He grabs my wrist and I break free in an instant, bringing my arms up in a defensive posture. My skin tingles in anticipation of his touch, waiting for his next move.
He moves in a rush of air and wraps an arm over my shoulders from behind, pinning my back to his chest with a firm grip. I hesitate at the smell of his skin just under my nose, then recover, remembering to drop my center of gravity, only to pause again at the feel of something below his belt pressing into my back. Warmth floods me, but I will myself to move. Stepping behind him, I break his hold and push him away.
The clambering of footsteps marks him stumbling forward.
"Good," he praises.
"I can do better," I say. "Again."
He repeats the move. This time my response is more fluid. Still, it's hard to evoke alarm, hard to feel threatened when nothing about him triggers that response. My body is working against me, wanting to prolong the seconds he's touching me.
For God's sake, Amelia. Focus.
He loops his arms around me again, chest pushing into mine, as he holds me in a tight bear hug. I'm not ready for the way every inch of him presses against me. I'm not prepared for the way his masculine scent, subtle but intoxicating, stirs me and lulls me all at once. It's familiar and yet, I'm nowhere near immune.
"Focus," he says, and his warm breath is dangerously close to my lips. But I'm frozen, breathing slowly. "Amelia...," he says, low, in warning.
His voice is lust, thinly veiled in surprise, and when his warm breath falls over my face again, a dull ache spreads down to my core. A second stretches out before us. I can't move, and I don't want to. Even through the darkness pressed to my lids, I imagine what our bodies look like, flush together and paralyzed by our own desires. Without an inch of space between us, there's no room for him to hide the unyielding part of him pressing into me as it grows increasingly harder.
Perhaps coming to the same realization, he loosens his hold and creates a few inches of space, but he doesn't seem able to pull away completely. His arms drop to my lower back and every part of me soaks up the desire seeping from him. Our bodies speak in the silence, whispering cravings demanding to be fulfilled. Yet we waver on the cusp of no return, on the edge of everything we want, straddling the cliff for fear we might drown indulging in it.
Flames crackle and lick between my thighs and for the first time all night, I truly move without thinking. Slow and steady, I push myself up onto my tiptoes and blindly press my lips to his skin. He inhales in surprise, but I seem to have only touched the corner of his mouth. His hand comes up to grasp the side of my face and for a moment, I think he's going to urge me back and away from him.
Instead, his fingers sink into my hair and, barely audible, he whispers, "Fuck it."
CHAPTER 28
Reed
HER LIPS ARE SMOOTH UNDER mine, just the way I imagined they would be. They part to welcome my tongue and I taste her for the very first time. Salt and vanilla and the impatience of a feverish thirst. I kiss her like I'm afraid she might come to her senses, because every part of me is urging me to come to my own. But this is one impulsive decision I don't regret, because her body relaxes in my arms with a low moan, and I know she's been waiting for this as long as I have.
Hurting for it, too.
We kiss between hot breaths, greedy mouths moving in blind delirium. She exudes an intoxicating energy and it wraps around us both, a torrid storm gathering us up in its wake.
I've never felt this close to losing control.
I take her bottom lip between my teeth and give it a soft bite before pulling back from our kiss. She's breathing harder than ever, face tilted up blindly in anticipation. Being able to take in the sight of her while her eyes are covered is indulgence like I've never known.
"Is this what you want?" I ask her, offering up a silent dare.
Her lips remain parted, reddened and plumped, as though she's catching her breath. I know she's waiting for more.
"Tell me," I say. "Tell me it's what you want."
"I want it."
On an exhale, she brings her body completely flush with mine.
An agonizing need shoots through me.
I pull the blindfold off of her eyes. Her hooded stare rouses me further, luring me right out of my senses. Without saying a word, I grip her shirt and drag it slowly upward. My fingertips trace the smooth skin underneath and she reels under my touch. I toss the shirt aside and take her in.
