by Tracy Wolff
“Yeah,” she said as her arms went around his neck while her legs circled his waist in an attempt to steady herself. “I think so.”
The first touch of her pussy—so hot and inviting—over his denim-clad cock had desire rushing through him. Clenching his teeth, fighting down the need to slam her against the nearest wall and bury himself in her, Byron lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. In that moment, with that first almost innocent connection, he realized that nothing in his life had ever felt so right. It scared the hell out of him, even as it made him burn hotter still.
Lacey trembled at the first touch of Byron’s mouth on her own. For one brief second, panic flared, and she started to tell him to stop. To explain that she shouldn’t be doing this, couldn’t be doing this. She wasn’t ready yet—not for a relationship and certainly not for the overwhelming need that clawed through her at the touch of Byron’s hard, sculpted body against her own.
But he felt so good pressed against her—hot and firm and so solid she wanted to stay right where she was for as long as he would have her. The thought had warning bells sounding in her head, and she put her hands on his shoulders and began to push him away.
She had to end this.
Had to apologize for leading him on.
Had to—
He chose that moment to deepen the kiss, and she ended up pulling him closer instead of shoving him away. Her fingers curled into the soft cotton of his shirt, relishing the play of muscles beneath her questing hands. Anchoring him to her when she should be disconnecting. Getting closer when she should be backing away.
But his mouth was warm and tender and he tasted so good—like licorice and coffee and sweet summer rainstorms. Like desire and need and everything else she’d gone too long without.
She wanted more of it, more of him.
It had been so long since she’d let a man touch her, so long since she’d done anything but fantasize, and her body was on fire, her nerve endings screaming for the pleasure they knew Byron could provide.
The decision made—like there had ever been a choice—she let her fingers tighten on his shirt, dig into his skin, and what had started out gentle turned ravenous from one breath to the next.
Hard, hungry, filled with a desire she hadn’t experienced in far too long, his mouth devoured hers, and she let it. Lips, tongue, teeth—he used them all to bring her to a frenzied state where nothing mattered but the feel of him against her, above her, inside her. Until he was all she wanted, all she needed. Everything she had to have.
“Lacey.” He growled her name—low, deep, and so harsh it whipped right through her. She whimpered in response and opened to him, gave him everything he wanted. Took what she needed in return.
His tongue slipped between her parted lips, licked at the roof of her mouth before tangling with her own. Somehow her hands were in his hair, her fingers twisting in the too-long locks in an effort to pull him even closer.
He groaned, and his mouth grew hotter and harder against hers, demanding entrance. Demanding everything she had to give and more.
He bit at her lips, sharp little nips that made fire gather low in her belly. Then sucked her tongue deep into his mouth and stroked it. Stroked her. Again and again until all she could feel, want, need, was him. Until all her fears and all her objections were nothing but a memory.
He slid his tongue between her upper lip and her gums, fluttered it, and she lit up like a bonfire, light and heat pouring through her. Enveloping her. Stoking the flames inside her until she feared spontaneous combustion.
“Byron.” She ripped her mouth from his and sucked huge gasps of air into her starving lungs as she tried to gain some kind of control over her out-of-control libido. But she was too far gone. Her body cried out for everything—anything—he could give it. And more. Always more.
Her hands tightened in his hair, and she tugged once, twice. Again and again, harder and harder as she struggled to get closer to him. To take what she wanted from him and give the same in return. Frustrated, desperate, Lacey bit down hard on Byron’s lower lip.
She was against the wall in a heartbeat, his body straining against her, holding her in place. Touching her everywhere. His erection—hot, hard, huge—pushed against the apex of her thighs as he lifted and lowered her.
“Tighten your legs around me,” he snarled as his hand tangled in her hair, forcing her head back.
She did, and the feel of him was arousing, tantalizing, even through the denim of his jeans and the soft cotton of her shorts.
“Fuck, Lacey!” One hand squeezed her ass, pulled them so tightly together that he was almost inside her. She could feel him pushing against her and she rode him through the fabric, her hips lifting and lowering in time to the blood roaring through her ears.
His other hand was still in her hair, forcing her head back so that she was completely open to him. His mouth skimmed over her cheeks, down her jaw to the tender skin of her throat before moving lower.
Before she could prepare herself, Byron’s mouth closed over her nipple and she could feel even through her tank top the warmth of it, the incredibly seductive heat of him. He sucked at her, bit at her, ran his tongue in little circles around her nipple until she was frantic with the need to be skin to skin with him. Until nothing mattered but feeling him, naked, against her.
“Stop,” she gasped, pushing him away as the tension continued to build in her. “I need—”
“What do you need, baby?” he murmured against her breast, refusing to relinquish his prize so easily.
“God, Byron, stop!” She shoved more forcefully this time, and his head snapped back, his eyes meeting hers. There was a question in them, and genuine concern. When he took a few deep, shuddering breaths, she realized suddenly that he was trying to get himself under control. That he thought she wanted him to stop for good.
