by Nina Bruhns
“I want you,” he whispered, and her breath backed up in her lungs. The startling realization of her precarious position—on the brink of taking huge risks, both sexually and emotionally—and the even more startling realization that she actually savored that position, nearly scared her to death. It was not Miss Hiding-From-Life there in bed with this modern-day gunslinger complete with boots and six-shooter.
It was finally her true self who sat shivering hot and cold, waiting for him to make his move.
Wanting him to do it now.
As if reading her mind, he did.
Still holding her hands captive, he nudged her down onto her back until her head sank into the pillow. He kissed her, deep and seductive. She reveled in the moist pressure of his mouth on hers, the quick teasing nips from his teeth and short parries of his tongue.
Mmm. This was what she wanted. Exactly what she wanted.
His lips moved down her body, leaving erotic trails of wet kisses on her skin. He paused just above her breasts and blew lightly over them, sending her nipples into tight spirals of delicious sensation. Her body arched toward him, wanting contact, wanting him to take her breasts into his mouth and suckle her until she cried out with the sweet agony of her need.
He sat up, and instead she cried out from her loss.
“Shhh,” he whispered.
He didn’t release her hands, or let her move. His eyes blazed out from his shadowed face, the angles of his cheekbones sharply defined in the moonlight.
“Do you want me?” His expression was intense, almost savage.
Her heartbeat kicked up another notch. “More than anything.”
“Good.”
He raised her hands and positioned her arms in a curve around her head. Then he gently gathered and spread her hair over the pillow.
She tried to bring her hand up to touch him, but he quickly pushed it back down. “No. Don’t move.”
She shivered again, vividly aware of her body being put on display for him, her breasts round and thrust upward because of the position of her arms. She felt a blush rip down her chest, heating her skin until her flesh felt on fire.
She had never felt so acutely sexual in her life.
His slow, hot-blooded inspection embarrassed her, but at the same time it aroused her beyond words.
Studying her reaction, he drew his fingertips softly down the sensitive insides of her arms, from the crossed wrists above her head to her underarms. Then he circled her breasts with his barely-there touch.
“Relax. Let yourself go,” he urged.
His fingertips circled her again.
She moaned softly. “I’ll try.”
How could she relax when all her deepest, darkest fantasies were on the verge of coming true?
His nails scraped gently over her again. She hitched in a sharp breath, her skin quivering from his silky touch.
Ever so slowly, he bent over her and placed his tongue on one quickened nipple. He lapped at it, then blew a sharp stream of air over it. Ribbons of exquisite sensation streaked through her. She moaned louder, and tried to reach for him.
Again, he replaced her arms. “Don’t move. I know it’s difficult for you—letting go. But I need you to trust me.”
She licked her lips, a prick of uneasy excitement stabbing at her. Why didn’t he want her to move?
“Do you trust me, angel?”
“I—”
She forgot his question as his hands traveled down to her waist, then lower, to her hips. His thumbs caressed the crease where her legs joined her torso, drenching her body with a deep yearning. Every one of her muscles melted in the deluge. She’d had no idea her body could feel like this—so languid, so vulnerable to a man’s will, so physically needy.
His hands continued their journey down her thighs, pushing them apart, and she was helpless to deny him access to the most intimate part of herself. Not that she would. She wanted him more than anything she’d ever wanted.
“Do you trust me? Completely?”
She did. Of course she did, or she wouldn’t be here now, naked, exposed, and willingly putting herself in his power. “Yes.”
But the mere fact that he’d asked caused a ripple of apprehension to purl through her.
He ran his hands along her inner thighs, spreading them even farther apart. “Enough to put your body totally in my control?”
Desire slammed into her, an irrational craving for the man—and for the danger she instinctively knew he posed to her and her safe little world. Because of his job…but also because of his powerful sensuality. This side of sex was new to her. Not edgy, exactly, but a far cry from the safe, routine lovemaking she’d enjoyed with Jack. Instinctively, she knew sex with Bridge would never be routine.
“Yes. I trust you.”
With her words, her body surrendered to him completely. Her limbs yielded to his commands as he proceeded to arrange her on the bed in a sultry pose, arms up, breasts out, legs spread with one knee up and one bent on the bed. The look on his face sent goose bumps clear down to the tips of her toes. He looked like a predator laying out a feast he intended to savor down to the last crumb.
Oh, Lord. Now that she had given permission, how would he choose to devour his feast?
She closed her eyes and let herself enjoy what was happening to her body. His fingers smoothed over her skin, her breasts, down her legs and ankles, dipping into her navel and her mouth, setting off sparks and igniting fires wherever he touched. She felt the last vestiges of her willpower slip away, leaving her entirely open and vulnerable to him.
A heady, erotic thrill shot through her. For the first time in memory she didn’t have to be the strong one. The one in charge, making the decisions. She didn’t have to do anything at all. She could just lie back and let it happen.
And God, it felt so damn good. On every possible level.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Bridge smiled in satisfaction. Mary Alice’s slumberous gaze and her heartfelt declaration were redolent with invitation.
