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“I’m clean too. Same thing with the physical.” He rolled onto his side and shucked off his pants.
She gasped as the sizable length of what she craved sprang free. His smile beamed macho pride. The look aroused her further. So did his sharp breath when she traced her finger from the smooth pink head down the darker, thick length. There had to be something on the books outlawing the way she felt.
With another quick and sure move, he positioned himself between her legs and pressed the tip of his cock into her drenched pussy. “Ready to do this?”
She didn’t have to answer.
Or beg.
He sank into her, slow and steady. With each inch, she stretched, burned to the point of pain, and savored the delicious feeling of Cannon filling her to near bursting. And with each torturous inch, a vein throbbed in his neck.
Knowing he held himself in check heightened her arousal and her anticipation of what would happen when the man with the strong name lost control. She outlined the curves of his biceps with her fingers, then held on as she wrapped her legs around him. “More.”
On a groan and a rock of his hips, he embedded himself fully inside her. He lowered his torso to hers, and she stilled. Everything Cannon, from the tickle of his chest hair on her rigid nipples to the jerk of his cock, washed over her skin from the inside out. She blew out a ragged sigh.
“Are you all right?”
She answered his strained question with a buck of her hips as she dug her heels into his ass cheeks.
He chuckled and pinned her hands to the mattress. His mouth dropped to her ear, and he nipped. “I love how Special Agent Fearless isn’t afraid to relinquish control to me.”
“Only in bed, Cannon.” Right here, right now, she’d take any direction from the chocolate-scented doctor who offered the kind of therapy she’d give her life for.
They fit together that good.
That unbelievably perfect.
She moaned and writhed on his cock, her muscles taut with energized nerves and a needy ache that only allowed her to focus on him.
With a grunt, he rocked back and slammed into her. Her breath took a vacation, along with her worries. Releasing one of her hands, he grasped the back of her knee and levered her thigh up. The angle shot him deeper, bringing her closer to release with each pound of his body.
Lacing his fingers with hers, he hovered on his elbows. Tension vibrated in his arms before he drove into her with such force her head bumped against the couch cushions. Tugging her hands free, she gripped his shoulders and matched his animalistic rhythm.
Higher and higher and so hard that pleasure and pain united in a savage coupling, he rammed into her, commanding her to look at him in that voice she couldn’t resist. She met his dark gaze, and he stilled.
She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even nod before he pulled out. A growling, visceral sound, like he’d lost the last vestige of control, escaped from his swollen lips before he slammed home again and again. She screamed his name, her body singing, her muscles convulsing until rolling waves of liquid fire cascadedinto her core and shattered, spiraling her into a strange, pulsing state of energized calm.
With a rough groan, Cannon clamped his lips on her shoulder where he’d left his mark and shuddered his release. The steel of his arms caged her in. With each suck, each lick of his tongue, each gritty, sexy croon of her name, she flew higher and higher until she reached the mountain peak.
Colors more vibrant than the northern lights burst behind her closed eyes as she shattered into molten pieces and rode out every last tremor of her orgasm. As they hit the bottom, the tandem pounding of their hearts against their sweat-soaked skin silenced everything chaotic in her mind.
He rolled to the side and cradled her against his chest. “You okay, Snow Angel?”
“Never better.” And that posed a problem.
Until now, the only thing that had mattered had been catching Malgor. Today, Cannon mattered a whole lot more than he had yesterday.
EIGHTEEN
Paul pushed his chair away from the conference room table in the hospital’s executive suite and rubbed his bald head. “You need some sleep, Zenner.”
Rosalie stifled a yawn. Some sleep didn’t sound like nearly enough. Hibernation sounded sufficient, though. There had to be a bear on the mountain willing to let her hide in his den until spring.
Or a hot doctor whose bed she’d snuck out of this morning while he’d been in the bathroom.
Good morning kisses and talk about the upcoming day were for people in relationships. She’d never had that with anyone, not even Easton. They’d always met at his hotel room, and she had never stayed the night.
Now wasn’t the time to venture into uncharted relationship territory, but crap, thinking about what it would be like to let Cannon suspend reality again with his brand of control made the thought of going back to her empty apartment in Denver—or maybe LA soon—that much lonelier.