She's gorgeous, glowing under the room's light.
Her breasts are firm mounds of creamy skin contained in a simple black bra. I trace the tops of her breasts with a finger, dipping into her cleavage and up again, sensing the shiver that makes her bite her lip.
"Is this what you want, Sebastian?" she asks, teasing the helpless way my mouth opens at the sight of her.
She's never called me by my first name before. Hearing it now makes me determined to make her mine. There's no denying how badly I want her. No point in even trying to pretend I don't. The growing bulge in my pants is too obvious, and I've spent enough time trying to bring attention away from it, unsure of what she wanted and not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. But, fuck, I need her to feel it now, to feel how it strains the fabric of my clothes.
"You have no idea."
"Then what are you waiting for?"
I wrap an arm around her back. The other hand slides up her flat stomach and covers one of her breasts, molding it under my palm. My hand rises to her collarbone, tracing the curves of her beautiful neck with my fingers. But the thought of her bruises makes me tense. The marks are barely visible now, but the memory of how bad they were is fresh in my mind and, I'm sure, fresh in hers.
"What's wrong?" she asks.
"What's wrong is the part of me that wants you, doesn't just crave to be inside of you, it wants to fuck you senseless. Hard. Rough. Mercilessly." The urge to rough handle her is so overwhelming, I have to take a breath to rein myself in. "But I'll go slow," I say against her lips, more as a reminder to myself. "I'll be gentle."
Her fingers thread through my hair, pulling tight until my head tilts back. She brings her lips to my neck and her next words warm the skin there.
"I'm not made of glass. Why the hell would you be gentle?"
I just about lose it. Lowering my face to hers, I bite her bottom lip again. This time I linger there, even as a deep sound rumbles in my throat.
"You're making me crazy."
Hands duck under my t-shirt and her soft palms run up my back, collecting the fabric along the way. I help her in one fluid move by tugging at the neckline of the shirt until it's over my head and tossed to the ground.
She runs her fingers over the grooves of my ab muscles, tracing them down.
I lean in for another kiss, tasting her more feverishly than before, dragging my hands from around her waist to her back, where my greedy fingers slip between her pants and underwear, pulling both down around the curves of her ass until the material falls at her feet.
In response, one of her hands disappears under the waistband of my pants. Slender fingers wrap firmly around my erection and cause me to rake in a breath. Her eyes rise to mine, pupils wide, irises small. She's surprised, impressed even. I've never been this hard in my life. I've never needed to be inside anyone as badly as I need to be inside of her.
She angles herself closer still. I take her in for a kiss, but pull away from her to take off my pants. When I step back, I appreciate the sight of her in only her bra. Her contours and curves have me rushing to find a condom in a nearby drawer.
Her eyes are glued to the way the condom rolls onto my dick. She unhooks her bra and lets it fall to the floor. For a moment, I'm speechless at the sight of her fully naked. But when I charge forward, we pick up our kiss right where we left off, hungry and desperate. She wraps her legs around me and, holding her by the thighs, I lower her onto me, shutting my eyes at how she feels wrapping around me, squeezing me all the way.
Fuck. She's on fire.
I relish the sight of her gorgeous face, twisting in delight as I pulse in and out of her.
Her hoarse voice moaning out things like, "Yes, yes," and "Right there," and "Don't stop," is the second sexiest damn thing I've ever heard in my life.
The first? The way her words grow incoherent as I fuck her relentlessly. My fingers clutch her ass and her head hangs back against the wall, mouth parted, and hairline damp with sweat.
"Oh God," she cries out and tightens around me.
Her body coils in my arms and I drive into her faster than ever before. Her moans turn into a euphoric whine, then into a sigh of utter satisfaction.
I hold her tight and drop my face to her neck. "Fuck."
"More," she says. "I want more."
I'm still rock hard and now that I know what she feels like, I might never pull out of her again. I have no intention of saying no to her and it seems like she wants to cry out yes all night.
