She gave a sobbing cry, trying to pull away yet again, but he only held her tighter, crushing her mouth to his as she convulsed, trembling and shuddering under the pressure of the sensation, the hot, liquid ecstasy that pulled her under and drowned her.
It took her a long time to come down from the high and when she did, she found herself held firmly against his chest. He still had one hand on her butt, the other back to cradling her head like she was a child. He didn’t speak, only held her, surrounding her in heat and that spicy, masculine scent she’d always loved.
She didn’t want to move. Her head was pressed to the cotton of his T-shirt and she wanted to keep it there, letting the aftershocks move through her, leaving her warm and sated and almost blissfully empty. The tension seemed to have left her and she thought if he let her go, she might just float up into the air and away.
Smith said nothing and for a long time there was only the strong, steady beat of his heart against her ear, the sure grip of the big, strong hands holding her, the furnace of his massive, sleekly muscled body pressed to hers, and the scent of leather and spice and musk. Then he moved, his fingers tangling once more in her hair, drawing her head back so she had no choice but to meet his dark eyes.
The expression in them stole her breath, desire burning bright and hot in the black depths. “Jesus, you want me as badly now as you did back then, don’t you?”
What was the point in answering him? He knew the truth already and so did she. It made her feel ripped apart; torn open and vulnerable. Making her want to defend herself the only way she could: with a challenge.
“Don’t flatter yourself.” She pulled away from him, her knees feeling rubbery, and this time he let her go. “Rub a girl in the right spot the right way and she’ll come. Doesn’t make you special.” She was pushing him hard, maybe too hard. She knew it. He knew it. But she couldn’t seem to stop. “So does that cock of yours actually work or are you going to stand around talking the whole goddamn night?”
Chapter 7
She couldn’t drop it, not for one fucking second. He’d given her a quick-and-dirty orgasm simply by rubbing up against her, making her go all soft and desperate in his arms, and yet the moment it was over, she was pushing him away, all her tough-girl bullshit firmly in place. As if it hadn’t touched her in any way.
And that fucked him off, because he knew it had gotten to her just like it had gotten to him. The shocked, vulnerable look in her eyes when he’d tipped her head back had virtually screamed it.
Well, she could stop all this pretending crap right now. He’d been nothing but honest, letting her know how angry he still was, how much the past still mattered to him even when it shouldn’t. And he wasn’t going to give her all of that only to let her walk away without giving him a piece of herself in return.
She’d thrown a lighter on the bonfire back when she was eighteen, and all these years later, he was still burning. But he wasn’t going to burn alone.
Her face was flushed, the gold dust in her dark eyes brilliant, full of that tough-girl challenge mere moments after she’d moaned against his mouth. Acting like nothing had happened, as if she did that with every guy she fucked.
Yeah, not this guy. Not tonight.
Smith reached out and hooked her around the neck with his arm, pulling her close and not gently. She gave a startled gasp, but didn’t flinch away, her chin lifting instead, staring up at him, stubborn to the last.
Oh, she was a piece of work, Nora fucking Sutcliffe. But he had an idea how to take her apart. How to dismantle her until she was nothing but a moaning and panting puddle at his feet. He would change her, ruin her the way she’d ruined him. He’d make certain of it. She wasn’t walking out of here tomorrow morning as if he was just another fuck, not if he could help it.
He gave her a smile that promised all kinds of things, satisfaction moving deep and strong inside him as her gaze flickered away and then back, as if she couldn’t hold his gaze for too long. “You want a challenge, golden girl?” he murmured. “I’ll give you one.”
Then he let her go, reaching for the hem of her tank and, without waiting for her to speak, hauled it up and over her head. She said nothing, letting him do it, unresisting. Underneath she wore a plain white bra and he’d soon gotten rid of that too.
She made no move to cover herself as the fabric fell away, the last of the evening sunlight gilding the smooth satin of her skin, but a deep flush that started at her throat was now moving over her chest.
A good man would have looked away, given her some privacy.
He wasn’t a good man.
He looked, stared, drinking down the sight of her bared curves like an alcoholic downing a bottle of vodka. Her tits were beautiful, perfect little handfuls of soft flesh, her nipples a deep pink, hard and ready for his mouth. He wanted to start in right there and then, but he wanted her naked before he touched her first.
No, on second thought, he wanted her naked and begging before he touched her. He wanted her to be as desperate as she’d been in his arms just before, desperate and moaning and completely open to him.
He said nothing, reaching for the catch of her jeans, undoing it, then pulling down the zipper. Sliding his hand inside the waistband, the smoothness of her bare skin tantalizing against his fingers, he gripped the denim and tugged it down, taking her panties along with them.
A soft exhalation of breath was the only sound she made.
Well, soon she’d be making other sounds.
He didn’t let himself look just yet, putting his hands on her hips and maneuvering her over to the sofa, pushing her down on it. Then he kneeled and dealt with her boots, pulling them off so he could finally get rid of her jeans and panties.
Only when he’d finally finished with her clothes did he rise to his feet and look down at her.
His breath caught hard.
