Out of Control

by Shannon McKenna

  It was ridiculous, but she couldn’t deny him anything. Not the way she felt tonight. She loosened her thighs and pressed his hand deeper, moving around his fingers to seek out more of that sweet, desperate unraveling that only he could wring from her.

  Then he slid his other hand under the curve of her bottom, seeking the same soft well of silken liquid heat from behind.

  Her eyes flew open. She tried to wiggle away, but he’d already slid his finger inside her. Cold alarm fluttered in her belly. She’d never liked being touched from behind. It made her feel helpless and ashamed.

  But then again, this was Davy. He circled her clitoris from the front while his long finger thrust tenderly inside her. She squirmed against him, caught on a merciless prong of sensation.

  Suddenly, shockingly, it boiled over into spasms of pleasure.

  Whoa. She trembled in his arms. That was…new.

  She didn’t even have time to comment on it before she felt him fumbling behind her to smooth a condom over himself, and suddenly he’d replaced his fingers with his penis. He pushed himself into her slick opening, gaining entry one little, surging thrust at a time.

  She wiggled against him, but his arm held her fast. “That was sneaky,” she said. “I told you. I don’t like it from behind.”

  He did not stop his slow, rocking thrusts. “Why not?”

  “It makes me feel cheap,” she whispered. “Like someone’s helping himself to a piece of me without even looking at me.”

  He stopped moving, his arms tightening. “I’m looking at you,” he said. “I’ll stop if you hate it. But it doesn’t feel like you hate it, Margot. It feels like you’re about to explode all over again, if I rub you—right here, while I push my cock against this spot inside you…like that. See?”

  She cried out as the deep, sensual push against her sensitive inner hot spot that nudged her into another long wave of sensation.

  He kissed the side of her neck. “I want deeper inside,” he said. “Let me in. Roll over onto your stomach and open your legs.”

  The words were spoken with the command that was as habitual to him as breathing. As if he had not the faintest doubt that he would be obeyed. Part of her resisted, but a deeper, quieter part understood the language of his body, the pleading caresses of his hands, his lips.

  He was a big, powerful man. He could push her into any position he liked, but he didn’t. He just waited, petting and nuzzling her nape.

  She did as he asked, and rolled over. Not obeying, but consenting. The wordless wisdom of her own body could tell the difference.

  He rolled with her, still joined, and made a low satisfied sound in his throat as her thighs loosened. He gripped her hips, pulling her bottom back towards him. She pressed her face against the pillow, grateful for the privacy. She was melting from the inside out. Emotions shaking her, softening her throat, making her face quiver and vibrate.

  The erotic pose had a strange effect on her. She saw it so clearly, the pride and fear inside her that objected to the incredible vulnerability of sex, but with Davy, there was no escape from vulnerability, in any sexual position. Her heart had no shields from him. It never would.

  He moved inside her, a deep, sliding stroke right against the place where she so desperately needed it. She swayed back to meet him. The sounds were loud in the quiet room; their labored breathing, the wet, slapping sounds, the whimpers that she couldn’t control. She had already yielded more than she ever wanted to, but it was too late now. He was inside the fortress, laying claim to anything he pleased.

  His sensual, relentless rhythm drove her to the edge, and over.

  She lay with her face hidden, struggling for breath. She’d never been with a man so skillful, so seductive. Let alone fallen madly in love with one. There was probably nothing he couldn’t convince her to do.

  Davy lifted his weight off her with a sigh, and rolled to the side. He shoved her hair off her face, and tried to pry it up from the pillow and make her look at him. “Margot?”

  She shook her head and burrowed deeper.

  “Oh, shit,” he muttered. “Don’t tell me you’re mad at me again. Damn it, Margot. Talk to me. What have I done now?”

  She tried three times before she could make her voice work. As she started speaking, she realized she hadn’t thought of anything to say.

  “You always win,” was what came out, even though it wasn’t exactly what she meant.

  He flopped over onto his back with a sharp sigh, and covered his eyes with his hand. “We both won,” he said, his voice tight. “I cannot win this game unless you win it too. Why the fuck do you not get that?”

