My Sinful Love (Sinful Men Book 4)

by Lauren Blakely

  As my release ebbed, Michael rose, cupped my cheeks, and whispered, “You taste divine. Ma petite fraise.”

  “Take me back to your room,” I whispered, revealing the depth of my desire for him. “Spend the night making love to me. I need you so much.”

  35

  Michael

  The door fell closed with a loud creak. In seconds, my hands were on her face, her breasts, her waist. Everywhere.

  I pressed her to the wall of the foyer, trapping her with my body, touching her all over, as if I could memorize the feel of her curves.

  As I lifted her arms over her head, pinning her wrists, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was an all too vivid dream. Everything with her felt so insanely good it bordered on unreal.

  How many times had I fantasized about this? How many nights had I taken her to bed in my mind? She was a jewel, brilliant and beautiful, her eyes sparkling. Her body was lush and warm, and her hungry lips hunted for my mouth. Her breath, her pants, her noises played in my ears like a sultry song.

  My lips were fused to hers; her body was sealed tight to mine.

  I kissed her like the world was ending, but it was only the beginning of something entirely new between us. I couldn’t get close enough to her, and I could barely accept that she—my what-if girl, though she was all woman—was moaning softly in my mouth, pressing her breasts to my chest.

  With my hand caging hers above her head, I pushed against her, craving this frenzied foreplay of clothed bodies, of clawing at each other to get close. I wanted her with a desire that couldn’t be measured. It felt like the kind of want that could scale mountains, invade countries, and send men and women to the moon. I broke the kiss, breathless, and held her face in my hand, getting lost in her emerald eyes.

  “I’ve dreamed about this for so long. I can’t believe it’s real,” I said, fighting so hard to hold in all the other feelings. If she knew how much and how deeply the need to be with her had defined me, had driven me to learn new ways of living, I might scare her away.

  My muscles tensed from the restraint inside me as I reined in all the words I wanted to say. It was too soon, too much to share.

  “But I’m real, Michael,” she said, breaking free of my grip to place her hands on my face. “Feel me. Touch me. I’m here.”

  I closed my eyes, and my skin turned electric from the tender possession in her touch. No one had ever made me feel this way. All the other women were right. They had been completely right in their assessment when they’d said to me, You’re in love with someone else.

  I was.

  Irrevocably.

  This was my fate in life, to fall in love with the same woman over and over.

  A rush of air escaped my lungs with the sharp, clear realization. I was in love with Annalise once more. I’d been madly in love with her before, and now it was happening all over again as I fell for the woman she had become—for her fragile but strong heart, her open mind, her willingness to try, her compassion, and her understanding of me.

  I was dying to tell her, to imprint on her flesh, I’m in love with you.

  Instead, when I opened my eyes, I chose my words carefully. “All I want is to touch you. To feel how real you are.” I tugged off her dress, drinking in the sight of her in a black bra and nothing else.

  A groan rumbled up my chest, then I dropped my face to her collarbone and slid my hand between her legs, the temperature in me soaring as I touched her silky heat. Lightly I stroked, teasing her, drawing out gasps and moans, sexy little sighs and sweet, heady murmurs. I pushed the cup of her bra down over one breast, freeing a nipple and sucking it deep, then nipping her.

  With each bite across her flesh, I imagined tattooing her with words. The words I wouldn’t give voice to, I left as marks. A kiss on her throat. A long suck on the swell of her breast. A pinch of my teeth on her neck. Each one said, I’m so in love with you.

  “Michael?”

  My name was a question. I looked up, dazed from touching her. She spread her hands across my chest, her fingers toying with the buttons on my shirt. “I don’t want to use a condom. I want to feel you completely. I’m on the pill, and I’m safe,” she said, meeting my eyes. Hers shone with desire.

  My mind and body latched onto the image of sliding into her, no barriers.

  I swallowed thickly, nodding. “I’m safe. I haven’t been with anyone in a year.”

  Her eyes went wide. “You haven’t?”

  “That surprises you?”