Kissing her, I guide us over to the padded column she'd been punching earlier and bring her feet back to the ground. She opens her eyes, confused as to why I've pulled away. She's still breathing hard and looks just about ready to beg me to sink back inside of her. Fuck, that look. I wish I could bottle it.
"There's something I can't get out of my head," I say, taking her by the waist and turning her to face the column.
She peers back at me, puzzled. "You want to train...now?"
"No. But you might want to hold on."
CHAPTER 29
Amelia
"I NEED YOU LIKE THIS."
He trails kisses down my neck as he speaks, sending sparks across my already sensitive skin. My knees go weak, because every part of me is a raw nerve to his touch. I wrap my arms around the column without a second thought and his large hands take hold of my hips. My body reels under his heated touch, back arching, head falling back. And when he sinks into me again, a long, deep groan slips from his mouth.
Sebastian Reed has lost all notion of control.
He's not delicate or patient and I'm glad for both. He fucks me the way I want to be. Right out of my mind and until time, place, and circumstances become irrelevant details. My entire body remains in a perpetual state of arousal, and the greed with which he takes me makes me wonder how in the hell he managed not to before now. Our sex is volatile, all consuming, and unforgiving. I surrender to his touch in a way I've never done before with any other man. He tried to keep his distance from the moment we met, holding me at arm's length while simultaneously luring me inward. Fanning the flame, but staying just out of reach. I've burned and I've craved him in secret. And tonight? He strayed too close and sent us both stumbling across the threshold, across the line.
The urgency of his pace makes me cling to the column for fear I might collapse from the frenzied sensations. His arduous breaths sear my neck. I'm teetering over the edge of delicious hysteria one moment and spiraling into an orgasm the next, twisting and coiling in his arms.
Bliss. Nothing but pure, mindless, unadulterated bliss.
The moment it's over I'm ready to plunge back in.
"More," I beg, not caring how desperate I sound. "I want more."
He spins me around and picks me up by my ass. His strong arms hold me tight against him as he stumbles into his bedroom, unable to see where he's going because his face is in my hands and our lips are inseparable.
My legs are wrapped so tightly around him, I'm not sure I could loosen them if I tried.
But I do. I have to break our kiss so he can lay me down on his bed, before lowering onto me and taking me again.
Again.
He seems fixated on eliciting noises from me, in making my heart thunder in my chest, and bringing an agonizing desire between my legs that no orgasm could ever quell.
Again.
He takes me in ways that leave me breathless, sweeping me into a whirlwind, until I'm ignorant to every damn thing outside of what I want, what I need. A reprieve from danger and stress. The closest thing to a safe haven I've ever experienced. I could remain intoxicated by the way he slides into me, wordlessly marking me as his, even if just for tonight. Tonight could last for as long as we can.
We make eye contact and I can't look away. I can see the feverish need in him, overflowing onto his face, driving his pace, driving my moans.
"Fuck." He buries his face in my hair and makes a long, masculine sound that vibrates down to my core. He holds still for a long while, but my hips continue to thrash underneath him, grinding until the wave of ecstasy overtakes me.
"Oh God," I breathe out.
His lips are at my ear, and though he came, he holds himself inside of me, still long and hard. I don't want him to move. I don't want to feel the rush of cold air when our bodies separate, so I hold tighter when he tries.
"Wait," I whisper, not caring if he hears the way my voice trembles.
I stare at the ceiling, trying and failing to steady my heartbeat. His face is buried in the crook of my neck and his heavy breaths bathe my skin in warmth.
"Are you all right?" He breathes in deep, taking in my scent like a drug.
I don't answer, dangerously close to lowering my very last piece of armor. The piece of armor that's kept me alive all these years. Because, for the first time in my entire life, I can't stand the thought of being alone.
