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She smoothed her thumb over his jaw and he groaned under her touch. She followed up with her lips, working her way from his stubble-rough chin and back over to his mouth.
“Jules, please,” he groaned, so deep she felt it in every nerve.Please stop or please go on?
Making an executive decision, she took the groan as an invitation to suck on his bottom lip, to chase his tongue with her own, to kiss him deep. He shouldn’t have tasted good: all that booze should have soured him but this was Tad and the chemistry between them was undeniable. It no longer felt like stealing, it felt like taking what was hers.
Taddeo DeLuca belonged to her, and her alone.
She pushed him back on the sofa and straddled him, taking the lead, pulling out her inner bad girl. This wasn’t slow and tortured. This was her way. Fast and urgent andgetinside me now before I die from the want.She ground her body against his erection and peeled his sweat pants down past those lovely hip indents that she knew like the back of her hand. His beauty awed her.
With an animal growl, he got on board and pushed up her skirt.
Rip.There went another pair of panties. All for a good cause. And then he was inside her, pumping his thighs up to meet her downstroke as she took what was her right. Tad’s body, his quick mind, the only man who got her. This was what she needed—not a man to take care of her, but a man who would be her partner in all things. Cooking, laughing, loving. Working together to make each other happy. The push and pull of two people who understood each other better than any other.
As they moved together, finding that sensuous rhythm, she kissed him again. She needed the connection that came from touching him everywhere she could. Their mouths, their chests, where their bodies fused as one. He moved his thumb to stroke between her legs, the pleasure so sharp she moaned into his mouth.
“Oh, God.”
“Just Tad,” he whispered, making her laugh so hard she almost lost her tempo. It felt like he had come back to her with that one little interjection. Even now, with his heart in shreds, he was thinking of how to please her.
No more than a few seconds later, the build of pleasure became so unbearable she had to pull away, but he had other ideas. He turned and flipped her onto her back, and drove into her deep and fast with one long, consuming stoke after another. He curled his fist in her hair and with his other hand pushed one thigh further apart to heighten the angle of penetration.
The orgasm ripped through her, cresting in an explosion of heat that radiated through every nerve ending. It went on and on and on, no end in sight, no mercy or quarter given.
Naked want finding its fullest expression.
Bad girls had it best.
“I love you,” she said as the violence shuddered to diminishing aftershocks. Not a whisper, but strong and directly to his face. There would be no doubt that she loved him. He needed to be told, often, and in the clearest terms. He had been revealed to her, laugh by laugh and stroke by stroke. She had peeled away to the man inside and he was all she could ever want.
She could feel his entire body shaking though she knew he hadn’t come yet. Still inside her, he stopped his powerful thrusts, and plundered her mouth with a long, possessive kiss. He tasted of man and home and salt. He tasted of…tears.
“I love you,” she said again.
He shook his head vehemently. “No, Jules. Don’t say it—you can’t.”
“Yes.” She could and she would. Forever.
She swiped away his liquid pain with her thumbs. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Over and over she said it as she kissed every inch of his face. She loved this sinful mouth, this strong nose. She loved every last whisker of stubble, every laugh line around his eyes.
She loved this man.
The honesty of the moment ratcheted up her need again. It shouldn’t have been possible, but then Tad made the impossible happen. With that inexorable climb, he took her over again with words so faint she thought she must be mistaken.
“I’m sorry,” he said against her mouth before he roared his release.
He buried his face in her shoulder while their breathing returned to normal. Just their breathing, though. Nothing else would be normal again.
Slowly he withdrew from her, pulled up his sweat pants, and left the room.
Bollocks.
Before she had time to process it, he was back with a wet washcloth. He pushed aside her torn underwear and gently washed between her thighs, every warm stroke like heaven in contrast to the chill emanating from his body.
“You owe me another pair of expensive knickers,” she teased.
“Put it on my tab,” he said gravely.
“Tad—”
