Shatter Me

by Tori St. Claire

  He slid his fingers beneath the loose material and skated them over her flat abdomen. Her stomach tensed, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Slowly, he inched his way up her ribs, pushing the fabric higher, until his palms molded around the weighty fullness of her breasts. Soft. Definitely soft. And goddamn, they fit perfectly. A needy groan rumbled in his throat, and he tore his mouth from hers to trail kisses down the side of her neck.

  When he ran his thumbs across the lace of her bra and stroked her pebbled nipples, she arched her back with a pleasured whimper.

  That little sound destroyed him. Her perfume wrapped around his mind, the heat of her skin soaked into his hands, and his cock began to ache beneath the tight fly of his jeans.

  “So perfect,” he murmured against the side of her throat. “I’ve wanted to touch you like this since the day we met.” He drew his thumbs over her nipples once more.

  “Alex,” she whispered, sliding one hand into his hair. Her nails scraped pleasantly against his scalp as she held him in place. Once more, her hips gyrated, this time more insistent.

  He rocked into her, stroking himself through their layers of clothing. And again, as instinct overrode reason. It had been a while since he’d satisfied his needs, but damn, it hadn’t been that long. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman so fiercely.

  Tugging her shirt a little higher, he bent his head lower, then reached behind her to unfasten her bra. Her breasts spilled into his hands, and he gave them a squeeze. At once, touch wasn’t enough, and the moonlit darkness cloaked what he wanted to see. He lifted his head to glance around the room. “Where’s the lamp?”

  Reagan shook her head. “No lights.”

  He didn’t have time for dismay to settle in. Her fingers nimbly freed the button on his fly, and one dainty hand slipped inside to wrap around his cock. White-hot fire shot through his veins as she worked him over. Jesus. He pulled in a hard breath, steeling himself against the rising need.

  But he didn’t stop her. Eyes closed, he measured his breathing and let pleasure soak into all the empty places deep inside his being. Places he hadn’t even realized existed until her talented fingers took command of his body. He’d be perfectly content to stand here until she milked him dry.

  No, not content. Damn it. He wanted to know every bit of her by taste.

  Reluctantly, he wedged a hand between their bodies and eased her away. Twining his fingers with hers, he gave in to a smile, and then dragged an openmouthed kiss across her shoulder. “Your fingers are dangerous.”

  She let out a light laugh and hooked an ankle behind his knee. Tumbling backward, she drew him down with her onto the couch. He braced an elbow on either side of her shoulders and gazed down at her impish grin. “Taking the reins, huh? You want to be on top?”

  Her eyes went wide for a moment, and her laughter cut off. But in the next heartbeat, her smile returned. She shook her head. “I’m good right here. You feel amazing.”

  He smirked. “It would be better if we were both naked.”

  “Maybe you should fix that then.”

  “Mm.” He dropped his mouth to her throat. “Maybe I should.” Shifting his weight onto one elbow, he used a hand to grab the side of her shirt and work it up her body. He followed with the opposite, and then, with a little shimmy from her, dragged it over her head, along with her unfastened bra. His gaze fell to her exposed breasts. Her skin held a faint silvery hue from the glow of the moon, but only enough to highlight the contours of her curves. How he wished he could see them clearly. Wished he could watch her expression as he sucked one into his mouth and teased a hard nipple with his tongue.

  But if scant moonlight was all he could have, he wouldn’t ruin it with a complaint. Not that there was really anything to complain about. He had the woman of his dreams beneath him. He couldn’t ask for more.

  Navigating by feel, he scattered kisses down her body until he found the stiff bud of her nipple. When he drew his tongue over the top, Reagan turned her head aside with a muffled sound of pleasure. He might not be able to see her face clearly, but he could hear her, and he had the details memorized enough his mind could fill in all the rest. Her petal-pink lips would be parted. Her long sooty lashes would shutter her beautiful blue eyes.

  Alex smoothed his hands down her rib cage to her skirt. Gathering the fabric in his fingers, he tugged one side up and shifted his weight. As he brushed his fingertips across the tops of her thighs, she parted her legs with another sexy little whimper. He lifted his head, trying once more to get a glimpse of her expression. “Tell me how you like it,” he whispered as he slipped one fingertip beneath the scrap of cotton and stroked her wet center.