Trusting him to hold on to her, she eased her upper body away from his even as she kept her legs locked around his waist. In one fluid movement, she stripped her tank top over her head. Then reached for his T-shirt and did the same.
His chest was smooth, sculpted, and so hard it made her mouth water with the need to taste him. To run her tongue over the heavy muscles of his pecs before taking his nipples in her mouth.
Leaning forward, she did just that, allowing her teeth to sink into his well-defined chest. He stiffened, cursed, so she swirled her tongue over the little hurt once, then again and again. His reaction was explosive, immediate, desperate. Thrusting his hands into her hair, he yanked none too gently until her face was on the same level as his.
Her first glimpse of his eyes had Lacey gasping, growing wetter. His gaze had turned to sleek obsidian—dark as midnight, dangerous as sin. She could see his need for her flickering in its depths, as well as the razor-thin edge of his control. She knew he was hanging on by his fingertips, knew she should let him keep a leash on himself just a little longer.
But it was a fantasy come true to know that she could push him to the brink, push him over. Not to mention how good it felt to realize that she wasn’t alone in this desperate maelstrom of need.
She licked her lips, watched as his gaze followed her every movement like he was a starving man and she the only sustenance around. Did it again, and reveled in the groan he didn’t even try to hold back. Did it once more, this time allowing her tongue to linger on her lower lip as she used her eyes to devour him.
Lightning crackled in the air between them and Lacey felt the heat of it rip through her body, through her mind and heart, through her veins and muscles. Through every part of her until Byron was all she could think of, all she could ever desire.
His harsh tugs on her hair only made her crazier, and she pressed her lips to his with a desperation she hadn’t thought herself capable of. She’d never felt like this before, had never felt this wanton. This desperate. This needy. Not even with Curtis, who wielded his sexual power like a weapon, had she been this aroused.
But that was the difference b
etween the two men, the difference she had failed to see the other day when Byron had all but ordered her to sit with him. Curtis was a club, bludgeoning her with his desires and requirements, whereas Byron was so much more sophisticated. He was a razor-sharp sword, a finely designed instrument of cunning and desire. And while she knew he was as dangerous—and probably more so—to her peace of mind as Curtis ever was, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when he was careening out of control as fast, or faster, than she was herself.
“I have to feel you,” she murmured, pressing her breasts to his bare chest and reveling in the heat pouring off him. Her fingers slipped to the waistband of his jeans, tore at the button there in a desperate attempt to get at his rock-hard erection. At the same time, she took his mouth with hers, devouring him. Taking everything he could give her and more—kissing, biting, sucking, using her lips and teeth and tongue on him.
Byron shuddered as lust ripped through him like a goddamn Molotov cocktail, burning, smoldering, getting ready to take him in one giant explosion. This was going too fast. He wasn’t going to be able to hold on if he didn’t slow it down; was going to explode like a teenager with his first girl if he couldn’t gain a little distance.
But distance was impossible with Lacey wrapped around him, her delicate fingers ripping at his jeans like they contained the secret to the promised land. All he could do was feel and want and take whatever he could get.
Pulling away from her questing hands and mouth, he stared at her breasts with hungry eyes, his mouth actually watering with the need to taste her. She was small but perfectly round, and so firm his palms itched with the desire to feel her. Bending his head, unable to wait for one more second, he licked at her nipple until she was trembling and arching against him.
Lacey cried out as her hands slid up his chest to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Please,” she gasped, rocking her lower body against his. “Please, Byron. I need—”
“What do you need, baby?” he asked as he toyed with first one nipple and then the other. “What do you want?”
“You.” Her voice was high-pitched, breathy, and it shot another ball of adrenaline through his system. It skated up and down his nerves until there was no part of him unaffected by the passion she brought forth in him.
“You have me,” he answered, flicking his tongue over her diamond-hard nipples again and again.
“I need—I need—”
“What?” he growled, desperate to take her inside his mouth. The need to taste her sweetness created a terrible urgency in him, one he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist much longer. But he wanted to hear her say it, needed to know that she was on this crazy ride right along with him.
“More,” she shrieked as she arched her back, using her body to plead with him as well.
It was what he’d been waiting—no, dying—to hear, and he almost swallowed her whole, his mouth closing around her nipple with a fierceness he wouldn’t have tempered even if he could have.
He sucked hard and her hips bucked harshly against him, the muscles of her stomach contracting as her fingers twisted painfully in his hair. The small pain only made him more ravenous, and he held her there for long minutes, suckling one nipple and then the other until she was nearly incoherent with need. She tasted amazing—like warm caramel and spicy cinnamon. It was a combination he doubted he’d ever get enough of, one that was slowly and completely driving him out of his mind.
Part of him wanted to take her right then, to shove his jeans down, rip her flimsy excuse for shorts off and plunge inside of her. In only a second or two, they could both be coming.
But he wasn’t ready for it to end so soon, wasn’t ready to let her come so easily. Not when he’d spent the past seven months in an agony of aching, unfulfilled desire, courtesy of her.
