Cuff Me

by Lauren Layne

  Begging.

  He wanted to beg Jill to be his and only his.

  His tongue trailed down the soft, smooth column of her neck as she tilted back with a soft sigh.

  “Tell me,” he said again, his lips moving back up her neck and coming to rest at a sensitive spot under her ear. “Tell me you’re mine.”

  It was more, perhaps, than he should have revealed, and for a heart-lurching moment of silence he thought he’d pushed it too far—pushed her too hard.

  She pulled her face away from his, and Vin swallowed his disappointment, his fingers slowly releasing her wrists as he started to step back.

  Jill pulled him back.

  Her fingers came to his waist, fisting in the fabric of his T-shirt, waiting until he met her eyes.

  And then she smiled. “I’m yours.”

  Vincent’s breath came out on a rush as his mouth slammed down on hers once more, lifting her off her feet and slamming her backward once more toward the wall.

  Jill met his urgency gasp for gasp, her strong legs wrapping around his waist as her arms locked behind his head, fusing their mouths.

  He greedily explored her legs, fully exposed now by the robe that had hiked its way up around her hips.

  His hands moved over her calves, fingertips brushing against the soft skin behind her knee as she made small begging noises.

  His palms ran along the back of her thighs until he cupped her ass in his hands, angling her body so that the fly of his jeans rubbed against her in just the right way to make her moan.

  “Please,” she whispered against his mouth as she wiggled.

  It was all the invitation he needed.

  He pulled her against him more fully, her small frame making it easy for him to walk them both those few crucial steps to her bedroom.

  Her bedroom was a fussy, feminine affair. Lots of purple and white and flowers.

  Vincent barely noticed as he dropped her none too gently on the bed and then crawled over her, caging her with his body as he stared down at her.

  Her chest rose and fell rapidly. The sash of her robe was nearly all the way undone now, her breast inches from exposure. He’d only have to hook one finger beneath the fabric to reveal the soft skin…

  Vincent lifted one hand. But instead of drifting down, his hand went up to where her hair was fanned out on the bedspread. He rubbed the blond strands between his fingertips. It felt like silk.

  Her eyes drifted closed, and before he realized what he was doing, he’d leaned down and gently, reverently kissed both her closed eyelids before trailing along her high cheekbones, down over her pointy little chin, before brushing against her lips.

  “Vincent.”

  It was a sigh—his name was a sigh on her lips, and that’s all it took. That one simple sound, and he was lost.

  His hand slid down her neck, his fingertips brushing gently against the hollow of her neck, until one finger was hooked under the lapel of her robe.

  He eased slightly to his left until he was on his side, his leg still draped over both of hers, pinning her as his finger slowly pulled her robe down millimeter by millimeter, exposing her pale skin to his gaze.

  Vincent paused when he neared the peak, his eyes locking on hers. Holding her gaze as he slowly, deliberately pulled the robe that last crucial inch, letting the back of his index finger graze her nipple as he exposed her all the way.

  Jill cried out at the touch, and Vin’s cock got even harder at the sound.

  Curious if she was always that sensitive, he repeated the motion, moving his finger back up, brushing her again.

  She gasped.

  He grinned evilly then. Six years trying to figure out how to get the upper hand on this woman, and this was all it took.

  Vincent rested the pad of his thumb on the tip of her breast, barely touching her—torturing her.

  She arched her back up into him and he pulled his hand away. Again and again they repeated the motion, her desperate to have his hand on her, him just as determined to make her wait.

  Only when she was cursing him, sounding very much like, well, her, did he give her what she wanted.

  He captured her nipple between this thumb and forefinger, idly rolling it as he watched her pant. Vincent let the edge of his thumbnail scrape her just slightly and she nearly came off the bed.

  “Ah, Jill,” he said reverently. And then when he couldn’t help himself any longer, his own control at the brink, he scooted down and brought his mouth to her breast.

  He started with the tip of his tongue, flicking her nipple just lightly, before lapping at her in rhythmic strokes.

  Her fingers tangled in his hair, clasping her to him as he drew her into his mouth, sucking the sweet puckered tip into his mouth.

  His hand slid across her chest, shoving the robe aside to reveal her other breast, repeating the same torturous process on that side until she was sobbing with need.

  Vincent’s hand slid down her belly, his fingertips tracing over the soft curve of her lower belly until sliding down farther and finding the elastic band of her panties.

  He used one finger to trace all around the elastic, starting with the tip before lifting his hand and repeating the slow process at the sensitive crease of her inner thighs.

  Jill’s hips arched up and he pulled his hand away.

  “I hate you,” she gasped.

  He merely grinned and repeated the motion all over again, this time accidentally on purpose letting his finger slip beneath the fabric.

  Vincent moved upward slightly, waiting until she turned her face to his before kissing her, long and deep.

  He let one finger roam over the front of her underwear then, and he groaned in satisfaction when he found her wet.

  “Damn it, Jill.”

  In response she pulled his mouth more firmly against hers with one hand as the other drifted down to the front of his jeans. He growled in response, his hand pulling hers away and pinning it above her head.