  She arched her back and let out a quiet moan.

  “Harder? Faster?” He raked his teeth across her nipple as he circled her clit.

  “Softer,” she murmured. Undulating against his caresses, she clutched at his shoulders. “Slower.”

  He moved in time with the gentle rise and fall of her hips. She was slick and hot, and the jagged little breaths she sucked in ratcheted up his breathing. He swept downward, over her opening, and dipped one finger inside. Reagan’s legs parted further as she mewled again.

  “Feel good?” he murmured as he dusted a light kiss across the high swell of her breast. Simultaneously, he crooked his finger, hitting her in just the right place. She arched high off the couch, pressing hard against his hand.

  With a side-to-side toss of her head, she released another soft, pleasured cry.

  He dropped a knee to the floor and ran his tongue down the centerline of her body. Her sweet feminine scent filled his nose, and hunger punched him in the gut. Hard. He settled his mouth against her sex and swept his tongue through her wet folds.

  “Alex,” she moaned as she lifted into his mouth.

  The sound of his name on her lips was more erotic than anything he’d ever experienced, and if it were possible, his cock hardened even more. He was painfully ready, but damn it, he was going to enjoy her awhile. He bit back the overwhelming need to give over to release and tongued her again.

  Reagan writhed beneath him. When she rose off the cushions again, he cupped her ass in both hands and held her up to suckle her clit. Her hands latched into his hair, her nails digging almost painfully into his scalp. The sting only ramped up his desire. Her flavor filled his senses, and he swept his tongue lower to edge inside her opening. God, she was so sweet, so tantalizing. Thirty times better than the expensive imports he’d consumed all night.

  As he slowly thrust inside her again, her body convulsed. She gave over to orgasm with a high-pitched keen.

  Alex took his time in letting her go. If he did anything quicker, he’d tear off his clothes and slam into her. So he lapped at her folds, drinking her in, teasing her clit with gentle nips and tugs until her panting eased off, and she began to tilt her hips ever so slightly against his rhythm.

  He licked her once more, long and slow, then pressed a firm kiss to her navel. “You’re absolutely beautiful, you know that?”

  She chuckled as she ran a hand tenderly over his shoulder. “You can’t possibly say that when it’s so dark in here.”

  “Oh, but I can. And you, that, was fucking beautiful.” He edged back, away from the couch to rid them both of the rest of their clothing.

  “I want all of you, Alex,” she said, her fingers tightening around his bicep, as if she feared he might walk away.

  He reached across his body, pulled her fingers free, and brought her hand to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. “It’s a little easier to accomplish if you let me take my jeans off, baby doll.”

  “Oh. Yeah. That.” A whisper of a laugh tumbled off her lips.

  “Yeah, that.” Still chuckling himself, he rose and shucked his clothes. But when he bent to pull her skirt down her legs, she stopped him with a flattened palm to his bare chest.

  “Let me look a minute.”

  He stilled, one eyebrow arched and a smirk tugging at his mouth. “What happened to t
he whole dark thing?”

  “Shh,” she whispered as she lifted into an upright position. “I’ve wanted to do this for years. I can see enough.”

  Her lips skimmed across his chest like a feather’s caress. Slowly, she scattered soft kisses across his shoulder to the tattoo on his bicep that he’d gotten after boot camp. Even more slowly, the tip of her tongue traced the black dagger and the words he had learned to live by—Death Before Dishonor. Her warm breath scalded into his skin, making him close his eyes to the enormity of ecstasy that pumped through his veins. “Years?” he croaked out hoarsely.

  “Years,” she murmured before her tongue flicked across his nipple. Then she closed her mouth, and her teeth raked over his pectoral. One hand curved around his cock and slid down the length of his erection.

  It was too much for his near-painful state of arousal. With a shuddering breath, he leaned into her, forcing her backward into the cushions. His body chased hers, his hips nestling between her parted legs. Her wet flesh cradled his cock, dealing a staggering punch that threatened to send him into blissful oblivion. But the heat of her body brought an even more shattering blow. His entire body tensed, and he froze in place. Damn! He couldn’t be seconds away from the one thing he most wanted, only to have to walk away because he stupidly wasn’t prepared.

