Two seconds later he’d be in her, the place he’d wanted to be—goddamned yearned to be—for almost two years now.
She’d let him, oh yeah. Her eyes were soft and warm as they looked at him.
Big Man. He was Big Man here, he’d saved her life, now had her in his home. No, she wouldn’t fight him.
He could see it, feel it, taste it. It could happen, right now. Right here.
He’d let her keep her coat on, not even in his feverish state of desire did he want her naked back to be on the chill, rough concrete flooring. No, he’d let her keep the coat, the sweater, even the pants down to her knees. All he needed was a shot at the part of her his dick was weeping to enter.
So down on her back, the puffy coat softening the rough floor, maybe he’d be in time to put his own coat on the floor for her, unzipping as he came down on top of her, pulling himself out of his pants, parting her with his fingers, and oh, man, just sliding right in. The image was positively electric.
He hadn’t had sex in a year, so he’d probably come in the first five seconds, but that was okay—no way he’d lose his hard-on. In fact, he might sport his hard-on forever, the way he was feeling right now.
Maybe be buried in a closed casket because they couldn’t get it to go down.
Once he got into Claire, there’d be no stopping him, because he was as revved as he’d ever been in his life.
Having been in a firefight didn’t help, either. It was a known male reaction to danger—a woodie that lasted until the adrenalin passed through the system, usually through the dick.
Way out in the field, where there were no women to help you get rid of your hard-on, soldiers used their fists. After combat, barracks smelled like goats had died in there.
But he didn’t need to use his fist here, oh no. He had the world’s most beautiful woman right here, right in front of him, looking at him with soft eyes.
Oh man, once he was in her, he’d hold her hips while he did her hard, or pull her knees up and apart to give him more access. Just let it rip, get rid of all that adrenalin and break a year’s abstinence by pounding into her…
Christ.
He’d hurt her. The way he was feeling right now, he’d hurt her, hurt Claire. Fuck, what was he thinking—holding her down with his hands? He had big, strong hands and he could keep her still under him, no question. Though of course he’d probably bruise all that lovely pale skin, hurt her, make her feel trapped under him…
He closed his eyes.
This was not good. What he was feeling was not good. He was a man known for his control, and he was on the razor’s edge of losing that control right now, with a woman he cared about, a lot.
He opened his eyes again and saw Claire. Really saw her. Smart and courageous. An amazingly beautiful woman without an ounce of that power-hungry coyness so many beautiful women developed over the course of a lifetime of leading poor males around by their dicks. A woman in a million.
She’d been blown up a year ago, spent three months in a fucking coma, she’d been shot at only an hour ago, her personal effects viciously destroyed and—he was fantasizing holding her down with all his strength while he fucked her? On the cold concrete of his garage floor?
Shame flooded him. He was better than this.
“Come in,” he said gently, and saw her relax slightly. She was smart. She’d picked up on his almost violent vibes, probably wondering what was in store for her. Relaxing a little as he showed a modicum of self-control.
Oh man, what an asshole he was.
The garage gave onto the kitchen and he walked her in, flipping on lights, taking her coat, moving away, giving her space.
She was looking around curiously. What was she seeing? The kitchen was clean, thank God. He wasn’t a slob. Any slob-like tendencies he might have had had been beaten right out of him in the Corps. So his spaces were all neat, everything squared away.
On the other hand, he didn’t decorate. Everything was functional, with no personal touches at all. The kitchen was top-of-the-line, as was his security system, home entertainment system, and computer system. Everything else was chairs and beds and closets, chosen for being well-constructed and bland.
He pulled out a chair, gestured. “I think I promised you some hot milk.”
“And whiskey.” She turned her head to watch him. “Don’t forget that.”
No, he wouldn’t. They were safe, and if he couldn’t dump some of his combat stress through immediate sex, whiskey would have to do.
The microwave pinged, and he brought out a bottle from under the sink. He poured a finger into her warm milk and splashed four fingers into a tumbler for himself. He downed it in two gulps and placed the milk in front of her.
She cupped the mug in her hands, closing her eyes and bringing it to her nose and sniffing, a slight smile on her lips.
Oh Jesus, he thought. Just look at her. That long, slender neck tipped back as she drank the mug of milk, and he was nearly brought to his knees.
Any makeup she might have had on at the start of the evening had disappeared, her short hair stuck out from her head, her clothes were rumpled, the knees of her pants scuffed from when she’d hugged the ground in an effort to evade bullets.
She’d been through the wringer and she looked it.
He couldn’t he take his eyes off her.
Claire finished the milk and looked up at him. Like in the garage, it was as if the entire world had hushed. There were no sounds, none at all. His home was tightly built, sound-proofed—there weren’t even the small creaks and groans most houses had.
Not even the sound of breathing, because he forgot to breathe as Claire met his eyes. After a minute, his chest expanded and he sucked in air.
She was like a pearl in his kitchen—pale, glowing, perfect.
He’d have to be a saint to resist. He wasn’t a saint.
Touching Claire was a real no-no right this instant, because Dan had no idea if he could control the strength in his hands. So he clutched the table’s edge and the back of her chair and bent down slowly to her. She was in his embrace, but… not.
