The mattress depressed as he crawled onto the bed. This time he straddled her legs—keeping one knee either side of her so her knees were forced together. So not what she wanted.
He chuckled. “If it’s my fantasy, it’s my call how we play.”
Instinctively she squeezed hard inside on the flare of desire his words stoked.
“And you like that idea a lot don’t you.” His eyes kindled.
He’d felt her inner squirming?
He bent and with unerring precision sucked on her clit through the cotton again. She nearly burst out of her skin. He chuckled and swept his hands up towards her ribcage and then down again, always stopping just below her breasts. She arched, wanting to drive him faster.
“I like things slow. Fully satisfied,” he muttered. “I’ve been thinking about you too long to race now. I plan to linger.”
He nuzzled her breasts—kissing, licking, sucking every inch of them, then working down her quivering belly. Until finally, finally he peeled her wet panties from her, spreading her legs so he could fit between them. Bracing above her he looked into her eyes—his expression determined and hungry, but also light. He was going to make it good. She understood that.
“Breathe,” he instructed, bending to kiss her at the exact moment he pushed forward.
Chelsea gasped, then groaned. She was wetter than she’d been in her life, lax and warm from the orgasms she’d had already, yet it was still an effort to take him. But the pleasure? Oh, the pleasure was unspeakable. She breathed heavy and quick as she almost sank under the unutterably good sensations. She slid her hands up his back, tracing the strong muscles, feeling the slick, strong breadth of him, shaking her head side to side as he bore down on her, as she struggled to stay sane.
He thrust slow but deep, pivoting his hips to adjust his angle fractionally each time. Easy, sweet circles that caused incredibly hot friction against her clit. She stared up at him—overwhelmed by his sheer physicality. His muscles rippled as he worked into her. Watching him, feeling him, hearing him—it led to sensorial overload. She panted, overwhelmed, uncontrollably soaring towards release. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, her body arched.
“That’s it,” he muttered. “I want to feel you come around me.”
She dimly heard his growl as she came. Dazed she saw him arching back, tossing his head as she contracted on him again and again—her body taut and twisting under the relentless pulse of his.
“Feels good,” he said. “Let’s have that again.”
He had to be kidding. There could be no again. She lay exhausted, her arms and legs spread wide and lax.
He thrust inside her to the hilt but then rested on his elbows for a moment, his smile pleased and teasing. “You can do it. You’re incredible.”
Not as incredible as him. Why the hell hadn’t he come yet? What was the man made of? How could he not have lost control just then? It had felt amazing. He was so hot and strong and big and relentless and—
Suddenly she knew she didn’t want to let him go just yet. She wanted it again—wanted more.
He smiled, seeming to know the exact moment when she somehow found some strength. Some attitude roared back despite the sensual exhaustion. She gripped one of his butt cheeks, curling her fingers into the rock hard muscle. His grin quirked. She didn’t release him, but tried to hold him in place—locked deep within her—as she rocked her hips up, clenching her inner muscles at the same time. It was beyond time that the man came. He drew in a deep breath through his nose and released it carefully in a controlled sigh.
“See,” he breathed in again. “You’re amazing.” He paused as she clenched down on him again. “You’re ready.”
He moved. A couple of slow, testing thrusts. But then he stopped. She frowned, but he reached to grab her ankle in his big hand. He lifted her leg. On auto she bent her knee to aid him. He hooked her leg over his shoulder, then reached to do the same to her other one. Excitement flared in her belly.
He laughed, then slid his forearms beneath her back, curling his hands round the top of her shoulders. She was utterly trapped—opened up as wide as possible to him, his pillow, his prisoner. And he had a tight grasp on her so he didn’t push her away from him with the force of his thrusts.
Because he was going to slam into her. She could see the promise in his eyes, the determination in his jaw. He was going to fuck her over the edge.
She panted, excitement making the blood roar in her ears. She wanted this with a passion she’d never believed she could feel. Not again. Not so soon.
