Can't Let Go--A Bad Boy Romance

by Gena Showalter

  “You aren’t wrong. But I want more.” He rubbed a hand down the long, hard length of his erection, which could no longer be hidden beneath his slacks. “With you, I always want more.”

  Precioso. “Then more you shall have.” With a little push, she sent him tumbling onto the bed. Warrior that he was, he could have remained standing if he’d wanted. Lover that he was, he hadn’t.

  As she backed away from him, sunlight streamed in from a crack in the curtains, spotlighting him, creating a halo around him. Priest, he’d once been called. Right now, he looked more like an angel. Or a fallen angel...

  “Come here,” he rasped, staring up at her with unwavering obsession.

  Love watching this man watch me. “Sorry. I’m busy seducing you.”

  Lust gleamed in his eyes. “You can give me a lap dance. In fact, I insist on it. I need to put my hands on you.”

  “Oh, you’ll get a lap dance all right. Maybe. If you’re properly appreciative while I perform my very first striptease.” Ryanne had been told she danced the way men wanted to screw: with absolute abandon. Why not put her skills to good use?

  Possessiveness and exquisite tension emanated from him. “You’re gifting me with all your firsts.”

  “Are you complaining?”

  “Never.”

  Hiding a smile, she opened the iTunes app in her phone and turned on her favorite playlist. Every inch of her body ached as hard rock filled the air. Her pulse points throbbed in time to the bump-and-grind beat as she placed the cell on the desk.

  Facing away from her captive audience of one, she removed her belt and shimmied out of her dress, then kicked the garment aside. Wearing a matching black bra and panty set, as well as a pair of red high heels, she began to roll her hips. Hands in her hair...then sliding down her sides, over the globes of her bottom.

  “Ryanne.” The torment in Jude’s tone caused her knees to shake. “Shortcake.”

  That endearment! Knowing how important names were to him, how they meant something on a deep and personal level, made it even sweeter.

  My man deserves a reward. She gripped the edge of the desk and crouched, sticking out her rump, then straightening while slowly undulating. After a quick spin, she placed one of her red stilettos on the chair in front of the desk, and slid the garter down her thigh. A garter she kicked at Jude.

  Reflexes well honed, he caught the little scrap of material without ever removing his gaze from her.

  “Seduced yet?” She cupped her breasts before gliding her hands over the curve of her waist...between her legs where she ached.

  He white-knuckled the sheets. “Come here,” he repeated.

  Yes, yes. Need his hands on me. Need my hands on him. Trembling, she sauntered across the room to stand before her man.

  Her temporary man. Never forget.

  Unease pricked at her. Have I set myself up for heartbreak? Then his intoxicating scent enveloped her all over again, and her head fogged. This man was sex and candy, and soon, she would devour him.

  She’d set herself up for pleasure.

  After flattening her hands on his thighs, she pushed his muscular legs apart. Hip roll, spin. When she faced him, she rose up to press her breasts into his face, hardness to softness. As his mouth descended, she retreated...pressed, retreated, never allowing him to suck on her nipples through her bra.

  She leaned down, nipped his earlobe. “Everyone at the party knows what we’re doing in here. Are you scandalized?”

  His muscles clenched beneath her hands as he raggedly admitted, “I’m unmanned.”

  “Oh, cowboy. I haven’t unmanned you.” Heart pounding, she reached between his legs, cupped the heavy weight of his testicles. “Not yet.”

  His ragged groan caressed her ears. “Lord help me when you do.”

  She grinned her slyest grin. “I must be the envy of every woman in town. I remember how hot, hard and large you are.”

  “I remember every inch of your body, as well. The way you gloved me. You are the prize every man longs to win.”

  This man...oh, this man.

  Tremors escalating, she unhooked her bra. The material fell, and she removed her panties, leaving her body bare to his gaze at last.

  A strained breath left him, and he fisted the comforter. To stop himself from reaching for her? “There is no woman more perfect.”

  For you, only you.

  “I’ve shown you mine.” She unfastened the top button of his shirt, the muscles in his pecs jumping up to meet her touch. “Now show me yours.”