With each swipe of his tongue, each pull of his mouth, he felt her vicious need to come. She moaned, begged, cried out again and again as her body rode his through her shorts, through his jeans. He could feel her heat even with the heavy denim between them, and for a minute he didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from ripping them away.
“Take them off, take them off,” she chanted as she bucked and twisted against him.
“Soon, baby,” he murmured between strong pulls on her nipple. “I’ll—”
“Now!” she screamed, her fingers ripping at her shorts in near hysteria. “I need you now!”
Fuck! His hips surged at her obvious desperation, his control flying out the window as his body took over. He stripped her roughly, his hands rending her shorts in two in an effort to get at her. The sound of the fabric tearing only aroused him more, until his blood was boiling and he was in a near frenzy to be inside her.
“Byron, please!” She was almost incoherent, her head thrashing back and forth against the wall as she ground her hips against him.
“Okay, baby, okay.” He didn’t bother to pull his jeans all the way off—he would have had to set her down to do it, and that was never going to happen. So he just shoved them down enough to free his cock, quickly sheathed himself with the condom he’d stuck in his back pocket on the way out of his apartment and then pushed home in one hard thrust.
Lacey whimpered at the invasion, her body erupting at the first stroke of Byron inside of her. For long moments, everything around her went black as she was locked in the most amazing orgasm of her life, pleasure rippling through every part of her. It robbed her of the ability to think, to move, even to breathe. All she could do was take it—take him—as he thrust into her again and again—ratcheting up her pleasure with each movement of his hips.
Before her first climax had come to an end, she could feel a second one building, this one sharper than the first. As he plunged inside her, she dug her nails into his shoulder, hanging on for dear life as he took her with all his power and passion.
He came as she called his name, his body jerking and straining as he emptied himself inside her. His pleasure sent hers careening upward, until she teetered on the edge of an even more powerful release.
“Don’t stop,” she sobbed as she rocked against him. “Please, don’t—”
He didn’t. Reaching between their bodies, he rolled her clit between his thumb and forefinger and she whimpered, pressing herself against him as he continued to thrust.
He was still hard, as if his release had done nothing to dull his desire for her, and he surged against her again and again, each thrust a little more powerful than the one that came before it. She felt her back scraping against the wall, felt herself rising and falling as he tilted her hips forward to get a deeper position, and still she begged him not to stop.
Locking her ankles around his waist, she let her head fall back against the wall as she sobbed Byron’s name again and again. She was spinning out of control—her mind, her body, everything that she was. It was all his for the taking.
It should have frightened her—would have terrified her at any other time, with any other man. But here, now, all she could do was open herself up to him, let him take all that he wanted.
She wanted it to end, to feel him empty himself totally and completely within her. She wanted it to go on forever, wanted his strong, hard body plunging into hers until she’d had her fill. Until her body no longer clamored for his. Until she didn’t know where he started and she left off.
His fingers dug deeply into her hips and she shuddered with pleasure, admitting to herself that she wasn’t sure a time would ever come when she didn’t want Byron. He was so thick, so hard, so unbelievably strong that she couldn’t think beyond the moment. Each powerful thrust of his body had her climbing higher, had her teetering on the edge of yet another orgasm.
“Lacey, look at me.” His voice was deep, distorted, but so insistent she knew she didn’t have a choice. Opening her eyes through sheer strength of will, she stared into Byron’s dark ones, and shuddered at the pleasure and the pain of the connection.
She wanted to look away, needed to look away. Th
is connection between them was too powerful, too overwhelming. But he wouldn’t let her, his eyes capturing hers, taking her prisoner, as his body did the same. She couldn’t break away, was completely, utterly in his thrall. The only thing keeping her sane was the knowledge that he was as vulnerable as she was, that he had no more control over his body at the moment than she did over hers.
He pressed more firmly on her clit, and she cried out as an answering wave of sensation whipped through her, sending her over the edge for a second time. She came, screaming his name, and still he refused to relinquish her gaze. Still he kept her pinned with those black-magic eyes that seemed capable of seeing all the way to her soul.
And when he followed her seconds later—his own release crashing through him with the all the power and finesse of a hydroplaning eighteen-wheeler—his gaze demanded more than she wanted to give. More than she could give.
As he continued to pulse within her, Lacey pushed the unwanted thoughts away. She had Byron now, and she was going to enjoy him. The future could take care of itself.
Chapter Seven
Minutes or maybe hours later—his sense of time was shot, along with every other sense he had—Byron became aware of Lacey pushing against his shoulders.
Holy shit was all he could think as he slowly pulled away from Lacey. Holy shit, he’d just had the best sex of his life. Holy shit, she’d ruined him for any other woman. Holy shit, what on earth was he supposed to do now? Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.
“Come on, Byron, this wall is starting to hurt.”
Her voice was low, breathy, and he struggled to focus on her words, but they weren’t making much sense. His brain must have stopped functioning when everything else had—about thirty seconds after he’d had the most explosive orgasm of his life. Which was surprisingly okay with him. He was more than willing to stay right here forever; being inside Lacey while her small body cushioned his was the most comfortable, exciting experience he could remember.