  Because I’m in love with you, and you’re not with me, she wanted to scream, but that was a bomb that would explode in her face too.

  Davy sat up on the bed, his broad, rigid back to her, radiating anger as he disposed of the condom.

  She curled up onto her side. “Don’t be mad,” she said. “I wasn’t going to say anything. You dragged it out of me.”

  “Everything I do makes you feel attacked,” he burst out. “Even when it makes you come. You drag all your past stuff into bed, and the bed’s too goddamn crowded. It’s no longer relevant. It’s gone. Let it go.”

  His self-righteous tone irritated her. “Don’t you act superior with me, Davy. I’m not the only one who has past stuff to deal with. Mine is small enough to fit inside a double bed. But yours, whoa. It’s huge.”

  “You lost me, Margot. What the hell are you talking about?”

  Your mom’s death, maybe? Your father’s illness? Your ex-wife’s betrayal? She didn’t have the nerve to throw the big bombs, so she just shoved on with the next thing that came into her mind. “Remember when you proposed that kept woman arrangement to me—”

  “You’re never going to stop throwing that in my face, are you?”

  “Not until you get my point, and God knows when that will be. Nothing can challenge this fantasy you’ve got about controlling yourself and your world. But you can’t control my feelings, Davy. I can’t even control my feelings, and believe me, I really, really want to.”

  “Margot, I just wanted to—”

  “You wanted to have sex with me, but you didn’t want to be responsible for how I might feel about it,” she pushed on. “So here’s your perfect plan. Draw up a contract in which I promise not to feel any inappropriate, inconvenient emotions. In return, you’ll protect me from Snakey so I’ll be all fluttery and grateful. Hah. It’s not working.”

  He shook his head. “You’ll twist anything I say out of recognition.”

  “On the contrary, I think it’s a pretty accurate analysis,” she said.

  “Yeah? I’m still waiting for the point of this accurate analysis.”

  She glared at him. “You can cut out the snotty tone any time.”

  Davy sighed, and stretched out next to her, folding his arms over his chest with an air of patient martyrdom. “So? Lay it on me, Margot. Rip me to shreds. It’s just that kind of a day.”

  “You turned yourself into an ice cube to deal with all the things that scare you,” she told him. “You don’t need anyone, except for maybe your precious brothers. You zoom above it all. Whoosh, there goes SuperDavy, faster than a speeding bullet. Never needing anything.”

  He propped his head up onto his hand. “If I didn’t have needs, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “Yeah, sure. Sex.” She snorted. “You’ll admit to needing that, but you probably wish you didn’t, right?”

  “That sounds like a trick question.” His eyes slid over her body. “Before I met you, I wished I didn’t need it. I don’t feel that way anymore.”

  She struggled to decode that statement. “Just sex,” she repeated, just to be sure he didn’t mean…no. No way.

  “No. You.” He emphasized each word. “Sex is general. You can have it with anyone. What I want is specific. Sex…with you.”

  “Just sex,” she repeated. It was like pressing on a painful ache.
Waiting, hoping for him to take it just one tiny little step further.

  She could soon see from his face that he wasn’t going to. “Jesus, Margot,” he said curtly. “What do you want from me?”

  “Something I can’t have, evidently.” She looked down, plucking at a hole in the ragged wool blanket. “Tell me something. Would you have felt differently about me if I weren’t a fugitive with a fake ID and a ninja stalker and a trail of bodies, and all my funky extra baggage?”

  “No. I never judged you. That stuff isn’t your fault.”

  “So if you’d met me when I was Ms. Pillar-of-the-Community with a job and a slick car and a salon haircut, it wouldn’t have made a—”

  “Not one damn bit of difference. I’ve had plenty of girlfriends like that. I didn’t marry any of them. I’ve worked hard to get my life to this point. I like choosing how to spend my time. I like controlling my space. I like my freedom. I don’t want to compromise that for a woman.”

  “Oh. Well, according to your friend Gomez…” She hesitated, as his face darkened. “You, uh, just did compromise it. In a big way.”