  “I’d rather taste yours.” He grabbed her hips and pivoted them both, tossing her onto the mattress. A second later, he loomed over her, a lock of golden hair tumbling over his brow. If not for the wicked desire darkening his eyes, he would have looked boyish.

  “Jude.” She framed his face. “Yes. Taste me. You’ll be the first...”

  With a groan, he claimed her mouth in an earth-shattering kiss. Their tongues mated, thrusting together, mimicking the erotic rhythm of sex. Her belly quivered. Her blood heated, flushing her skin. Her nipples puckered against his chest, and she cursed his shirt, craving skin-to-skin contact, male to female. Jude to Ryanne.

  “Can’t get enough of you.” Remaining fully clothed, he kissed and licked his way to her breasts. As he plumped and kneaded the tender flesh, he tongued her nipples.

  Her hips arched, her sex seeking the stone-hard length of his erection. When he moved—dang him!—she rubbed against his hip instead. No matter. Pressure, any pressure, only stoked her need higher, welcoming a mix of bliss and agony.

  The music faded, a new song spilling from her phone. A soft, romantic ballad this time. Jude never changed his pace, now out of sync with the melody. She was glad. He played her body as if the world would soon end, and the disharmony thrilled her.

  She writhed in anticipation as he kissed his way to her navel. His tongue delved inside, then he paused to look at her through the thick fan of his lashes; his irises were electric, no longer navy but crystalline.

  “Before we part, I’m going to take you every way a man can take a woman.”

  “Yes.” Please.

  * * *

  JUDE DRANK IN the erotic bounty splayed beneath him. Silken strands of ebony spilled over the pillows. Hooded eyes glittered with desire. Ruby red lips were soft and parted, ready—still wet from his kiss. Flawless skin had turned rosy with passion. Plump breasts were crested by coral nipples. A cinched waist accentuated flared hips.

  Ryanne Wade was the incarnation of sex.

  He’d gone two and a half years without a climax, had very rarely pleasured himself, and now he couldn’t go two weeks. From off to on—very on. What had this woman done to his legendary control?

  Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how completely he’d shut down each time pain and grief had overwhelmed him. Or how he’d numbed-out whenever they’d abated. How he’d felt nothing, utterly dead inside, as cold as ice.

  Now I burn, because of Ryanne.

  “Delicious.”

  “Yes. Mmm, yes.” She reached overhead, clasping the headboard and arching her back, offering him a sensual buffet of delights. “If you want to give rather than receive, well, we all have our crosses to bear.”

  As he chuckled softly, marveling that he’d found humor amid such a tense situation, or any situation, the warmth of his breath caressed her stomach and a new flood of goose bumps covered the surface of her skin. So wonderfully sensitive. He licked one, then another, working his way down, down, finally reaching the apex of her thighs, where heaven awaited...

  As he nudged her legs apart with his shoulders, his erection strained against his fly, throbbing insistently. Beauty personified greeted him—pink, wet and swollen with desire. His control was frayed at the edges, ready to snap at any second,
but even still he watched Ryanne’s face as he slid a finger deep into her core.

  Her eyes closed, perfect white teeth biting into her lower lip. So magnificently responsive. The elegant line of her back arched, her hips jolting up. At the same time, her inner walls clamped around his finger, as if to hold him captive.

  “Jude! Please...more!” Only Ryanne could turn a plea into a command. “I’m going to come. Neeeed to—”

  On his next inward glide, he pumped a second finger into her molten depths, and her words ended with a moan.

  Hell! The air in his lungs steamed, breathing a nearly impossible chore. “You’re so wet for me, so incredibly tight.”

  “Going to…so close…”

  “Shall I forgo foreplay this time, as well? Shall I slide my length into you?”

  “Yes. Give it to me!”

  “Are you sure?” He lifted his head to liiiick the very heart of her, causing her next “yes” to terminate with a hiss. Sweet, feminine arousal coated his tongue, a fine wine he would forever crave.