“I know,” he said with a smile, feeling a powerful tug of control deep inside him.
He intended to take full advantage of that invitation—now that he’d learned what he’d needed to—that she trusted him completely.
He swept his gaze down the length of her beckoning body. “You are so incredibly beautiful. I want to see you. All of you.”
A lamp stood on the chest of drawers on the other side of the room. He slid off the bed, strode over, and switched it on. He turned back to her, drinking in the sight of his woman.
His woman.
The scent of her body, all lush and eager for him, filled his senses. The golden earrings he’d given her were dangling from her ears. A kind of primitive possessiveness seized him as he looked at her, as if he had somehow bound her irrevocably to him with those thin gold wires.
He only wished it were that easy.
She hadn’t moved from the position he’d put her in, but she shifted her muscles now as he gazed at her, her body undulating suggestively. His already hard arousal jumped with impatience.
Soon, he promised himself. Soon he would slake his tremendous need to be inside her. But first, he must thank her properly for her trust.
He fingered the top button of his jeans. She caught the movement and surprised him with a little moue of disappointment.
He hiked a brow. “On or off?”
The tip of her tongue peeked out from between her lips and flicked over her bottom lip. Her cheeks flushed rosy and when she raised her eyes to his, they glittered with a heat he hadn’t ever seen in them before.
“On,” she said. “But unbuttoned.”
He nearly fell over. Clearly, her choice was not due to modesty. He grinned, absurdly pleased with this new, adventurous side of her. He decided to test how far it went. “Shall I get the orange vest?”
Her eyes dipped to his chest for a moment before the corners of her mouth lifted. “Maybe next time.”
Ooh, baby. He was
going to thoroughly enjoy discovering the secret fantasies of the formerly prim and proper Mary Alice Flannery. He sent up a silent thank you that he was the man she’d built those fantasies around, and made a solemn promise to her—and to himself—to uncover every last one of them.
Even if it took a lifetime.
He climbed back on the bed and knelt between her legs. One by one he unfastened the metal buttons of his jeans, then spread the fly. He’d dressed commando, so his sex sprang free, hard and thick and ready.
“Grab the bars on the headboard, angel,” he ordered huskily. “You’re going to need to hang on.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Mary Alice felt her eyes go wide at Bridge’s command. But she didn’t stop to ponder what she’d gotten herself into. She just obeyed.
The brass columns were chilly in her hands, but smooth to the touch and a perfect fit. She closed her eyes and imagined it was Bridge she was holding instead of cold metal. Excitement twisted through her.
He dropped down, and her body sighed in pleasure when he lowered himself onto her. The rough texture of denim against her bare thighs and his hot arousal jutting into her belly made her squirm with anticipation. Coarse chest hair scraped against her breasts, sending sharp jolts of desire to her center.
She arched under him, wanting to get closer, wanting to feel his body covering hers, all the way down.
He kissed her deeply, passionately, and she moaned into his mouth.
“Please.” She needed to be even closer, as close as was possible between a man and a woman. She needed him inside her.
She wrapped her legs around his hips and felt the uneven seams of his back pockets bite into her bare calves. Her fingers grasping the brass headboard, she kissed him back until she couldn’t breathe.
She was his, and she loved the heady feeling. Loved belonging to him, loved what he did to her, loved the joy he’d brought into her life.
Loved him.
He left her gasping as he eased down her body, tasting each and every inch with his lips and tongue and nose and cheeks. His touch was sublime. By the time he reached her feet she was a quaking mass of molten need.
“Bridge, please,” she pleaded, crazy with wanting him.
“Not yet. There are one or two places left.”
Then he spread wide her shaking legs and started working his way up the tender inner flesh. There was no doubt in her mind where he was heading.
When he reached the brink of her intimate triangle, he paused and looked up at her. “You okay with this?” His hot breath tickled the ultra-sensitive area, making her wriggle in his grasp.
“I—” How could she tell him she’d never done this before?
“Surely, you’ve…?” His voice registered the incredulity she saw reflected in his face when she shook her head. “Oh, honey,” he said on a groan. “Hang on tight. I think you’ll like this.”
He burrowed into her with his mouth, kissing her and using his fingers to open her fully to his caresses. She slammed her eyes tight and squeezed the brass in her hands.
His tongue painted over her flesh. Jolts of pure electric craving stabbed through her, straight to her clit, which he circled with his clever tongue, over and over. She felt herself slip away, draining into the hot, wet ecstasy of his loving.
It felt incredible. Better than incredible.
She moaned his name, panting with each lick and stroke. Her body writhed under him, his fingers digging into her waist, her thighs, her back, as he held her.
God, he felt so good.
The hot knot of pleasure wound tighter and tighter in her center, threatening to splinter her into a million brilliant pieces. The back of her knees started to tremble, the weakness working up her inner thighs, where all the sensations met in a blinding shock as she felt his teeth close over her clit. Her body exploded.
“Bridge!” she cried out, her hands releasing the bed to find him. Her thighs clamped around his head, and she rode his tongue as it wrung every last bit of pleasure from her body.