She sat on the deep rusty red leather of his sofa, a pretty little picture in amber, pink, and gold. Satiny golden skin, those delicious-looking nipples a pale rose, and a cluster of golden curls between her sleek thighs.
Her cheeks were deeply flushed, her dark eyes glowing with what looked to be a combination of anger and defiance, but again, she made no move to cover herself, letting him look.
So he looked. For a long time. Making sure she knew he was enjoying the view.
She shifted on the couch, bright red and obviously embarrassed yet trying not to show it. “Well? Are we going to do this or what?”
Ah, so she wanted this over and done with, did she? Yeah, he’d gotten a sense of that earlier, when she kissed him, as if she was trying to make him go faster. Sadly for her, he’d decided that slow and easy was the way to go.
“This is my night, baby,” he said softly. “And we’re doing it my way, got it?”
Her gaze flickered away from his then back again and she folded her arms. “Fuck’s sake. You got a control problem or something?”
“You could say that.” He zeroed his gaze on the curls between her thighs. “Drop your arms so I can see your tits. Then spread your legs. I wanna see that pretty little pussy of yours.”
Her jaw tightened and it looked like she was about to say something. Then, clearly thinking better of it, her mouth firmed and she let out a breath, dropping her arms back down at her sides. Turning her face to the side, away from him, she let her knees fall slowly open.
He didn’t bother to hide the low rumble of appreciation that escaped him. Remembering another time, another place. On the cushions of a sun lounger, in the darkness of the half-built pool house, when she’d taken off the little tease of a white bikini with nervous, trembling fingers, finally revealing that delicious body he’d begun to dream about. He’d stared then, unable to help himself, running his hands all over her. She hadn’t been embarrassed. She’d stared at him, mesmerized, as he’d shown her all the things he could do that would make her feel good.
She’d been a virgin then and although physically he hadn’t been, emotionally he had. It h
ad been the first time he’d touched a woman he felt deeply about. The first time he’d made love instead of fucking.
But this was different, wasn’t it? This wasn’t some tender reunion. This was about nothing but the chemistry that flared between them. Tonight was all about the fucking.
She was pink and soft between her spread thighs and he could see the faint gleam of moisture from where he stood. She was wet. Ready. Christ, he wanted to go down on his knees, push her legs apart even further, bury his face between them and taste her. Make her scream and cry.
And he would. He was just going to make sure she was begging first.
Smith pulled his own T-shirt off and over his head, chucking it carelessly onto the floor beside him, and he didn’t miss the flicker of Nora’s gaze as she glanced back at him. And looked away. And then back again.
He gave her a slow, wicked smile. “You like what you see?”
Instantly she looked away. “No.”
Little liar. He’d seen the hungry look in her eyes, the way her gaze had followed the line of his chest and down. Back in Houston, she’d never made a secret of the fact that she’d enjoyed his body and she clearly still did.
Smith went to his knees in front of her and leaned forward, placing his hands on the couch cushions on either side of her hips. Then he dipped his head between her thighs, bringing his mouth almost but not quite touching her pink wet flesh, exhaling softly so that his breath washed over her skin, watching as goosebumps rose and she gave a helpless shiver.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Her voice didn’t sound quite so confident now, a husky undertone to it.
He didn’t answer. After years of taking what he wanted when he wanted it, not just diving in and tasting that delicious pussy was an exercise in self-restraint he’d seldom had to practice. But he was determined. He wanted her to beg.
Still, he lingered, inhaling salt and musk, the delicate scent of aroused woman. Goddamn, she was hot. And his dick ached, pressing against his zipper, reminding him that it didn’t want to be stuck in his jeans. It wanted to be right where he had his face.
All in good time.
He turned his head, letting the rough stubble of his beard brush against the tender skin of her inner thighs and she gave a jerk, the sound of her breath catching loud in the silence. He turned his head to the other thigh and did it again.
“Smith.” She sounded breathless now. “For God’s sake. Stop playing around.”
He lifted his head and met her gaze. She was deeply flushed and her eyes had gone dark, apart from those fascinating sparks of gold. “I’m not touching you until you beg me, Nora,” he said softly.
She blinked, shifting on the couch. “You’ll be waiting all night then, won’t you? I’m not begging for anything.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be waiting all night.” He dipped his head again, this time brushing his jaw against the silky skin of her stomach, feeling her shiver yet again. “I think you’ll be begging long before then.” And he went higher, giving her hard little nipples the gentlest of brushes.
Another sharp indrawn breath.
Fuck yeah. She wasn’t going to make him wait, he’d bet his entire fucking house on it. Nora had always been passionate, and no matter what bullshit veneer she used to cover it, that passion was still there. It was in her anger at him. In the way she’d melted in his arms yesterday, in the way she’d gasped his name just before.
It was in the way she pretended to him so defiantly and so certainly that the past didn’t matter.
He brushed his beard over her nipples again, just to torment her, and she made a soft inarticulate sound, her back arching. Yes, she wanted this, but she was fighting it.
Well, let her fight him. He’d win. He always did.
He lifted his head, finding her dark eyes on him, watching. “Had enough yet?”