  “Changed my mind,” she rasped. “Give me the foreplay. Give me all the foreplay.”

  A laugh died in his mouth, killed by a groan of need. Jude devoured Ryanne, licking, nipping and sucking. He ground his shaft into the mattress, desperate to take the edge off the building pressure inside him.

  She groaned and begged, driving him wild. He drove his fingers in and out of her while flicking his tongue against her little bundle of nerves. Wet heat soaked his hand.

  Incoherent words spilled from her beautiful mouth as she writhed against him.

  Not sure how much longer I can hold out…

  Damn it, no. He would hold out as long as she needed him to hold out. Whatever he had to do, he would ensure there was no pain for her this time. Angling his wrist, he created makeshift scissors with his fingers, and she screamed, her inner walls instantly clenching and unclenching.

  The sight and feel of her…the sounds she made, the sweetness of her taste…

  “You’re ready for me.” Jude jolted upright, severing their connection, and a whimper left her. His hands wet with her essence, he ripped open his fly, shoved his underwear underneath his testicles.

  Stripping completely would have taken too much time.

  He sheathed his length in a condom, then dove down, kissing her. At the same time, he thrust inside her. Instant bliss, pleasure filling his bones, flowing through his veins, rewriting his DNA.

  He pumped in and out, in and out, maintaining a slow but steady pace. Until she began to writhe. Then he moved faster and faster, the bed springs creaking, and the headboard rattling against the wall. Finally he was pounding into her, a man possessed, gentleness no longer a thought, or even an afterthought.

  Sharp nails scoured his back, the sting only maddening him further. Ryanne’s knees squeezed his waist, her ankles locked over his lower back. They were two halves of a whole, entangled irrevocably. Despite her orgasm, she was as caught up in the moment as he was, ruled by passion-fever.

  Frenzied, Jude ripped his shirt down the center. Buttons flew in every direction, but his bare chest pressed against her breasts at last. Her nipples were hard little points...points that rubbed against him as he thrust and thrust and thrust. The friction was rapturous.

  “Jude!”

  He reached between their bodies, stroking her to a second orgasm. As her inner walls tightened on his length, an orgasm tore through him, hot satisfaction lashing from him.

  She collapsed onto the mattress, and he collapsed on top of her. When he caught his breath, he slid out of her and rolled to his side to save her from being crushed.

  “Congratulations.” She fist pumped toward the ceiling. “The condom held.”

  “It’s a miracle.” Realizing his prosthetic was exposed, he drew the cover over it before she noticed, also shielding her from the coldness of the metal. In an effort to get comfortable, he shifted.

  Ryanne draped her body over his chest and pushed the cover away, resting her foot directly on his leg. He stiffened, then forced himself to relax. She’d seen the prosthesis before, and hadn’t seemed to mind.

  As one minute bled into two, however, his stiffness returned. The only woman he’d ever cuddled was Constance. She’d been shorter than Ryanne, not nearly as curvy, so she’d fit against him differently. He shouldn’t like the differences. Key word: shouldn’t.

  He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to move.

  You’re giving Ryanne everything that once belonged to Constance. Save something.

  “You don’t have to snuggle me. It’s fine. You can go,” she said. “I won’t be mad this time, promise. I get that this is difficult—”

  “No. A deal’s a deal. I’m staying put.” He simply needed a distraction. “We’re going to do more than snuggle. We’re going to talk.”

  “Okay, I don’t mean to be a buzzkill while you’re doing your I am man, hear me bark thing, but I’m a little sweaty, and you’re giving off enough heat to melt the Arctic. Why don’t we return to the party? We can—”

  “Nope. Now we’re snuggling, talking and making plans for tomorrow. Suggest we leave again, and I’ll add a fourth item to the list.”

  She snorted. “We don’t have time for all that. The party—”

  “Snuggling. Talking. Plans. Then we’re going to the kitchen and feeding each other whatever Dorothea has in the fridge. Want to protest a third time?”

  Now she laughed outright, the sound magical. Every bit of tension drained from him, leaving him lax, practically boneless.