  “Let’s keep the issues separate.” He bit the words out, sharp and hard as stones. “That’s a different problem, with a different solution.”

  “I’m not real great at keeping things separate,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed. I was straight with you from the beginning, Margot. If you choose to get your feelings hurt, that’s your own—”

  “Oh, shut up. Don’t you dare use a stale, stupid line you’ve used before on your other women when they started to cling. I can tell right off if you’re using stock phrases. With me, you better be original.”

  Davy cursed softly. He fumbled in the drawer in the bedside table, until he found a silver flask. He opened it and took a swig.

  “What, am I driving you to drink?” she demanded. “Am I going to have that on my conscience, too?”

  He grunted and tossed back another swallow. “If anyone could, it would be you.”

  “I’ve never seen you do more than nurse a beer or sip champagne,” she said. “It’s strange to see you guzzle hard liquor.”

  “I’m not guzzling,” he said, irritated. “It’s a sip, for Christ’s sake. I don’t get drunk. But I like a shot of good single malt sometimes.”

  “I’ll remember that on your birthday.” Oops, she was babbling. Like she was going to be in his life on his birthday. “When is your birthday, anyhow?”

  His mouth twitched. “November third.”

  “Of course. A Scorpio. I might have guessed.” She covered her discomfort with more chatter. “I’m a Sagittarius myself. December tenth. Don’t worry, though. I won’t expect you to remember my birthday, being as how you’re so wild and free and uncommitted.”

  “I’ve got something original to say,” he said.

  That cut off her babbling abruptly. “Oh, yeah?” She braced herself. “If it’s original, then let’s hear it.”

  “Usually, this kind of conversation with a woman makes my dick retract into my body. But take a look at this. Weird.”

  Margot glanced down at his enormous hard-on, and up into the hypnotic brilliance of his eyes. “It’s true,” she said. “You never get tired.”

  “Not of sex. Not when you’re around,” he said.

  The man was a master at confusing mixed messages, but she didn’t want to call him on it or pick another fight. Not now.

  She jerked the whiskey flask out of his hand, and scrambled out of the bed. “Let me try some of that stuff,” she mumbled. “I need help.”

  She sniffed at the complex fumes, took a sip, and grimaced. “Ay-yi-yi. Not for me. I like sweet things. Pina coladas, frozen margaritas.”

  “Good Scotch is a different thing.” He slid out of bed and moved behind her, putting his arms around her. He lifted the flask to her nose. “Smell it again. Sweet things are for the tongue. This is for the nose, and the mind.” His hand curled over the nape of her neck.

  She sniffed again. “It burns my nose.”

  “It’s a complicated flavor.” His voice was a low, husky murmur. “Earth flavors. Wood, smoke, peat, ash, fire. Green hills. Cold fog rising off the rocky coast of Scotland. Gray and black pebble beaches, rattling every time a wave of dark Atlantic water washes over them. Smell it?”

  Under the spell of his soft, hypnotic voice, she actually did. She tried to make light of it. “You’re so poetic, Davy. Who’d have thought?”

  “Shh,” he brushed her words away. “Taste it again. Let the vapor rise up into your nose and expand. Like a bubble with a picture in it.”

  She sipped it again, and the images he had invoked bloomed in her mind while the burn of liquid fire trickled down her throat. She swallowed it, a shudder through her as its power warmed her.

  It was like sex. The taste of desire. The earth, the elements. Just a sip of whiskey with Davy McCloud was foreplay. His lips covered hers, flavored with whiskey while his hand slid between her legs, caressing her. He raised his fingers and sucked them into his mouth. “I love your taste. Better than Scotch. Rich and subtle. Sweet and salt. Delicious.”

  She seized his erect penis and caressed it, running her hand tenderly over the swollen head. She licked her fingers just as he had, savoring his taste. A silent ritual, charged with unvoiced longings.

  He cupped her cheek, and rubbed his face against hers. The faint rasp of his beard stubble made her want to purr with pleasure.

  “I wish you would trust me more,” he said.