  As she worked open the buttons on my shirt, she said, “You’re so handsome, I can’t imagine you would be alone.”

  “I’m not a player, Annalise,” I said roughly, as her long fingers undressed me.

  “No, you’re not a player. You’ve never been one. You always had your eyes on the woman you were with, and only her.” She said it generally, as if the statement applied to my approach to relationships, and it did. If she only knew how precisely that fit her.

  “Look at you,” she murmured as she opened my shirt. Dipping her face to my chest, she planted kisses on my pecs, biting a nipple. I hissed in a breath. “You are so strong,” she said, dragging her fingernails across my muscles as she pushed off my shirt.

  “You’re going to ruin me with all your compliments.”

  “Your body,” she continued, as her eyes roamed over my chest and arms. “I love it. I love looking at you. I love touching you.”

  And I loved being touched by her. More than anything in the world. Especially when her hands went there, to my belt, unbuckling it then unzipping my jeans. I helped push them down then off my feet, along with my shoes.

  I glanced at her, then back at myself. “Feels like we’ve been here before. I’m kind of thinking we want to get to the next level of naked.”

  She laughed. “You mean the completely naked level?”

  “Yes, that one,” I said, and led her to the bed. I sat on the edge of the mattress and looped my hands behind her back, unhooking her bra, letting it fall to the floor. My hands shot out and cupped her breasts, pinching the nipples as she arched into me. I raised my face and stared up at her, still in awe that she wasn’t a mirage.

  “You’re here,” I said in disbelief.

  “I’m here,” she echoed.

  Naked before me, totally revealed, and the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I wanted to kiss every inch of her body, to catalog each feature, from the tiny little appendix scar on her belly, to the small spray of freckles on her chest, to the strength in her legs.

  “I . . . This isn’t fair. Please take your clothes off.”

  I stood and shoved down my boxers. Her eyes blazed darkly as she stared at my cock, licking her lips. Fuck. I wanted to live in this moment, to return to it again and again—her unabashed lust. Her deep desire. Her stare made me hotter, made me burn. I reached down and stroked my cock, letting her watch and loving her reaction.

  “Are you thinking of me?” she asked naughtily. “When you do that?”

  “Now. And always.”

  She trembled and then joined in, wrapping her hand over mine, stroking along with me. “I think of you so much. I’m so worked up being near you. So wound up. You drive me crazy with want.”

  I gripped her shoulders, guided her to the bed, and regarded her naked frame as she lay back on the sheets, resting on her elbows. “So beautiful. All I want is to make you feel good.”

  “You already do,” she said, then raised her knees and let them fall open.

  I was helpless to resist. I bent down and buried my face between her thighs once more, kissing and licking her sweetness, rubbing my stubble all over her slick, wet heat. She moaned and rocked her hips into me, faster, harder, then just wilder. Her hips shot up as I thrust my fingers inside her and sucked her sweet clit between my lips until she came, flooding my tongue, her pleasure all over my face.

  Seconds later I crawled up her, wedged myself between her legs, and dragged the head of my cock through her heat.

  She gasped
, her head falling back against the pillow, her lips parted.

  “So greedy,” I said as I toyed with her. This was what I’d craved for so long. The chance to be with her. The thrill of fucking the woman I’d never stopped loving.

  “Please don’t tease me. I need you. I need you now,” she said, so desperate, so sexy, so beautiful.

  “Je te veux tellement,” I said, repeating the phrase she’d shared on the plane.

  She trembled, whispering desperately, “Say it again.”

  “Je te veux tellement,” I said roughly.

  “You’re even sexier when you speak my language.”

  “I’m only speaking the truth. I want you so much. So fucking much.”

  “Have me. Take me.”

  I pushed inside her in one hot, tight thrust.

  Then the earth stopped spinning. The stars melted away from the sky. Gravity had no hold on me, because I was falling, falling, falling into her.

  After all these years. After all this time. It was exquisite and so unbelievably good. She gasped, her breath spilling out as she made the first move, her hips rising up, her legs wrapping around me.