  “Fine. But this is your show,” she said, “so you call the shots. What is it you’d like to talk about?”

  No need to ponder. “You.” His curiosity about her knew no bounds.

  “Just me?” She gave his nipple a good, long lick, and he decided staying had been a very good idea. “Not you? Sorry, cowboy, but you don’t get tit without tat.”

  “I do like tit. But what happened to me being the one to run this show?”

  “Changed my mind. Women have to deal with menstruation, pregnancy, childbirth and menopause. You can deal with a chat about your life.”

  “Well, men have to deal with women, so we’re already tied.”

  She gasped, slapped his shoulder. “You did not just say that.”

  “I did, and I stand by it. Unless you want to give me what I want?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  RYANNE SWALLOWED ANOTHER LAUGH. This man had just rocked her world. Her body still hummed with incomparable satisfaction, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to walk again. Totally worth it!

  At first, Jude’s discomfort with their position had been obvious, yet he’d stayed put, and insisted they talk, which had kinda sorta tickled her to her toes. They might be temporary, but her contentment came before his anxiety. Then he’d teased her, turning the tables on her.

  Affection for him was as soft as clouds, and as certain as rain in spring. She could fall hard for this man. She’d have to be careful. Her future trip—trips—depended on her ability to separate sex from emotion.

  “Fine,” she finally said, curling into his side. “I’ll give you what you want.” But she would do everything in her power to get what she wanted in the process. “Ask me anything. Just know that I’m a little disappointed you didn’t do a full background check on me, like Daniel did for Dorothea.”

  “A gross invasion of privacy is your idea of a romantic gesture? Good to know. But how do you know I didn’t look into you?”

  Had he?

  A normal woman would be upset by the possibility, right?

  When have I ever been normal?

  Ryanne grinned. “Learn anything interesting?”

  “I’m ungentlemanly enough to remind you that you don’t get to ask the questions, Wad
e. I do.” Thoughtful, he brushed his finger up and down the ridges of her spine, making her shiver. “What does your tattoo mean?”

  She glanced at the lock etched into her wrist. “Earl had a key tattoo to remind him that every decision matters. With a single choice can come success or failure. And since he showed me the true meaning of love, unlocking my heart, I got the lock in his honor. He was the best dad a girl could have.”

  “What about your biological father?”

  “I know his name—Thomas Wade—and that he’s from Dallas, Texas. He and my mom divorced while she was pregnant with me. He told her to get an abortion or deal on her own. I didn’t believe her...at first.”

  “You contacted him?”

  Stomach twisting, she said, “I got his number, and spent the next few months building my courage while also weaving dreams about him.”

  His hold on her tightened, an offer of comfort. “Reality can be better than fantasy.”

  “Or worse,” she whispered. “Finally I did it. I called him. He labeled my mother a whore, said he doubted I was his, told me not to contact him again and hung up.” The cruelty of his rejection had shocked her, but the fact that he hadn’t wanted to claim her had hurt in ways she’d never imagined possible.

  “I’m sorry. If the man doesn’t want anything to do with you, he’s not worthy of you.” A pause, then a softly asked, “How old were you?”

  “When I contacted him? Thirteen.” Selma had been married to abusive Mr. Scott at the time, and Ryanne had hoped against hope that her biological father would swoop in to the rescue.

  Now she could rescue herself.

  Jude’s blistering curse rang through the room. “Little girls need their fathers.”

  Oh...crap. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned Daddy Dearest. Had she just reminded Jude of the daughters he would never again see? Probably. Except, there’d been no pain in his voice, only outrage on her behalf.

  Had he finally begun to heal?

  Throat going dry, she forged ahead. “Big girls need their mothers, but mine stopped contacting me a few years ago. She was going through her hundredth divorce, and I begged to live with one of my former stepdads. Earl offered safety, security and a chance to finish school with my friends while Selma offered an RV trip around the country, and an endless parade of new men who might or might not be creepers. I hated the thought of leaving her, but Earl was sick and needed someone to care for him.”