Some tiny vestige of sense was jumping up and down inside his head, waving a red flag.
Watch it, or you might hurt her.
How the fuck was this supposed to work?
How was he supposed to slake his lust without scaring her or—God!—hurting her.
His hands were trembling, which was truly scary shit. Dan’s hands never trembled, ever. He was a sniper. Snipers’ hands were steady no matter what. Which made the trembling worse because this was way outside his experience.
Their eyes met, held. Her eyes moved left to right and back, as she watched his eyes. Waiting to see what he was going to do.
He was going to kiss her, slowly.
Keeping in control. He hoped.
His mouth touched hers, a swift electric taste of her that went straight to his dick. Oh God.
He pulled away, watched her eyes carefully. Give me a sign, honey. Was this something she wanted, or was he constructing this whole scenario out of his own massive lust?
It was gone almost before he noticed it, but he caught it. A smile. A lightening of her features, lips slightly curved upwards.
A smile. In reaction to a kiss.
This was good.
Sex was going to happen.
Mentally punching the air while keeping a prudent grasp on her chair and the table, Dan bent down again.
Longer. Sweeter. Even better than before.
Her eyes fluttered closed.
Again. His mouth on hers, opening hers, that first wild taste of her, tongue meeting tongue. Heat prickled through his body. He lifted his mouth again, tilted his head for a better, deeper fit. She tilted too, pushing up against him.
There were sounds now. His harsh breathing, the wet succulent sounds of kisses, and deep in her throat, a moan.
Oh man, it was too much. Time for action before he exploded in a million pieces.
Dan bent and
lifted her in his arms.
It was like flying, being carried by him.
Claire had no feeling of strain or gravity or anything at all but his mouth on hers, his strong arms under her and a sensation of weightlessness. Of floating above the world.
When she’d come out of the coma, weak, muscles atrophied, she felt as if she’d woken up on Jupiter or some other heavy gravity world. Everything was hard, the whole world conspired to pull her down, down. In the beginning, even lifting her feet had been hard.
This was delicious, the world had loosened its ties and she floated above it.
Dan’s house was big. They crossed a couple of rooms with large open spaces and very little furniture, which was a good thing because Dan was kissing her with his eyes closed. Clearly, though, he could navigate blind, because they made it to his bedroom without tripping and falling.
Another big room, very spare. Only this one with a huge bed against the wall, the largest, most visible thing in the room. There was a big wooden headboard and about an acre of mattress with an enormous navy-blue comforter on it.
The bed where they were going to make love. In about two seconds, if she was reading him right.
He was so tense she was afraid his muscles would twang if she touched him. His face was even darker, a dull red riding his cheekbones. He was breathing heavily as he let her slide down him by simply removing the arm under her legs.
She was plastered up against him and could feel everything—the ripped muscles, his chest bellowing in and out and, wow, his arousal. Huge and so hot she felt it through her clothes and his.
He reached for the hem of her sweater, eyes on hers. He stopped, waiting for a sign from her. “Do you want this?” His low deep voice seemed to fill the room.
There was no breath in her lungs to answer so she stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
There. There was no turning back now.
His hands shook. She put her hands over his and they stilled. She watched his eyes in the darkness. “It’s okay,” she whispered.
Claire had no idea how her body would react to sex, whether she was up to it or not. But she wanted him to know that any problems were hers, not his. If it didn’t work out, it would be her fault, not his.
She was naked in seconds, or at least that’s what it felt like, her clothes drifting off her as if in a dream. Sweater, bra, pants, panties. It seemed like Dan’s large, strong hands just swiped the air and off they flew.
When she was naked, she stood there, so close to him her breasts almost touched him when she breathed in.
He stood, unmoving, for long moments—so still she would have thought him dead if his chest weren’t moving. He reached out a hand to her, moving slowly, as if through something denser than air. When he touched her, she shivered, though his hand was like a furnace.
He placed his open palm on her chest, between her breasts.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
“Thank you,” she whispered back. It was a moment for whispers, as if the whole world were holding its breath to see what would happen next.
His large, warm hand travelled slowly down her front, over her belly. He turned his hand and cupped her, the gentle shifting of his hand an invitation to open her legs.
Heat was coursing through her body, centered on where his hand touched her. Every cell in her body felt so alive. Hot and swollen.
Sexual desire. This was desire. It had been so long, she had forgotten the feeling, so long it took her a moment or two to even recognize it.
Claire tipped her head back a little because it felt like her neck muscles weren’t strong enough to support her head. Every muscle she had went lax, the heat coursing through her seemingly melting them. She stiffened her knees to keep upright.
And then—oh God—he touched her there, at her most sensitive tissues, a rough finger circling her.
Her vagina clenched in excitement.
He stopped and huffed out a breath. “Oh, Christ,” he breathed.
Another slow circle around her, the rough skin of his fingers adding to the intense pleasure.
He swallowed heavily.
Their only connection was his hand on her sex but Claire felt touched all over, skin prickling with heat.
“I haven’t had sex in a year,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I think I only have one condom and I don’t know if it’s expired or not. And one condom isn’t going to be enough. I don’t know how we’re going to get around this.”