But then he gave it to her. One slam, closely followed by another. Deep, hard, fast. Her throaty moans matched his rhythm. Good thing his ass was for grabbing because she could do nothing but hang on as he pounded into her. Each thrust so powerful, he pushed the sensations through her entire body again and again until she could no longer think or speak or even see. She could only feel. She was on fire yet she shivered uncontrollably until more, even deeper, pleasure rippled out from her sex consuming her whole body and mind in a tension so extreme she wasn’t sure she’d survive it.
He bent. Kissed her. Crushed her lips so fiercely she couldn’t break free even as she came. So she screamed in his mouth, harsh and wild. Her teeth scraped his lips. Her nails scratched his lower back. Her legs locked around him—clamping. And at last she felt the uncontrolled tightening of his fingers—his whole body. And she heard the series of feral shouts as he spurted into her.
She gasped as she took it from him, shocked at the force of him, and with the depth of her own pleasure at finally fulfilling his desire—the flood of raw satisfaction and pride at making this fiercely strong man fall over her in relief.
Sweat slickened, she closed her eyes, not minding the weight of him or the way he rested with his face pressing into her shoulder.
But aftershocks made her tremble and twitch uncontrollably. Inside and out she felt too sensitive. Now tears were embarrassingly close.
He carefully lifted her legs down, stretching her out and then turning her away from him with firm but gentle hands.
“We’ll shower in a minute,” he murmured in her ear, cuddling up close to her from behind. “Right now you need me.”
She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone. That was the way she intended to roll. But he didn’t give her a choice. Without saying another word, he locked her into his embrace, his strong body spooning hers.
She was grateful. Looking into his eyes at this moment would have her horribly vulnerable. But he was a pro, wasn’t he? Offering the security of strong arms while her emotions levelled off after that intense experience, yet not risking the false intimacy of loving looks and deep kisses. He knew exactly what he was doing. This was all it was. Good sex with a generous stranger.
It sure as hell had been good.
He kissed her shoulder briefly but still said nothing. Instead he rhythmically swept a light hand down her arm, seeming to know just how much she needed a touch to ground her and ease her over-sensitive nerve endings down.
He’d pushed her over the edge again and again, pounding the adrenalin out of her, wringing all her emotion out in that storm of sensuality. Now she was worn out, limp and in the end, asleep.
Chapter Nine
Darkness surrounded her. She couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. But she had to try. She had to keep trying. Diving deeper into the darkness, fumbling to find him. To help. But she was useless. Useless against the weight, the lack of light, the burning instinct pushing her to the surface…
She woke—gulping in a deep breath, her lungs screaming to burst. But she wasn’t screaming aloud. She’d not been able to scream. It had all been blocked inside. Her screams had only sounded in her head.
Wide-eyed she stared in front of her, her fingers twisting on the sheet at her side.
Light. It was light.
Reality—the day—flashed back. Her decision to work from home. Lunch. Xander.
She flinched again, then froze. He was rig
ht behind her—a furnace of heat and hardness. Oh hell. A different panic washed over her. Please, please let him still be asleep. Please don’t let him have woken when she’d stiffened as she’d woken. She didn’t want to admit to the nightmare, definitely didn’t want him to think she was a total nutjob.
She listened, holding her breath again so she could hear. His breathing was regular and smooth but his arm banding across her ribs tightened infinitesimally. It was such a slight increase in pressure she wasn’t sure if it actually happened or not. She remained as still as she could, but his warmth and evenness slowly seeped into her again. Relief swept through her as she recognized his relaxation. He hadn’t woken. Her vulnerability remained hidden. He wouldn’t know, wouldn’t ask. And she was cocooned in an embrace. Alive and, for once, not alone. She covered his strong forearm with her hand. The demons driven away by the light, by company.
But inside the torment remained. It might have been a dream today, but that night all those months ago, it had been real. And while she was safe now, the man she’d loved then, wasn’t.