  “Closer. Come closer,” she whispered, and I lowered myself, our chests nearly touching as I braced on my elbows, flexing forward in slow, steady thrusts, taking my time, savoring the feel of her sweet, bare pussy.

  Our heated bodies moved together. I was lit up everywhere, my entire being electrified as I pushed in and out, then deeper, hitting her right where she went wild, her back bowing off the bed, her mouth falling open with a beautiful groan that became my name.

  “Say it,” I growled. “Say it now.”

  “Baise-moi plus fort.”

  God, it was music from her. It was heady and thrilling to hear her say those words.

  “I knew you’d sound crazy for me when you said it like this,” I groaned, then buried my face in her neck, kissing, biting, marking.

  “I am. I’m crazy for you,” she said, and then it was her turn to nip. She went for my collarbone, and I nearly exploded. I loved her roughness, and she knew it because seconds later her hands were on my shoulders, then she dragged her nails down my back, digging into my flesh.

  “Let me feel you all over me,” I said as I fucked her faster, harder.

  She ran her nails down to my ass, curling her hands around me. I pushed deeper, the start of my orgasm barreling through my body. She arched up, grabbing my head, crushing my mouth in a crazed, fierce kiss, full of teeth and tongue and madness. Then she let go, my name tumbling from her lips in a raptured cry as she shattered beneath me, arms and legs grabbing, twisting, tugging me even closer, like she’d never get enough.

  Her need for me set me off, igniting a mind-blowing orgasm that blurred my vision and torched my veins as I followed her there, into perfect fucking bliss.

  Like heaven on earth.

  I collapsed on her, a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs and lips and desire, sated at last.

  She ran her hands through my hair and sighed softly against me. It was unequivocally the best night of my life, but I also winced inside with the awareness of how much harder it would be to say goodbye now that I’d experienced all of her.

  Until she said the next words.

  36

  Annalise

  Wow.

  Just wow.

  That was out of this world.

  I lay on the bed in a sea of rumpled sheets, Michael’s strong arms wrapped around my sweat-slicked body, my heart beating like a hummingbird, and I blinked open my eyes.

  All my senses were heightened, and I felt new, like I was experiencing being alive again after a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Breathe in, breathe out.

  Each inhalation sent air rushing through my blood, waking me up, nudging me, reminding me that this was life, this was sex, and this was good.

  It had been so much more than good.

  I’d seen stars, tasted heaven, breathed rarefied air. My skin tingled all over, and my blood pulsed hot and fast from my climax. I’d never come like that before. I felt it humming in my bones. Skimming across my skin.

  And hammering in my heart, insisting on being heard. I wanted more of him. So much that the thought of not having him again already hurt—like a phantom pain, a promise of how it would feel if I let him go. The prospect of flying home in a few days and leaving this bliss behind made my chest ache, like it had been carved out once more.

  I was tired of hollowness. Tired of hurting. I wanted more of the good. I turned in his arms, facing him. “Michael . . .” My voice sounded hoarse to my own ears—all that moaning his name had taken a toll. “I’m going to need so much more of that from you.”

  My gaze locked on his, watching the slow spread of his smile, the way it stretched across his whole face, how his blue eyes seemed to flicker with happiness.

  He kissed my cheek, whispering soft and sexy, “With me, you can have everything.”

  The sentiment made me shudder, and yet I wasn’t talking about more sex, per se. Or even more sex in the next few days. I pressed a hand to his naked chest, needing to make sure he understood exactly. “What I mean is . . .” I stopped to let a breath fill my lungs, fueling my admission. “I want to see you again. I don’t want this—whatever it is—to end when we leave New York.”

  His features froze. His lips were parted, his jaw was set, and his eyes were vulnerable. He didn’t move, as if he was slowly absorbing my request. Soon enough, though, he found words. His question came out as a scratch, his voice gravelly. “You do?”

  I nodded vigorously. “I do. Maybe that is crazy. Do you think it’s crazy?”

  He shook his head. “No!” flew off his tongue.