  He swallowed hard. “Reagan, I…didn’t exactly foresee this happening. I don’t have any—”

  She trailed two fingers down the side of his face. “You know I’m clean, Alex, and I’m still on birth control.”

  The knot that had begun to form behind his ribs loosened. “I promise you I’m safe. I wouldn’t be that selfish.”

  Her fingertips traced his mouth. “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  He obeyed and captured her in a hungry kiss. At the touch of her tongue, his self-restraint crumbled, and he nudged his hips forward, stroking himself against her slick sex. Pleasure rolled through his body. He desperately wanted this night to never end, but he’d slipped so far beyond control, he knew he didn’t have hours in him. His body hurt in ways he couldn’t define, ways he hadn’t experienced before. And being inside Reagan was no longer a desire, but a physical need.

  She seemed to sense his fraying willpower and lifted into him, aligning herself more completely with the tip of his cock. He reached between their bodies, fisted a hand around his shaft, and eased his swollen head inside. Reagan exhaled in a rattling hiss. In the next heartbeat, she moaned and wrapped her legs around his thighs, levering herself up and drawing him deep inside.

  “Fuck,” he muttered as he sank his forehead to her shoulder, temporarily rendered useless.

  Her inner walls contracted around him, and she shimmied her hips, taking him as deep as he could go. The head of his cock pressed tight against her cervix. Her damp heat scorched clear through his skin. And Jesus, the way she gripped him—he groaned in ecstasy.

  “My God, you feel good,” she murmured as she canted her hips again.

  He gathered his senses and pulled out slowly, inch by torturous inch. It was all he could do to remember to breathe, let alone chain his desire enough not to pound into her. She’d asked for soft and slow, but he was on the edge of that wildness. A heartbeat away from being nothing but a savage animal.

  He bit into the side of his cheek and sank back into her, keeping his pace slow. When he was buried balls-deep, he stilled, sucked in a fortifying breath, and started the process all over again, just a little faster. Reagan kept pace with him, her hips rocking and falling in perfect counter-motion. Then she urged him faster. And faster. Until he forgot all about taking his time and slammed into her recklessly. His lungs squeezed together like they’d been locked in a vise.

  Orgasm built steadily with every thrust, growing more out of control until it exploded through him. His cock jerked inside her as her body clenched around him. Blood roared through his ears as he bucked hard one last time. Dimly, he heard Reagan’s scream of ecstasy, felt her shudder. Then, for a moment, he couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see even the shadows in the room. Couldn’t feel anything but the all-consuming throb of release.

  Shaky, drained, and spent beyond his wildest imagination, he relaxed into her embrace and laid his cheek on her shoulder. For several long minutes, he listened to the sound of her ragged breathing. Her fingers played across the back of his shoulders, swept lazily up and down his spine. She turned her head to press a kiss to his damp forehead.

  “No, Alex, that was beautiful.”

  Yes, it was. But he was too damned exhausted, too damned spent, to make the right words form. He secured his arm around her waist, closed his eyes, and cut off the nagging voice of reason that whispered in his ear, telling him he’d gone too far, crossed too many boundaries.

  Chapter Six

  A car engine drew Reagan from the blissful cocoon of sleep. She opened her eyes to the moon-kissed shadows of her living room. A firm weight held her legs to the sofa, and she glanced down her body to see Alex’s thigh thrown over hers. His very bare thigh, resting against her exposed skin.

  She was completely naked, and if she lay here until morning like she yearned to do, she’d never be able to keep her emotions at a distance. Worse, the truths she desperately didn’t want him to discover couldn’t be hidden in daylight. She’d never be able to save him from that horrible reality.

  But the idea of pulling herself from beneath him and leaving the couch left her hollow inside. In his arms, the world had been…right. She’d been his. He’d been hers. And for a little while, the ghost that divided them was laid to rest. More than anything, she wanted to turn onto her side, nestle against his big strong body, and burrow her nose into the side of his neck while she breathed in the scent of him.

