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His knock was soft, but it still gave her a start. She took a deep breath. “Come in.”
He stepped into the room. Although they were the only two in the house, he closed the door. Even without his boots he seemed towering in the confines of the bedroom. Their eyes connected for a nanosecond as he walked toward the bed. He sat down on the edge of it, his back to her.
He hesitated for several beats, then raised his hips only high enough to push off his jeans. He worked them down his legs and left them lying on the floor. She thought he removed his socks, too, but she couldn’t be sure.
He started to get between the sheets, then muttered something she didn’t catch. She cut her eyes to him, about to ask what he’d said, when he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them off.
She glimpsed a tan line at his waist. There was a stark contrast between the brown skin above it and the white skin—dear God—below. And then his shirttail dropped back into place.
He raised the sheet and slid in beside her. “Did you use it?”
“Yes.”
With no more preamble than that, he rolled onto her and separated her knees with his. His first thrust lodged the head of his penis inside her. But just. She closed her eyes and turned her head aside, but she could sense him looking down at her with dismay and anger.
Using one straight arm to support himself, he worked his other hand between their bodies. She tensed. But he didn’t touch her, he stroked himself in short, rapid tugs. A few times his knuckles brushed against her.
Soon, she sensed the tightening of his muscles. His breath became uneven and hot against her face. He gave a soft groan a heartbeat before he removed his hand, pushed himself into her fully, and came.
The arm he’d used to bear his weight gave way. He settled on her heavily, all six feet four of him. Tanned skin and white skin. He pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He rearranged his right leg. It felt muscular and hard against the inside of her thigh, and rough with hair. His shirt was slightly damp with perspiration. The dampness seeped through her T-shirt, into her skin. She could smell his sweat. Soap. Semen.
When he moved, he moved suddenly, as one does when on the verge of sleep and muscles are seized with a violent twitch. He raised his head and levered himself up but was yanked back down on top of her. Laura, not realizing what had happened, tried to push him off.
“Relax!” he growled.
Then she saw the problem. One of her chains had looped itself around a button of his shirt. He fumbled with it, cursing under his breath, until he worked it free.
Less than five minutes after pulling off his boxers, he was pulling them back on. Laura kept her eyes averted, but in her peripheral vision, she followed his motions, which were jerky and abrupt, those of an angry man barely holding on to his temper.
He stuffed his shirttail into his jeans as though he was furious at it. He buttoned up his fly with dispatch, but his belt buckle presented a challenge. When he finally managed it, he slapped it lightly into place and turned to face her.
“Why did you lie to me?”
“I didn’t use it because I was afraid it would make a difference.”
“You’re damn right it would have made a difference. That’s why I brought it.”
“I mean I was afraid it would prevent conception.”
“I told you it wouldn’t.”
“It might have affected
the motility of the sperm. Something. I don’t know,” she said defensively. “I just didn’t want to take a chance.”
“Well, I didn’t want to hurt you again.” His loud vehemence seemed to surprise him as much as it did her. It rendered them both silent. Finally he said, “Look, I know you have a low opinion of me. You think I’m an outlaw. A criminal. A big, dumb football player. Well, fine. Think whatever you want to. I really don’t give a rat’s ass so long as your money’s good.”
He paused for breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was gruff. “But I hurt you. Twice now. And I resent you thinking that would be okay with me. Because it isn’t.”
She sat up but kept the sheet pulled to her waist. “It shouldn’t make any difference to you.”
“It does.”
“Well, it shouldn’t!” He was provoking an emotional response from her, and she didn’t want to feel any emotion, even anger. “This isn’t about how you feel or how I feel.”
“I understand that. But if you’ve gotta do it this way, you could at least make it easier on yourself. Why don’t you watch the dirty movies?” He raised his hands to stop her from commenting. “Forget it, forget it.”
Again, he paused to take several deep breaths, then said, “No touchy-feely. Fine. I’m not into all that, either. No kissing or foreplay because that would…Because…I get why there’s no kissing or foreplay, okay? But couldn’t we at least have a conversation first?”