  “Think you’re in control, do you?” she asked.

  In response, Vincent slipped one finger under the elastic of her panties.

  She gasped.

  “I don’t know,” he said as he gently explored her folds. “Am I in control?”

  “I hate you,” she said again, this time around a moan.

  “Hmm, that doesn’t sound like hate, darling.”

  “It is. It definitely is,” she said, her voice a little rough.

  “Well then, I guess you want me to stop,” he said, sliding his hand away from her, smiling when she whimpered in protest.

  “Please,” she said, her wrists twisting under his grip.

  “Please what?” he said, his lips fastening once more on her nipple.

  He glanced up at her as his mouth played at her breast, finding her watching him with cloudy blue eyes.

  “Still feeling the hate?” he asked roughly.

  Wordlessly, she shook her head.

  Rewarding her, Vincent slid down her body, releasing her hands as he did so, gratified when her fingers instantly found his head, running through his hair.

  He kissed each of her ribs, taking his time, listening to her panting breaths, before he pulled back and glared at her robe, which was still hooked on her arms and kept getting in his way every time she moved.

  “Off,” he commanded.

  For once, she didn’t argue. She sat up, slightly tugging her arms free of the bulky fabric before yanking it away and tossing it aside.

  “Better?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

  In response, his hand flattened across her chest, pushing her back to the bed as his mouth continued its downward descent, his fingers trailing over her rib cage until they reached the top of her panties.

  He watched her eyes as he pulled her underwear down and off. There was no shyness in her eyes—only hunger.

  And then she was naked, and Vincent’s own hunger ratcheted up a notch or two. His fingers trailed over the inside of her ankles, and it occurred to him th
at one of them should feel worried about the line they were about to cross.

  But Vincent didn’t want to think about tomorrow. Didn’t want to think about anything other than running his lips up the inside of her calves.

  So he did.

  His lips lingered on her skin, trailing up and down her lean legs, learning her taste. His hands wrapped around her ankles, pushing them up so he had access to the soft, sweet skin behind her knees.

  By the time he reached her inner thighs, letting his mouth plant wet kisses to the supple skin there, she was right where he wanted her—panting and eager.

  His teeth scraped her inner thigh and she arched off the bed, his name a plea on her lips.

  Only then did he give her what she wanted.

  Vincent waited until she’d once more met his eyes.

  Then he licked her.

  Slow and slick, his tongue worked over her, learning what she liked and where she liked it.

  Jill’s hands found his hair, her nails scraping lightly against his scalp, and Vincent swore softly against her wet flesh.

  His cock pressed hard and angry against the fly of his jeans, and he reached down to adjust himself even as his tongue fluttered over her.

  “Vin.” Her voice was breathier now. Panicked.

  In response he slid his hands beneath her ass, pulling her all the way against his mouth as she exploded in a torrent of sharp cries and maybe a few naughty words.

  Vincent kissed his way up her body. He’d planned to give her a few minutes to recover, but her hands were already at his waistband, her fingers making quick work of the buttons on his jeans before sliding those and his briefs over his ass.

  He started to pull back to pull them off, but her hands held his hips.

  “Now.”

  Vincent let out a harsh, tortured laugh. “Condom. Tell me you have condoms.”

  “I do.” Her thumb ran over his lip. “I’m also on the pill, and just got tested for all the fun stuff.”

  He groaned against her neck, because he too checked out these things on a regular basis, and the thought of sliding inside her, skin on skin…

  Vin rolled on top of her, hands sliding beneath her hips as he angled her just right…

  He thrust inside her with one firm, smooth stroke that had her arching off the bed.

  So. Fucking. Tight.

  And perfect. She was perfect.

  When he was all the way buried inside her, he stayed perfectly still, feeling her clamp around him, his breath hot and urgent against her neck.

  He pulled his hips back slowly before thrusting forward again. Repeated the process again, pulling out slowly, thrusting in hard. And again. Jill picked up his rhythm immediately.

  Vincent tried to keep the pace slow and deliberate, but when Jill’s legs lifted, her ankles locked around his ass, arching up to him, he lost it.

  His hands held her hips, pinned her lower body to the bed as he buried himself again and again in her small, hot body.

  He came harder than he ever had before, erupting with an inhuman roar as he exploded inside her.

  Perfect. Fucking perfect.

  His mind went blank with pleasure then, and when consciousness finally returned, he was slumped on top of her and she was moving uncomfortably beneath him.

  He pulled back. “Sorry.” His voice was gruff. “Too heavy?”

  “No,” she said, her own voice raspy. “It’s just… your buttons.”

  Vincent glanced down and let out a little laugh as he realized that he was still completely clothed, his pants down around his knees like a high school virgin who couldn’t wait even five seconds longer.

  He rolled off her, starting to pull his pants back up, but her small fingers wrapped around his wrist.

  “What are you doing?”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Getting dressed?”

  Hers lifted right back. “Take it off, Moretti. All of it.”

  The command was casual—joking, but the sentiment behind it…

  “You want me to… stay?”

  Goddamn, but he hated how hopeful his voice sounded.