Her mouth firmed and she pushed herself up straighter on the couch. “This is stupid. Fuck me or don’t. Stop playing stupid games.”
“Oh come on, you’re enjoying the stupid games.” He sat back on his haunches, letting his gaze trail over her body, all flushed and shaking though she was trying to hide it. “You’re getting off on it. I can see it.” He lifted his gaze back to hers. “I can smell it.”
Her thick golden lashes lowered at that and she looked away. “Don’t be disgusting.”
He laughed. “Getting all prim now? Doesn’t suit you, golden girl. You used to love it when I dirty-talked you.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t now.”
“Bullshit.” He glanced pointedly down at her spread thighs. “At least one part of your body is telling the truth.”
She made an impatient sound and pulled her legs together.
Oh, hell no. He wasn’t having any of that.
“Did I tell you to close your legs?” he demanded. “No, I don’t think I fucking did. So keep them open.”
Her gaze settled on him, full of defiance and will. “Make me, Ace.”
That familiar, intense, electric charge bolted down his spine, the one he’d felt at the Rusty Nail the day before, when she’d challenged him. The one that went straight to his dick. Fuck, he didn’t know why her defiance turned him on. Maybe it appealed to the hunter in him, the competitive part of his personality. Maybe it was simply that this was new and different and unexpected. A reminder that this woman wasn’t eighteen years old anymore, that she’d changed, had had experiences he didn’t know about and wasn’t part of anymore.
You want to know what they are. You want to know all about them.
A hand closed around his heart and squeezed hard.
He couldn’t deny it, couldn’t pretend like she did. He accepted what he wanted and he took it, that was the biker part of him, the one that didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of him. So yes, fuck yes. He wanted to know. He wanted to know how this woman came to be. What had made her leave her father behind finally, what had drawn her to hunting fugitives. What had shaped her. He wanted to know everything.
Smith didn’t smile this time, he’d gotten beyond that. He simply met her gaze, letting her see that if she was a mule, he was a fucking tank.
He was the unstoppable force to her immovable object.
He was going to break her.
—
Smith’s eyes went a deep, impossible black and Nora felt like her heart had stopped beating.
She’d been stupid to push him. He wasn’t that good-boy construction worker anymore. He was a biker president and not a man to be pushed around by anyone.
And yet…She couldn’t deny the thrill deep inside her. The one that loved that dark, dangerous look in his eyes, the one that was a storm, a hurricane, and she was directly in his path.
The one that made her want to stand there and take it, match herself against it.
You’ve been searching for years for a man to really challenge you. And all this time, he’s been right here…
But if he’d been the man he was now back then, she wouldn’t have been able to handle him. He would have been too much for her, too scary, too dangerous. Too everything. Eighteen-year-old Nora would have been terrified of him.
She wasn’t eighteen now though, and now, she was perfectly equipped to deal with a man like him. She’d had a couple of years of being the toughest bitch in the business, and taking on the toughest bastard? Yeah, she wanted it.
She wanted to fight him.
And she wanted to win.
She couldn’t drag her gaze away from him as he kneeled between her thighs, his hands on the couch cushions on either side of her. He’d always been beautiful but now he was even more so, if that was possible.
His shoulders were wide and powerful, the muscles of his chest and abs perfectly delineated, like a sculptor had taken to him with a chisel, carving out the ideal shape of a man. She wanted to touch his smooth, tanned skin, wanted to run her hands over the strong masculine lines of him, feel those hard muscles tense and flex beneath her fingertips.
Hi
s shirt had hidden more tattoos and she wanted to touch those too. The eagle with its wings spread gracefully out on his chest. Another tribal-looking design of curving lines and inked black triangles on his left forearm and shoulder, and another of a similar design on his right. They were simple, beautiful. She wanted to know what they meant.
But then he was rising back up to his feet in one of those fluid movements of careless grace that told of a man perfectly comfortable in his own skin and with his own physicality. He straightened and her mouth dried, because he was so tall and massively built, looming over her, making her feel small and vulnerable and achingly feminine.
She shouldn’t like that, she really shouldn’t. But she kind of did.
One hand dropped to the fastening of his jeans, flipping open the button. He kept that dangerous black gaze of his on her, not looking away, his own challenge to her burning in the depths.
She shivered. If he touched her, she would win, and she knew he wanted to touch her, wanted to desperately. It was there in the glitter of his eyes, in the stain of color on his high cheekbones. In the big, hard line of his cock beneath the denim of his jeans.
He took hold of the tab of his zipper without any hurry at all, leisurely drawing it down as he stared at her.
Her breathing had gotten faster and her skin felt somehow tight, as if someone had wrapped her in plastic wrap. She could still feel the soft prickle of his beard against her inner thigh and across her sensitive nipples, and she couldn’t help shifting restlessly on the couch, moving to try to get rid of it.
He watched her every movement with the intensity of a hunter and she knew she’d given herself away.
“What are you doing now?” she asked breathlessly, attempting a distraction. “If you’re trying to make me do something, staring at me isn’t going to work.”
Make It Hurt (Texas Bounty) Page 10
