and cupped his balls, feeling them draw up even as she closed her fingers.
She thought she had him past the point of no return, but suddenly, he said, “No more,” in a harsh whisper. The fingers in her hair tightened a little, holding her head still while he withdrew from her mouth. “I can’t take anymore. I have to be inside you.” He kicked his sweats off and pushed her back onto the bed.
She hit the mattress with a hushed thump and crossed her arms above her head while she watched him get ready.
He dug a condom out of his nightstand drawer, ripped it open, and rolled it on. His eyes found hers in the shadowy room and bored into her. She shivered as he slid a hand between her thighs and then gasped when he rimmed her opening. Before she caught her breath, he plunged a finger deep, and her body clenched desperately around him.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “I love to feel you quiver for me. I want to watch while I stroke you until those quivers turn to trembles—until you’re shaking all the way down to your toes.”
He flipped her sleep shirt up to her waist, baring her to his gaze, and she worried she was going to come right then and there. How did he do this to her? She’d never been so constantly, effortlessly ready. He worked another finger into her and her moan slipped out before she could stop it.
“I know,” he said sympathetically. “I’ve got my hands full here, but that sweet little clit looks so neglected. Don’t worry. I can troubleshoot this.” He knelt down, parted her thighs wider, and kissed her, front and center and right on target. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, but she couldn’t stop herself from planting the soles of her feet on his shoulders and rocking up into the kiss. When he started in on her with his tongue, and, sweet Jesus, his teeth, she flung her forearm over her eyes and sobbed, “Please. Oh, God. Please. I need you.”
He kissed her thigh. Her stomach. Her pounding heart. “Me, too.” Then he slowly withdrew from her, took her hand, and wrapped her fingers around the base of his erection.
She guided him in. He kept as still as possible, which set off alarm bells in her brain at first because she feared he’d aggravated his back, but then she registered his closed eyes and deep breaths and realized he was holding himself in check, trying to let her come first. There was something so disarming and, at the same time, unspeakably sexy about all that masculine restraint. She molded her hands along the small of his back and pressed down carefully.
His low, shuddery moan sounded suspiciously like a plea for more. She took him in deep and then wriggled her hips from side to side, just to work him in a little…bit…deeper.
“Ah shit,” he groaned, “don’t,” and he thrust once. Just like that, all the restrain
t evaporated. He drove into her, again and again, and she watched as he clenched his jaw, furrowed his brow, and surrendered every ounce of discipline and control to something too powerful for even big, bad, Major Michael McCade to withstand.
A need she’d unleashed in him, she thought proudly, just before he surged forward and brought his head down next to hers. He hiked her legs up high and thrust into her one last time. And then thought became impossible because her senses took over. His ragged cry of relief filled her ears, sent a trail of heat along her spine, into her abdomen, and down between her legs. Tremors started somewhere deep within and radiated out like shockwaves. The next moment, all the tension and pressure inside her exploded. A storm of sensation swept through her, and everything else in the world faded, save for the feel of Michael holding her as if he’d never let go. But he will let go, her inner voice warned. Everybody does.
…
“Your brother says your back is still bothering you. Why didn’t you tell me? I’m a doctor, for Christ’s sake. I should be the first person you call when you’re not feeling well. ”
Michael stepped out of the imaging center and stared up at the cloudless blue southern California sky. Hopefully he didn’t look like a man planning a murder, but, inside his mind, he was picturing strangling Trevor. Slowly. With his bare hands.
“You’re a pediatrician.”
“I have contacts.”
“I’m fine, Mom. The pain is gone. I just had a follow-up MRI this afternoon, and I have an appointment with Dane on Friday to go over the results.”
“Do you need me to come down and take care of you? Go with you to the appointment?”
He gave her a long-suffering sigh. “Absolutely not. Mom, I’m the Marines’ problem now. You can stop worrying about me.” Start worrying about your oldest son, because he’s the one about to get his ass kicked.
“It’s a mother’s prerogative to worry. You’ll understand when you have kids of your own.”
Uh-oh. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. He and Logan had assumed Trevor tying the knot would ease the parental pressure on them, but so far, no dice. His mother was staring down the big six-oh next month. She wanted grandkids, and she wanted them yesterday.
“I enjoyed speaking to Chloe last night.”