  Still, he braced himself for her to kick him out. To tell him that this had been a mistake, a onetime fling to scratch the itch…

  She smiled, slow and intimate.

  “Yeah. I want you to stay.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Jill was resting lazily on Vincent’s chest when her phone on the nightstand buzzed.

  She reached for it, feeling both a flicker of guilt and amusement at the text message on her screen.

  “Tom said he forgives you for almost breaking his nose.”

  Vincent’s hand clamped around her wrist as he lifted the hand holding her cell phone up to his face. “Tell me you’re not texting your ex while you’re lying naked beside me.”

  “Of course not,” she said, pressing her lips to his shoulder. Then she did it again, just because she could. “He’s texting me.”

  Vincent made a growling noise and plucked the phone out of her hand, tossing it back on the nightstand before he rolled over her.

  She ran her fingers over his shoulders, surprising herself with the greedy need to touch him. Jill wiggled beneath him suggestively, noting the unmistakable flare of heat in his eyes.

  But instead of taking the hint, he stared… no, glared… down at her.

  “Jill.”

  She froze at the serious note in his voice, her hands falling back weakly to the bed. She had a pretty good idea what was coming, and even though it was a conversation that needed to happen, she was dreading it.

  Still, his voice was gentle, and his gaze softened slightly as he looked down at her, so that helped.

  Vincent propped his elbows on either side of her head. “Tell me.”

  She brought her hands to rest on his forearms. “Tell you…”

  He toyed with a strand of her hair. “What happened with Tom?”

  Jill licked her lips. “It… it didn’t work out.”

  “Obviously. But I need a bit more than that. I just slept with a woman who up until a few hours ago I thought was engaged. Hell, up until two weeks ago you were engaged.”

  Jill slapped her hands over her eyes and groaned. “Oh my God. When you say it like that, I sound like such… such…”

  “A hussy?”

  “Yes!” she exclaimed, even though his voice was teasing. “I feel icky. Like a man-eater who jumps from one man’s bed to the next. Although you should know, it had been awhile with—”

  He laid a finger over her lips. “I don’t want to know. Not about that.”

  “So what do you want to know?”

  He looked down at her then, his expression hesitant and Jill had a pretty good idea why. Communicating with their bodies was one thing—gasps and moans and really good sex… well that was easy, in a way.

  But this—the emotional stuff—was harder. Especially for a man like Vincent.

  And not particularly easy for her either. She knew how people saw her. As an open, heart-on-her-sleeve kind of woman.

  And she sort of was.

  But that didn’t mean she wasn’t every bit as afraid of heartache as other people.

  Throwing her love—if it had even been that—at Tom had been easy. He’d been open and wanting to receive it. And even had he rejected it, Jill supposed she’d always known on some level that getting rejected by Tom wouldn’t crush her.

  She dropped her gaze to Vincent’s Adam’s apple.

  Throwing something as powerful as love at Vincent…

  That was risky. Scary.

  She knew that he’d never intentionally hurt her, but that didn’t change the fact that Vincent Moretti was perhaps the only man on earth who could crush her.

  Jill returned her eyes to his gaze, found him watching her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? When it ended… you could have…” He swallowed nervously. “It would have meant a lot to know.”

  Jill’s heart squeezed at the admission, and guilt racked th
rough her. “I was scared.”

  He frowned. “About what?”

  She took a deep breath, wondering how much to tell him. She started to look away, but his palm cupped her face. Brought it around to face him. “Jill.”

  “There were two parts to it,” she said slowly. “The first was about me… I wanted to be damn sure that you weren’t just a rebound. I wanted time to think before, well… this. And the second was about you. I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure if you’d only wanted what you couldn’t have.”

  His gaze darkened. “Explain.”

  “I’ve been right in front of you for six years,” she said softly. “Right there, this whole damn time. But it wasn’t until after I got serious—really serious—about someone else that you seemed to want me back.”

  He was silent for several moments, then dipped his head with a soft oath before he rolled off of her so they were lying on their backs, side-by-side.

  Vincent lifted a hand to his face, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. “Here’s the thing, Henley… if I tell you the truth… you’ll have no reason to believe me.”

  “Try me,” she said, rolling onto her side and looking down at him.

  He dropped his hand and met her eyes. “When you were gone for three months, I was… I felt…”

  Vin blew out a breath, then tried again. “That day you got back from your mom’s, I was going to ask you out. On a date.”

  Her jaw dropped, and he rolled over so they were face-to-face. “I swear to God, Henley, my wanting you has nothing to do with you getting engaged to Tom. It took me a while, yes. It took me far too damn long to realize that I wanted to be more than your partner, but I did realize it.”

  She reached out and lightly touched the back of his hand. “And then I came back… engaged.”

  He swallowed. “Yeah.”

  “What about now?” she asked softly. “Do you still want to ask me on a date?”

  “I do, but—”

  Her heart dropped.

  “I’m not a hearts-and-flowers kind of guy. I don’t… I don’t know that I can be what you need. Or want.”

  “Well what can you be?” She forced her voice to stay light. To keep from pushing him too hard in a direction she wasn’t sure either of them wanted or knew how to handle.