“Oh my God,” she groaned when she finally floated back to earth. She’d had many, many orgasms before, but that had topped every single one.
“Feel good?” he asked, the cocky grin on his face telling her he knew exactly how amazing it had felt.
Lying limp on the bed, barely able to move, she slid her hand over his hair. “I had no idea.”
He scooted up, the weight of his body settling enticingly on top of her. She managed to put her arms around his neck.
“I’m glad. Call me a chauvinist, but it turns me on that I’m the only man you’ve done that with.”
She hummed out a long sigh. “I imagine there must be other things, too…”
He kissed her, a sultry smile gracing his beautiful mouth. “Oh, yeah. And I won’t rest till we try every one of them.”
She smiled. “I can’t wait.” Suddenly, she was struck with her own urge to explore. She rolled him off her and onto his back, and straddled his thighs.
“Hey!” he protested. But not really. His eyes shone with anticipation.
“In fact, I think we should start right now.”
“In that case, take me.” Bridge lay back like a good captive and stretched his arms out in mock capitulation. The muscles in his neck and shoulders bunched and he lifted his arms over his head, positioning them as he had hers. “I’m at your mercy.”
She studied the magnificent body under her. Midnight black hair and brows accentuated his eyes and clean-shaven cheekbones. His broad, sturdy chest dwarfed her bed, and for a second she shivered at having such a powerful man in such an intimate position. She swallowed. Although she was on top now, that could change with a mere flick of his wrist.
He studied her closely as he waited for her to move, his gaze daring her to be bold.
Although he had just given her the most incredible release of her life, her body heated and tightened under his intense scrutiny, craving his possession again.
She moved her fingers over his chest, down his ribs. And felt a small, round, pitted scar. She halted, moving back to investigate. “What’s this?”
His half-lidded eyes watched her, full of pure, feral hunger. “Old football injury. Can’t you find anything more interesting to touch?”
A smile bowed her lips.
She smoothed her hands over his flat belly, tangling her fingers in the dark arrow of hair, letting them be drawn toward the awesome length of his arousal. The fly of his jeans was still spread wide where his cock lay erect.
At the last minute, she veered off and grasped the waistband. With his impatient help, she pulled off his jeans and tossed them aside.
She figured turn-about was fair play. So she crawled between his legs and spread his thighs.
“My turn.”
Then she bent to taste him. And she moaned in pleasure.
Bringing the wild beast to heel with her hands and lips and tongue, she soon had him growling and moaning in sensual torment. She savored every moment. His body was hard and firm and tough and masculine. She loved the way the hair crinkled crisply over his iron-hard legs, pooling around the straining length of his manhood.
Moments later she heard his strangled groan, and suddenly found herself on her back under him, his hands gripping hers above her head.
“Feel good?” she ventured, a smile teasing her lips as she licked them and peered up at him. Still tasting him.
“You,” he ground out between his teeth, “are a hell of a quick study, teacher lady,” he concluded on a sharp exhale.
She could tell he was pleased at the revelation.
He reached a hand over to the nightstand and grabbed the box. “Choose.”
This time she riffled through the packets and extracted the one she wanted. Ultra Thin. “I only want to feel you tonight,” she whispered.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. In three swift movements, he was up on his knees, readied, and down again.
She stretched out luxuriously under him, every inch c
overed by his hot, impassioned body. His mouth clamped over hers and they melded together in a long, fevered kiss.
He tasted of heat and forbidden things.
He tasted of desire and love, and everything she’d ever wanted.
“Spread your legs for me, angel. I want to come home.”
She hooked one knee over his butt and the other over his thigh, and wrapped her arms around his back. He slid all the way into her, long and thick, and she trembled at how very right he felt there.
“You’re mine,” he whispered hoarsely, holding her close. “This makes you mine.”
“I’m yours for as long as you want me,” she affirmed.
She kissed him, letting her tongue and body tell him without words that she was his and would never belong to another man as long as she lived.
He began to move over her, thrusting in and out, building a steady rhythm. Their lips parted and met again, parted and roamed, panting in half-open bliss, hotly whispering words of love. Their bodies slickened, slipping against each other in a moist, satiny heat.
He pumped faster. Plunged harder.
She dug her nails into his back and hung on, burrowing down under him, pressing her cheek against the wildly beating vein in his muscle-corded neck. With each staccato breath she took, she could taste the sweet-musky scent of their coupling, mingled with the salt of his sweat-dampened shoulder.
He drove deeper into her.
Every racking plunge brought his body tighter against her, closer over her, deeper into her, until she was sure their bodies had melded together and become one, burning with hunger. Their voices joined in aching cries of need, of love, seeking the sweet torture of release.
When it came, she ignited in a firestorm of pleasure. She called out his name and he answered with a last powerful, stiff thrust, a harsh cry tearing from his throat.
He collapsed onto her, and she gathered him in her arms, holding him tight. She never wanted to let him go. Never, ever.
She may have to, one day soon. But whatever happened, she would never regret this moment. She knew she was meant to be his. It was absolutely certain that, no matter what the future brought, in her heart she would always belong to Russell Bridger.
