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As caught as she was, she couldn’t escape her assertive nature, and she bent her elbows and dragged her palms up and under his shirt, raking her nails over the hard surface of his waist.
His mouth countered her tease, his tongue enlivening her skin, his teeth nipping and scraping, and tightening her breaths so that she arched against him in a silent plea for more. And he gave more, that same hand rasping over her tummy and tugging at her jeans, his excitement protruding into her thigh.
She wriggled, helping him out, kicking the heavy denim fabric off her ankles and into a light thud on the floor. She figured he would touch her. Take away her frustration. But he merely sat back and took his sweet time staring at her.
He had a look on his face. A different air to anything she’d seen before. Like he didn’t know where to start with her. Or maybe he was a man used to losing the things he cared about, and he wanted to freeze this moment in time. Or maybe she merely projected her own feelings onto him.
Once again, the hot, prickly feeling gathered behind her eyes. What an odd reaction and what an odd hunch. Why did these thoughts assault her brain? And why did the notion of having a man genuinely love or care for her feel the same as standing above a sea of hungry sharks, one small mistake from being devoured?
She gave a small gasp. A gasp that skirted far too close to a sob, as though just the potential of falling for someone, truly falling, could break her heart.
She didn’t want to think about that.
Didn’t do falling, much less love.
At least, not the untamed kind that Dean wanted.
Best to move on to the one thing they always agreed on.
She rose to her knees before him and removed the last of her underwear, then reached up and helped him lose his clothes too. His lips found hers, but still things were different, quieter, less hurried, like every detail and second mattered. Like the moment might grow wings and flutter away…
He shuffled back, taking her with him and seating her on the edge of the bed where he knelt on the floor before her like a man at worship. She closed her eyes against the swell of emotion taking her over, his attention all too much—especially as the silence continued—and he kissed her again, wrapping her legs around him, as though he might soon enter her.
“Sarah.” His voice poured thick and low, husky with need. “Open your eyes.”
She did as he asked, vulnerability hitting her so hard her heart jolted at the sight of him. His expression was taut and serious, as if her every movement required deep and unbroken study, as if he needed to chronicle every passing second. As if he saw her. Only her. And perhaps that had been the case from the very first night they’d met.
He entered her now, slowly, one tentative and evermore penetrating thrust at a time, each move sucking the air from her lungs and forcing her to fold forward into his arms.
Despite her best efforts, her eyes slammed shut again, and he held her and entered her again. Reassuring. Commanding. Her breathless state something new and all-consuming. He was only just getting started, so unrelenting and unrestrained with his desire, her body bursting and awakening like never before, no man ever having left her so defenseless and somehow flourishing.
She ground into him. Surrendering more, testing the new sensation of letting him have this. Have her. While she took, too.
Her need grew and she grew as a woman. She could feel it, the change. The strength she’d worn as a suit of armor, always believing it protected a fragile woman inside.
But none of that was true. Her façade of strength. Her hatred of fragility…
A surge of bone-melting desire overwhelmed her and her lips parted, allowing room for a low moan to escape. The guttural sound surprised her, but even this unintended release held strength. Maybe love didn’t have to weaken her. No. Everything about being with this man felt like a bold victory.
She softened some more, one muscle at a time, losing her urge to resist altogether. He wanted to love her, and just once, she’d throw herself all in.
The pleasure shimmying through her rewarded her risk, and his lips pressed to her forehead, yet another reward, as ecstasy brought her undone—light flooding her eyes and her muscles bracing against the swell expanding and exploding within.
Even as that intensity settled, she didn’t have time to gather her bearings. Dean pushed her back and pressed her into the bed, claiming her with his thrusts. Her fingers dug into his bulky triceps, and he repaid her with increased speed and intensity. More need took over, and she screamed out his name.
The pace he kept was just below punishing. He pounded into her again and again, as if making her pay for what she did to him. Well, the feeling was mutual. She needed him, when she’d never needed anyone, and for that she cried out again.
“Sarah.” His lips poised at her earlobe, and his movements slowed. Why?
Was he trying to prolong this? Or maybe like her, he wanted to avoid facing the aftermath.
Something had changed here. But what?
She stared up at him, at the sweat glistening over his brow, tendrils of jet-black hair plastered to his skin, his lips poised so close to her, and his breath lapping at her skin. He was in her and all over her, and, that ache in her heart again…
He’d broken her open, but what about him?
What had changed for him?
