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ause she punctuated the assertion with a slow, sliding kiss.
He’d spent most of his adult life subscribed to the same theory, but it had never held true when it came to her, and it still didn’t. Ten years had changed a lot for him, but not that. She mattered. What she thought of him mattered. There’d been a time when she’d thought enough of him to risk more than her body, and invest more than the moment directly in front of her. He’d had her trust, shared her dreams, and she’d shared his. Having her in his arms now without the rest of it felt like holding only half of her. He wanted all. He didn’t have a fucking clue how he was going to get it, but he’d spent the last decade becoming a master at devising plans—complex, airtight plans that could hold up to any contingency—so he would damn well come up with a plan for her. For them.
And while he might not know every step he needed to take yet, he knew the first one. Give her what she wanted, right here and now. He understood the underlying reason for her need, even if she didn’t, and it had nothing to do with leftover chemistry. Confession might be good for the soul, but it was hell on the emotions, and wading through years of hurt and disappointment left her desperate to wash the ugly residue away in a flood of pure, fundamentally cleansing pleasure. She needed relief, and she wanted it from him.
Providing it, while not crossing the boundary he’d drawn for himself, might well kill him, but some missions were worth the risk. He broke the kiss and dragged her poncho over her head. It landed in a heap on the rug, and he pulled in a breath. She sat there in a snug white top suspended by thin straps that looked like they’d snap with one good tug. The nearly sheer cotton did little to hide the swells of her breasts, or the tight, gravity-defying points inspiring his cock to gravity-defying feats of its own. Between the night at the Lookout and their driveway adventures, his mouth and hands had appreciated the enhancements Mother Nature had bestowed to her body, but now his throat dried in anticipation of finally being able to look his fill.
“Off.” He growled, afraid he’d rip the thing away if he touched it. “I want to see you.”
She swept it over her head in one graceful pull, arching her back in the process. He stopped her right there, with her arms crossed over her head. Her shirt dangled around her wrists. Her elbows pointed to the sky, her tits lifted toward him like a gift.
Same pale, silky skin and pretty pink tips, but they were fuller now. More opulent. “Don’t move.” He blew the instruction across one straining peak, a shade deeper than he remembered, and watched it draw tighter. Her thighs clenched his hips, and a tormented little moan drifted to his ear. The entire continuum of heaven and hell in one small sound.
“I want to see you, too,” she said, managing to infuse a good dose of imperious southern demand into her unsteady voice. Then she took it upon herself to pull her arm free from the white top and run her hand down his chest, under his sweater, along his abs.
Heat burned through him from every point of contact and shot directly to his pounding cock. Okay, her touching him was a luxury he couldn’t afford, or he’d be buried deep inside her before his head had time to remind his dick that wasn’t the plan.
“Not yet.” He caught her roving hand, drew both of them behind her back, and gave the stretchy top still dangling from her other hand a tug. Perfect. Strong enough to do the job, but soft enough not to cut into her. A quick series of twists, and he secured her wrists.
“What the…?” She automatically tried to pull an arm free, but the bind held. Her eyes darkened as she realized what he’d done, then flashed at him. “Hey.”
“Trust me.” He kissed her again, to end the debate before it started, and did his level best to issue a promise with every part of his mouth. He kept at it until her shoulders relaxed and her chest heaved.
“Shane—” she started as soon as he raised his head.
“You wanted to see me.” He bent his arm behind his head, took a handful of his sweater, and yanked it off. That, too, momentarily distracted her from the argument. Her gaze bounced all over him—throat, shoulders, chest…lower—and he caught himself tightening every hard-earned muscle to keep her captivated. Eventually her gaze lifted to meet his. He saw a gratifying fever in those midnight-blue depths.
“I want to touch you,” she said bluntly.
“Not this time, baby girl.”
Her chin jutted, and he nearly grinned at the familiar, stubborn gesture. Sinclair hated being told no. Even when it was for her own good.
She also knew how to change tactics on a dime. Like now. She raised one dark brow and lifted the corner of her mouth in a seductive smile. “Used to be you loved having my hands on you. I touched you everywhere.” She leaned forward until her mouth grazed his ear and murmured, “Everywhere…remember?”
Hell, yes, he remembered. Every second of every single moment she’d had her hands on him was etched in his memory. From the way her palm had rested tentatively on his cheek during that first “thank you” kiss—and unlocked some better side of his character just by acknowledging his reckless heroism—to the no-holds-barred explorations her curious fingers had taken those times she’d cradled his cock in her mouth and driven him right out of his motherfucking mind.
“I remember everything. I want all of it, and more, but if I let you put your hands on me right now, I’m not going to be able to do the things I want to do to you.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Exactly what do you want to do to me?”
She might have been aiming to intimidate him with that look, but he wasn’t easily intimidated. The fact that she’d try made him want to haul her up and fuck her senseless, but instead, he ran his hands up her arms and pulled her toward him until her breasts swung forward and their sweet weight landed against his chest. Over her soft moan, he said, “I’m going to have my way with you, Sinclair. And I’m going to whip you into such a frenzy, you won’t give damn how I do it.”
Slowly, he lifted her, dragging her tits over his chest. Her moan got louder, and her eyelids fluttered. He repeated the move, holding her a little closer this time, increasing the friction. Her head fell back. “More.”
“Once more.” He switched his hold to her hips. “One more time, and then I use my mouth.”
Her moan might have been agreement, or protest, but she widened her knees to press her center firmly against him. He pulled his abs taut to give her a good ride and lifted her again, closing his eyes to enjoy the scrape of her hard, hot nipples across his skin and the damp heat seeping through her jeans. This time he just kept going, and once he had her up there, tits level with his face, he closed his mouth around one tight peak. She gasped and jerked back a little, but that’s really all she could do. He had her hips lifted, her hands tied, and she’d twined her legs around the chair to keep her lower body anchored to him. It wasn’t until he drew her deeper, and she sucked in a breath, that it occurred to him she might be sore from the way he’d gone at her earlier.
“Too rough?”
“I like the way it hurts. Don’t stop.”
Not a chance, but it was time to remind her he could be careful, too. There’d been a time when he’d been very, very careful, and she’d liked it very, very much. He gentled his mouth. Her incoherent murmurs were the payoff for every soft kiss, every light flick of his tongue, and every ounce of his restraint.
When her fidgeting turned restless, and her breaths edgy, he reinforced his grip on her ass and stood. The move surprised a small cry out of her—and forced her into another trust-building exercise, given she was essentially a passenger in his arms. He strode to the end of the bed and set her down on the tufted velvet. A little nudge tipped her back and forced her to brace herself on her hands. He skimmed his palms down worn denim and tugged one boot off, then the other.
“Hurry,” she said, and scooted toward him. “I want you. Now.”