  Hell, she was fooling herself—her emotions were already tangled up in Alex McCray. She never wanted to let go of this moment, longed to hold on forever. He made her happier than she’d been in years—tonight had been so fun, so relaxing, so normal.

  Yet, she couldn’t hold on forever. The one bit of happiness she’d found was forbidden to her.

  Sorrow rose, bringing tears to her eyes. She swallowed hard to keep them at bay. Taking care not to disturb him, she eased off the couch. With even greater care, she kept her back facing away from him as she gathered her clothes, just in case he woke, then backed four steps to the darker stairwell. When she reached the thicker cover of shadows, she turned and took the stairs two at a time, past the master bedroom, to her smaller room at the end of the hall.

  Once locked inside, she gave in to emotion. It was so unfair. Even now, from the grave, Drew managed to control her. He’d been an abuser, and the whole damn town revered him as a hero. She’d kept his secrets. She’d even gone so far as to ask Drew’s sister Shelley whether she thought counseling might help him. Shelley had spilled the beans, and somehow, Drew managed to convince his entire family Reagan had mental issues and had made it all up. The only real family she’d had turned against her.

  She sank down the door to sit on the floor and buried her face in her hands. Mental issues—she’d paid for betraying Drew’s secret. Now, after the bruises, the blood, the attacks on her character had all stopped, she was still paying for it. Because no doubt about it, once Alex woke, he wouldn’t be happy about having sex on her couch. His honor would rise up screaming and punish them both.

  And if she sat him down to tell him the truth… She couldn’t. Not that she was really considering confiding in him and opening herself to a gut-wrenching rejection. But if she did, and if he believed…

  No. Regardless of her pathetic marriage, he and Drew had been best friends. Drew had died protecting Alex. Hell, he wore the creed they’d sworn to uphold permanently affixed to his arm. Honor came before everything.

  “Goddamn you, Drew,” she choked through her tears. She drew a shuddering breath and forced herself to her feet. Crying solved nothing. Especially when there was nothing to solve. She had no future with Alex without the truth. She couldn’t hide the scars in d
arkness forever, couldn’t dodge the innocent questions, and she refused to pretend at life anymore. And frankly, she wasn’t ready to chance letting someone in that close again only to suffer the heartbreak of betrayal.

  She curled onto her bed, feeling the same old hopelessness clinging to her shoulders. She hadn’t experienced that oppressive weight since Drew’s death, and she’d thought she would never know it again.

  She’d been wrong.

  Tears fell harder, and she turned her face into the pillow to quiet her sobs. She hated that he still had the ability to make her cry, to make her weak. But tonight she’d tasted true happiness, known what it felt like to be truly wanted. And damn it, she was sick to death of pretending.

  …

  Alex reached over the edge of the couch for his boxers. Head still fogged from a mind-numbing orgasm and one too many beers, he stared at the stairwell, listening to Reagan’s muffled crying.

  He was an asshole. A bastard. What kind of man honored his best friend’s memory by fucking his wife?

  Nor had he stopped to consider that Reagan was a grieving widow. He’d selfishly taken what she’d offered. Now, when he ought to be comforting her, he didn’t dare go to her. He didn’t belong at her side, not when he’d made everything awkward and uncomfortable.

  He ran a hand over his hair and blew out a hard breath. If he were sober, he’d get in his car and leave. She might be pissed, but it would be better than what promised to come with the morning when they had to look at each other. Confront the reality all over again—not that she evidently faced reality as it was. Still, she’d heal a hell of a lot faster without him around to complicate everything.

  Christ, he shouldn’t have listened when she’d said it was okay. It wasn’t okay. She wasn’t okay. Clearly. Every time Drew came up, she dodged the subject. She bottled her grief up and hid it away.

  Just like he did.

  But no matter how he wanted to bolt out that door, he couldn’t turn his back on her. She needed help. Stubbornness, avoidance, whatever it was, her damned house was virtually falling apart. She had even allowed a second-rate contractor to take advantage of her. He’d be ten times the asshole if he let that happen again.