  She pressed his hand harder against her face, trapping him there. “I wish the exact same thing,” she told him.

  They stared at each other as Davy slid his hand down the curve of her back. “We’ll just have to keep doing the best we can.”

  She nodded, wrapping her arms around his waist.

  Davy grabbed a condom from the gaping dresser drawer. He rolled it on and looked down at her, waiting. For what, she wasn’t sure.

  She blew out a long sigh, and moved another step closer towards the abyss. “Do you want me, ah, from behind? I know you like that.”

  “Yeah, I do like that. I love the way your beautiful ass looks in that position. The curve of your back, your perfect skin. The shape of you, opening up like a ripe peach. I love watching myself slide into you.”

  Her legs shook. His soft, husky words cast a sensual spell. She could have come then and there, just from clenching her thighs together.

  “But if it makes you feel bad, I won’t pressure you again,” he went on. “I want to make you feel good, Margot. I don’t want to hurt you, ever. In any way. Do you get that? Do you believe me?”

  She nodded.

  “You call it,” he said. “Any way you want. From here on out, you pick. I don’t care. I love it all. I’m not fussy.”

  She turned her back, and crawled onto the bed, leaning forward onto her arms until she was on all fours. The blanket was scratchy beneath her hands and knees. She arched her back, offering him everything she had to give. She waited, her body trembling.

  “Hey.” His deep voice was soft with caution. “What’s this about?”

  “This is about me, trusting you,” she whispered.

  His warm hands grasped her hips, caressed her. “You sure about this? You’re not going to give me a hard time afterwards?”

  She nodded, shook her head, and laughed at herself. “Yes, I’m sure, and no, I won’t give you a hard time, but I wish you would get the hell on with it already, because I’m ready to—oh, God—”

  “You’re so beautiful.” And he was kissing her there, his mouth so sweet and tender. She’d never known how sensitive the skin of her bottom was, forgot everything except his stroking hands, his lashing, probing tongue. She was primed when he finally slid inside her, giving her all of his passion and strength with each stroke.

  He made it last, until she collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. He followed her down, covering her with his warm weight. She hid her face against the pillow,
but he tugged her hair. “Stay with me,” he said. “Don’t go off into your own head. We do better when we stay together.”

  She tried to speak, but couldn’t. She nodded.

  “Come now. With me,” he demanded, surging deeper. Harder.

  I can’t do it on command, she wanted to say, just as she realized that it wasn’t true. He unlocked her with his words. Emotion and desire rushed out, hopelessly mixed. It churned them into blinding froth.

  She was drifting to sleep when he spoke again. “December tenth.”

  “Huh?” Her eyes fluttered open. “What?”

  “Your birthday. Sagittarius.” He dropped a soft kiss on her shoulder. “I won’t forget.”

  He slid into sleep, leaving her wide awake once again, her heart aching with a painful mix of fear and hope.

  Chapter

  20

  She woke as morning lightened the curtain over the window. Davy was cuddled up to her back, holding her tight against his body.

  She studied the room for clues about Davy’s childhood. It was as spare and austere as a monk’s cell, which she guessed said it all. There was a straight-backed chair, a rough, simple wooden dresser, hooks on the walls for clothes. A packed bookcase. A battered old steamer trunk.

  No closet, no pictures, no mirror, no photos or ornaments or memorabilia. She thought of what Raine had told her. The thought of a ten-year-old boy losing his mother like that made her flinch. She was too raw inside herself to contemplate anything so painful and sad.

  Not that there was much left in her life to contemplate that wasn’t painful and sad these days, she reflected.

  Just Davy. She could contemplate him. He was problematic, but he made her mind and body fizz like champagne. He was probably destined to break her heart into bits, but oh, would it ever be one wild ride while it lasted. That was something. She could hang onto that.

  She rolled over carefully, so as not to wake him, and was startled to find his eyes open and clear, not a shadow of sleep in them. The scratches on his face had scabbed over. She hated that he’d been hurt. She reached down to inspect his injured hand. It didn’t seem swollen.