Xander counted, keeping his breathing regular, even, deep. Some nightmare she’d just had. She hadn’t cried out, hadn’t thrashed around the bed and punched him by accident or anything. Instead she’d curled into even more of a ball, shaking like some terrified kitten, her entire body twisted in an expression of raw pain. Agony.
Her jaw had clamped shut and she’d seemed to contract in on herself until it was too much and she could hold it in no longer. She’d woken with a harsh gasp, as if she’d not breathed fresh air in eons.
He’d felt her shock as she’d stiffened. Then she’d caught herself and gone completely silent—catching her breath again, he’d almost been able to see her listening for his breathing. She hadn’t wanted him to know.
He could understand that. He’d never wanted anyone to know the fears that had once made him hide. So he feigned sleep now with regular, deep breaths, working hard to keep his body relaxed. Eventually she settled again, resting her hand on his arm, keeping it tight about her. Only then did she relax, finally falling asleep again.
While he lay awake.
He knew nightmares. He knew the extreme vulnerability those first few seconds upon waking, just before you realized it had been a dream and that you were safe after all. For years he’d had dreams like that—too many to count. Trapped in icy dread, fear, futility. He knew what it was like to hide and hold your breath until your lungs burned, for fear of being heard.
You can’t leave me. You’ll never get away from me. You and the brat. You’re mine.
Always he’d woken covered in horrible cold sweat and with a racing heart that took too long to settle. He mightn’t have had one like that in while, but that didn’t mean he didn’t remember. Some things could never be forgotten. Not least the real memories that served as muse for the nightmares.
But he wasn’t going to intrude on that vulnerable just-woken moment for her. He didn’t know her well enough. Frankly he didn’t want to know the cause of hers—though he suspected it had to do with the accident that had claimed her fiancé and crushed her leg. But he had enough terrors of his own to deal with, he couldn’t take on hers too. Yet he felt a quiet satisfaction that his presence had helped her. She’d burrowed back into his embrace and found enough comfort there to fall asleep again. It was instinct, of course. He was bigger than her, stronger and she probably felt safe in his arms. But it felt absurdly good to know she trusted him not to hurt her. And she was right, he wouldn’t. He was only about having a good time. Easy was all he ever did and ever wanted. Nothing serious, never heartache. A lot of fun for a little while.
That ability to have fun didn’t come as easy to her though. For all her sass talk back at him, she couldn’t initiate the play. She’d wanted—needed—him to take complete control. To give her no ‘choice.’ Why? Did she need to be absolved of ‘guilt’? Did she have some ‘good girl’ hang-up about sleeping with a near stranger? Well, she wouldn’t be the first woman he’d met who’d worried about that—for about five seconds.
Frankly Xander loved a game. He loved taking control. But there was always choice at the heart of it. And she’d responded to that lame superhero scenario. Once involved she’d given it good. She’d risen to his challenge, every bit as strong as she’d reckoned the other night. Yet every bit as soft and needy as he’d thought.
Sensitive. Insatiable.
The sensual promise between them had been strong, but the reality had been a revelation. Her unfettered response had pulled an intense reaction from him. As fantastic as sex usually was, that was spectacular.
He’d known she was emotional afterwards. You couldn’t allow yourself to be that exposed, experience sensations that extreme and not have a moment of vulnerability in the aftermath. He’d been the same. But he’d said nothing despite the weight in his chest—that heavy, aching feeling that had nothing to do with the physical. He recognized something within her that he shared—that thing that caused nightmares.
Pain. Loss. Fear.
But the only way to work through that intense aftermath was in a calm, quiet embrace. He’d kept her turned away from him to keep it purely physical. That was all this was and all it could ever be. He didn’t want to face her, to kiss her, to let her confuse comfort with caring of a deeper level. Because she was screwed up, no doubt about it. And so was he.
But she was trying hard to work through it and he respected that. He knew how much effort it took to come out the other side.