Well, that was easy.
“I haven’t had sex in four, maybe five years,” she said. It had been either a love life or a professional life, and she’d opted for the latter. “But you don’t need to worry about condoms. My doctors put me on the pill.”
His face changed, muscles pulling as if in pain. He made a sound deep in his chest, and a second later, she was lying on the bed while his clothes flew around the room.
She watched him undress jerkily, a touch of unease entering her mind as she saw exactly what his clothes had kept covered up. It was clear that he was a strong, fit man, nothing could hide that. But naked, he was almost frightening in his power.
Deep, solid muscles, the heavy, raised veins of an athlete, so little body fat she could see the striations of muscle in his abdomen. And, oh… a penis that was almost frightening. She’d felt his arousal in the garage but nothing prepared her for its appearance. It looked like a club, hard and huge, already weeping at the tip.
Her body closed in on itself a little. I don’t know if I can do this, she thought.
But it was too late, because his heavy weight was coming down on top of her, one hard thigh separating her legs, his hand separating the lips of her sex, and with one hard thrust he was inside.
It hurt.
They froze, both of them. Claire was almost afraid to breathe. Her entire lower body was scrambling to accommodate him, deal with the tight feeling of intrusion.
“Shit.” His voice was ripe with frustration. He lifted himself up on his elbows and looked down at her. “You weren’t ready.”
His head hung down and he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I should have waited but I just couldn’t… I’m an idiot. Sorry.” He shook his head in sorrow. “And I don’t think I can pull out, either. Just… can’t. What are we going to do?”
“Kiss me,” she softly.
He looked startled, as if he was expecting her to scream and push at his shoulders. Then his face changed, moved in a smile. “Oh yeah,” he breathed. “I can do that.”
He settled on her completely, forearms bracketing her shoulders, and gave her a series of first-date-at-the-prom kisses. Light, tender. The kind of kisses where you’d never imagine that they could be lying in bed together and he was heavily wedged inside her body.
Kisses lighter than air, kisses with a smile. She smiled back, and for the first time, lifted her arms and embraced him.
Wow. He felt as powerful as he looked. Just to test it, she dug her nails into his shoulders and couldn’t make a dent. Like trying to make a dent in steel. She did have one effect, though. His penis swelled inside her, impossibly.
And impossibly, she contracted around him. He lifted his head at that, staring down at her from an inch away, nose almost touching hers.
“You like that.” The deep voice was rough.
“I—I guess I do.” She was breathless with the excitement that was starting to rise from her groin, but also with his heavy weight. It felt good, though. Actually, everything was starting to feel good.
She moved, experimentally, embracing him more fully, her arms trying to encompass his wide back, the slabs of muscle flowing under her fingers, thighs widening to welcome him, and he slid a little farther inside her, the feeling now electric, on the razor’s edge of intense pleasure and pain, and he was moving in her more easily—small, intense rocking motions that slid her right over onto the pleasure side as she threw her head back and closed her eyes to concentrate on the heat that was exploding between her thigh
s, pulsing in wild contractions…
And Dan stiffened, groaned loudly, swelled even more inside her and started climaxing, shuddering and shaking, large chest bellowing to pull in air.
Claire’s body quieted slowly as she felt warm honey drip through her system. She felt like she was floating on a cloud with a very heavy body on top of her keeping her from drifting way out into space.
Crazily, even after the orgasm, he hadn’t softened inside her, but he was moving more easily now.
He lifted himself up and smiled down at her, a sweaty lock of dark hair falling down on his forehead.
She now had the right to touch him, to brush back that lock of hair. Smiling herself, she smoothed it back.
“Well, that was fast.” He looked down at her, eyebrows raised.
“Mmm,” she replied. “Rocket man.”
“Are you comfortable? Any creases in the sheets under your back?”
“No,” she said dreamily. “I’m just fine.
“Great.” He settled his heavy weight back down on her. “Because this is the position you’ll be in for a while. A long while.”
CHAPTER 10
Claire stepped out of the shower and wrapped her hair in a big white towel.
A white tee shirt had been placed on the counter next to the sink. It fell to her knees and billowed around her, but it was clean and ironed. She sniffed at the material but all she could smell was detergent. She’d been hoping for the smell of Dan. His smell would be embedded in the deepest recesses of her brain to the end of time.
Oh, God. A mixture of soap and musk and man. Intoxicating. Enthralling. She’d had her nose next to his neck while climaxing, and it seemed as if her entire body, every sense she had, locked on to him. The smell of him, musk and male; the taste of him, salty and spicy; the feel of him, hot and amazingly hard all over; the sound of him, breath heaving in and out of his lungs toward the end as he slammed into her; that deep moan as he sank on to her after his godzillionth climax; the sight of him, that dark intense face an inch above her own, moving as his body thrust in and out of hers…
It had been sex as she’d never had it before. So intense every cell felt charged with electricity. It was as if Dan had given her an infusion of life, together with the sex. She felt warm, inside and out. Her skin tingled down to her fingertips and toes. She felt wonderful, even… hopeful.
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