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“Think you can handle it?”
She dug her nails into his tightly loomed butt muscles. “I’m going to murder you if you don’t fuck me properly. Stop holding back and give it to me hard.”
Thunderstorms swirled in his dark, blue eyes, heralding the relentless strokes he now impaled her with. Each thrust became more punishing than the last. Each one broke her apart and put her back together again.
“You feel…Jules…You feel so much better than I imagined.” An invisible line ran from his voice to her sex and it stroked her along with each one of his long, hard thrusts. His hand moved to where their bodies met and pressed against her clit.
She screamed as the pleasure raked over her and his fingers rubbed another orgasm from her throbbing core. In a glorious crash of noise and sensation, she came. With one final thrust, he met her at the peak and it was beautiful to behold. Those DeLuca blue eyes held her captive while every muscle in his body bunched tight through the final pump of release.
Still hard as granite inside her, he buried his chin in the crook of her neck while his shallow breaths returned to an even, steady draw. Moments of peace passed before he moved up on his elbows and gifted her a long, slow kiss that melted whatever was left of her internal organs.
“If you think that’s the only time we’re doing that,” he murmured against her lips, “you can think again.”
Twenty-Three
Tad DeLuca is in my bed.
She mouthed it again in the dark like a demented mime.
Tad DeLuca is in my bed.
Sleeping soundly, after she had worn the poor guy out ordering him about. So it had been a while for her—a long, lonely while—and she had a guy revered by women throughout the Chicagoland metro area for his beautiful jaw and his well-shaped glutes. She had the guy in her bed for one night only and she planned to get her value.
Boy, did she.
Jules’s gaze took in the finest streak of male she had ever seen, illuminated by soft light from the street. The sheet, wrinkled and mussed from their exertions, did a poor job of covering him. The smooth curve of his tight arse peeked above the hem, his strong arms embraced the pillow, and the muscles of his back stretched taut, revealing long striations shading the ladder of his spine. He looked peaceful and pliable, though she knew neither was true.
An hour ago, she had watched as his body twitched through a turbulent dream. After a minute of tossing, she had tried to wake him with no luck. Finally, he rolled over to his front with a murmur of “I’m sorry” and went back to the Land of Nod.
Now she wanted him again. It was four a.m. and her one-night stand was snoring softly, and she wanted to feel him inside her. She wanted to grip his cock with her now-sore muscles and imprint him on her body. She wanted his thick hair rubbing against her skin, inducing a delicious state of shiverhood.
How was she ever going to get past this? All those years she had given herself to any guy who smiled at her, who showed her the slightest interest. The brief attention had been reward enough. Even with Simon, her pleasure had been an afterthought. Not so with Tad. He had worshipped her with his body. Every brush of his mouth against her skin felt like an offering. Every thrust of his hips against hers felt like a gift.
And now she was supposed to go back to the murky-as-crap dating pool after that?
“You’re thinking,” she heard from the pillow beside her.
She was glad the dark masked her smile. “Of course I’m thinking. Sentient being and all that.”
“You’re thinking really loudly. Loud enough to wake me up.” His sleep-softened voice sent another wave of lust crashing over her. Mr. Intuitive must have felt that because he turned over and pulled her into the long, lean heat of his body.
“You okay,bella?”
No, she was not. She was teetering on the edge of something, maybe on the edge oftellinghim something. About Simon. About her lies. About what she needed more than anything. Dangerous thoughts that would acquire a raw power if she spoke them aloud.
Keeping her composure here seemed like the best play. She nuzzled his jaw, that rough swatch of stubble.
Because that helps.
“Tell me we’ll be fine,” she whispered against the beat at the base of his throat. The words sat between them, solid as heavy objects.
“Do you want us to be?”
She thought about what he meant. Of course she did, didn’t she? But maybe she wanted to blow them up. Take what was happening here and throw all her chips on red seven.
“Yes,” she whispered because she was a coward.
“Then we will be,” he said with all the confidence of a man who had just taken a woman to places previously unknown and knew it. “I need you again. I feel like I’ve run a marathon but I can’t stop myself.” His mouth found hers and worked her lips slowly, torturously.