If it were only fantasy sex, some night-time companionship that she needed, he’d be happy to provide more. Having her underneath him—her breathing erratic, with those little whimpers escaping haphazardly—was insanely good. He’d do just about anything to have her like that again and again and again.
Except that was exactly what he shouldn’t do. Because she needed more than a few fun fucks. Already she’d clutched his arm closer. Needing contact. Comfort.
He regretted having to do it, but he knew it was the right thing. Carefully he slid his arm out of her hold. Very slowly he slipped off the bed, as silently as possible. He grabbed his clothes, tiptoeing through to her plant-packed lounge to put them on. It was a struggle but his cock could just quit with the erection already. He wasn’t doing her again. It wouldn’t be right. Not for her or, he had the feeling, for him.
He left her apartment and climbed the few flights of stairs to his own. He went straight to the shower to refresh, pulled on some jeans and sat at his desk. Not tired. Not hungry. Not going to think about her or the sweet taste of her that lingered despite that damn shower.
He glared at his computer and forced himself to focus. He finished two reports, researched a new proposal, got to the point of clearing his emails because it was a mindless click-click-click task he could zombie through. He still refused to think. Refused to let that wedge of regret widen.
His phone rang. He glanced at the screen and with a sigh picked it up to answer. No point trying to hide from Logan. Ever.
“Where are you?” Logan asked. “I have a zero-sugar, all caffeine soda on the bar.”
“Can’t,” Xander closed his eyes and rubbed them. “Working.”
“It’s nearly midnight, you geek. Come get a life.”
His cousin Logan had been teasing him about working too hard for the last eighteen years. Logan’s brother Connor had been more of a study buddy, but even he hadn’t had the urgency, the drive, that Xander had. Conner and Logan had their trust funds, their family millions to fall back on. Xander had nothing. His mother had nothing.
It had been Xander’s job to fix that.
Now he pushed his chair away from his desk and spun it so his back was to the screen. He stretched out his stiffened muscles. “I didn’t get as much done today as I’d like and this is a big project.”
“Yeah well, this is a big night. Lingerie fashion show, Xan, you really need to be at the after party. Rocco’s. Now.”
Of course the after-par
ty was at Rocco’s bar. And of course ultimate-party-animal Logan was in the thick of it. It always amused Xander given Logan and Connor’s father was such workaholic, patronizing, controlling tyrant.
The punitive reaction of Xander’s uncle had meant his mother had been on a good behavior bond the rest of her life. Xander had too, while he’d lived there in the Hughes family compound. It was like any minute his uncle expected him to go bad.
He never had. Not evil bad—not like his father.
Instead he’d wanted to break himself and his mother free from the ‘good-willed’ oppression of their family. To earn enough for them not to have to be dependent on someone else’s damn magnanimous gestures. Because the charity had been so close to animosity. She’d been there under sufferance. Reminded daily what an ‘idiot’ she’d been. His uncle was an unforgiving bastard, but Xander’s mother had been too scared to leave her brother’s protection. And Xander didn’t blame her.
“Get Rocco to party with you.”
“He’s working. Hunter’s gone AWOL. You’re it.”
“Not tonight, Logan.” Last thing Xander felt like was an all-night party and the potential for another hook-up. He was still working through the intensity of this afternoon.
“Are you seriously turning down a night with these models? I’m talking glitter and ink. Girls who are excited and ready to party—”
“Like it’s 1999, yeah I got it. Not tonight.” Just the thought of it made him feel rocky.
“What’s wrong—you sick?” Logan asked.
Xander smiled. His cousin was as blunt and nosy as ever. “I’m crunched with a deadline. Got to get it done.”
“You still work too hard. You not got it through your head it’s not necessary anymore?”
Logan and Connor had never taken the hard-line attitude of their father. As kids they’d split everything they’d gotten three ways with Xander—or tried to. Xander refused much of it. But he knew they’d do the same with the property and the trust funds if they could. But he was never going to let them try.
Breathe for Me (Be for Me 1: Xander) Page 9