  The speed of his response emboldened me. That, combined with the endorphins still rushing through my system, drove me on. “I just . . .” I began, running my fingers through the fine hairs on his chest. “I just would be so sad to leave New York and not see you again. And I don’t have a plan, or an agenda, or anything beyond the here and now. All I know is I want to see more of you. Which probably sounds . . .” My voice trailed away, lost in the noises of late-night New York floating through the window.

  “Sounds what?” he asked, prompting me.

  “You probably think it sounds too hard, since I’m in Paris and you’re in Las Vegas, and that’s how it was before,” I said, worried that we were facing the same obstacles, those very ones that had splintered us years before.

  That sexy smile returned, tugging at his lips as he shook his head. “No. It’s not crazy at all. We’re not the same as we were before. The distance—it’s not as daunting. We have the means to deal with it.”

  I nodded. “Yes, we do. And all I know is that I don’t want this to end.”

  He pulled me closer, held me tighter. “That’s enough for me to fly across an ocean for you.”

  He dusted my lips with his—a soft, sweet kiss that was both gentle and thrilling at once. On his lips, I swore I could taste his happiness, and I kissed him again, taking some of it for myself.

  We chatted in bed, talking about friends and family, work and music, photographs and security. I wanted to savor these moments with Michael. This time with him was the sweetest thing I’d experienced in a long time, and I wanted to revel in it.

  Soon enough, our lips found each other again, and we kissed, slow and lazy, the kind of kiss that made me wetter and him harder, that led to fingers slipped between legs and dirty words when he said, “Get on your hands and knees. I want to take you that way.”

  I didn’t need to be asked twice. I wanted to be fucked that way by him, with my palms flat against the navy-blue comforter, my knees sinking down, and my ass in the air. Michael ran a hand down my back, inch by torturously slow inch, each touch making me wriggle and writhe.

  “Mmm,” he murmured, his big palm tracing my flesh, pushing my spine low, forcing me to raise my ass higher. “Look at you. Look at my Annalise. So fucking wet. So fucking hot. So needy for me.”


  Like a sparkler igniting, those dirty words set off a fresh wave of desire within me. Heat pooled between my legs as I lowered myself to my elbows, my breath coming fast. “I do need you. I need you in me, Michael.”

  He dragged his fingers through my sex, and I moaned, closing my eyes, giving in to the fevered rush in my body, surrendering to my desire to be fucked.

  Sheets rustled behind me as he moved, straightened up on his knees, and positioned himself. When he rubbed the head of his cock against me, a wild cry ripped from my throat. “Fuck me. Hard. Take me. I’m yours.”

  And he took, fucking me as I’d never experienced before—rough and beautifully cruel, fingers digging into my flesh, hands gripping my breasts and pinching my nipples, teeth nipping my back and shoulders. Deeply buried inside me, he fucked me savagely. I moved with him, moaned with him, slammed my pelvis back on his cock, letting him know that the more he filled me, the hungrier I was. Sliding a hand up my backbone, he grabbed my hair, wrapping it around his fist. I gasped, and the noise turned into a long, animalistic cry as he yanked.

  “Rougher. Harder,” I bit out.

  I wanted to be bruised, to feel used, to be fucked so hard I felt him for days. Michael Sloan was more than willing to give me all of himself, to plunder my body with his cock, to take me mercilessly until my hands grappled at the sheets, clutching and twisting as pleasure spiked then slammed into me.

  A shattering.

  No warning.

  Just a rapturous crash as my climax rattled my body, jarring my bones. It shocked me, the power of this kind of orgasm. With a final thrust, growling my name in my ear, he came. I’d never felt anyone go so deep inside me. Never felt so in tune with my body.

  But it was more than that. I’d never felt this kind of physical connection. Raw and hungry.

  And boundless too.

  That may have been what surprised me the most—the endlessness of this pleasure. I supposed that was how any sort of new passion felt. But there, in the dark of the night, in the middle of a city of millions, tucked away in a hotel room, I believed in its promise.