Reed seems to realize I don't want to speak. He falls quiet and holds still for a long while, his nose nestled just behind my ear. Those strong arms cradle me on either side and he keeps his body flush with mine without bearing all his weight on me. It's just right. He just breathes me in while his thumb caresses the other side of my face.
This silence is so intimate. Too intimate. More than the sex. More than the sounds I allowed to trail from my lips.
When I loosen my hold and quietly drop my hands to the mattress, he finally pulls himself up onto his elbows and looks at me properly. His gaze washes over me like a spotlight. The longer we stare at each other, the further our expressions yield to mischievous smiles.
"You have no idea how many times I've done that to you in my head," he says.
The hunger in his eyes is unapologetic and fierce, as if to make up for all the times he couldn't. Or wouldn't.
"You hid it well."
"I'm a professional, Ms. Woods."
"I'd say so. I hope you don't plan on charging me extra for that."
"Of course not. You'd go bankrupt."
"Excuse me, that's a boisterous claim."
"That was some boisterous sex."
"Indeed."
His lips twist upward into one of his rare grins.
God, he's handsome even when he's straight-faced, but his smile is like a gut punch when you least expect it. I lay a hand on his face wishing I could claim him as mine, but fearing someone already has.
"What would your partner say, if she saw us?" I ask.
"She would be royally pissed."
"Out of jealousy?"
"No, it's not like that between us," he says. I work hard to hide the relief that floods me, as he goes on, "She just thinks I'm reckless."
"You seem the opposite of reckless to me."
"I guess you wouldn't know, but I can be impulsive with a knack for bad decisions."
"Give a girl a minute to get dressed before you start calling her a bad decision."
"I wasn't talking about you. Trust me, I've made my share of mistakes and none of them felt this good afterward."
"Do your mistakes typically involve sex?"
"Unfortunately, they don't. Lately, they've involved concussions."
"Ah. Yes, concussions are not very sexy..." I eye
the scar over his brow. It's much thicker than it seems at a distance, suggesting it healed from a deep wound. I'm unable to stop myself from bringing my fingertips over it and tracing the raised skin as if it can tell me a story in braille. Reed's smile falters when he realizes what I'm doing.
"Do you have any siblings?"
His question comes out of nowhere.
Did a sibling give him that scar?
"I don't know. I'm sure you already know I was abandoned as an infant." I lower my voice to a dramatic whisper. "It's all very tragic."
I shouldn't expect him to find this amusing, despite my playful tone, but I don't like the way all humor drains from his gorgeous face. He has a file on me sitting on his desk. He knows much more about me than I know about him. In fact, I know nothing about him at all.
"What about you?" I ask. "I know you have a sister, any brothers?"
"Two brothers, both cops."
"Looks like you fit the mold. Is your dad a cop, too?"
"He was, but he's out now."
He stares at my lips, tracing them with long strokes of his forefinger. His touch is soothing and grounding, but his expression grows distant. I stare, transfixed, trying to read past the layers he's so carefully plastered on.
"How'd you get that scar on your brow?"
"This?" He lifts his brow like he's trying as I did to make light of an old wound, but doesn't have the energy. "It's what happens when a fifty-pound kid gets in the way of a two-hundred-pound man."
I touch the scar again. "Your father?"
He lifts his gaze to mine and my heart clenches at what I find there. In a flash, I see a boy with those very eyes witnessing a flurry of violence and blood. Pain and betrayal. Somehow, I know the answer.
"I didn't want to be a cop. Not when a man like him could be one. For years, he trapped my mother in a marriage she couldn't escape from. Trapped me and my siblings in a life we hated."
"But your brothers went on to become cops anyway. And so did you. You're one of the good guys."
"Am I? I lost my temper and knocked a man unconscious. Am I really one of the good guys? When I moved here, all I wanted was a fresh start. I opened up this gym, grew it from the ground up. But two years into it, I finally admitted to myself what I really wanted was to join the force. So, I did, and now I'm right where I said I'd never be."
What She Did Page 15
