by Maisey Yates
She wanted to surrender. To her feelings. Her body’s needs. To him.
She wanted to give him her control.
Panic hit her, hard in the breast and she pushed at his chest, trying to free herself from his embrace. He slowly released his hold on her, his expression confused, hazy. She stumbled back, splashing water up around them, and climbed up the side of the hot tub, not bothering to get around him by using the stairs.
“No, this isn’t happening,” she said, panic clawing at her. Mocking her. Reminding her that she wasn’t brave, that she wasn’t different. That if she let go, all of the trappings, everything she’d built for herself, would fall away and reveal who she really was. The stupid girl, needy girl. Ready to give it all up so someone would just pay attention to her for a minute. For a few hours. So that she could have someone look at her like she mattered. Forget what she wanted. Forget self-esteem, self-respect. Control.
“I think it is. It has,” he said. “It seems to keep happening.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not sleeping with you.”
“Oh, so what was that then? Another effort on your part to keep a man controlled? To lead him around by his balls?”
“If you didn’t think with them, it wouldn’t work so well,” she shot back, dying inside. She felt like her defenses were crumbling, like all of her armor was melting from the heat of Eduardo’s touch. And she couldn’t allow that.
“Perhaps I was wrong, Hannah. Perhaps I was looking for more where more did not exist.”
“I told you.” She turned and grabbed a towel from one of the lounge chairs, wrapping it around her body. A physical barrier in the absence of a much-needed emotional one.
“You did. Understand this, though—unlike your ex, I will not be a part of your games. You will not play with me.”
“You just let me.” She turned on her heel and walked out of the courtyard, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind her.
She climbed up the stairs, towel clutched tightly to her chest. She opened the door to her room and closed it firmly behind her, leaning against it. Then she put her hand over her mouth and muffled a sob.
She slid down to her knees, her body shaking as she gave in to tears for the first time in more years than she could count.
Eduardo knocked on the door that connected his room to Hannah’s. He had a feeling he would regret checking on her. He shouldn’t care what she was feeling. She’d played him. She’d tried to use her body to control him; she’d insulted him.
And yet, he found he still didn’t believe it was her. Still didn’t believe she was being genuine. She had been afraid. Not just when he’d asked her about her past, she’d been afraid when they’d kissed. Of the passion that had flared up between them.
He felt wild. He didn’t feel like himself, whoever the hell that was. And looking at Hannah, touching Hannah, didn’t take him back. It took him somewhere else entirely. He had no idea what to do with that.
He knew what he wanted. And for now, wanting something, needing, that was enough.
She didn’t answer. He let out a growl and opened the door without waiting for a response.
He saw her, sitting against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, her head down. She looked like a broken doll.
“Hannah?” he asked, a pang hitting him hard in the chest.
She raised her head, and he saw tears shining on her cheeks, illuminated by the moonlight. She wiped her cheek with her arm. “Go away.”
He took a step toward her. He didn’t know what it was that compelled him when it came to this woman. He didn’t know why she felt so imbedded in him, and yet, she did. A part of him he couldn’t escape, a part he couldn’t forget.
He hadn’t wanted to pursue anyone since his accident. He’d had no focused sexual desire.
But Hannah, tough as nails Hannah, who liked pink, who was sitting on the floor now, wet, still in her bathing suit, all her armor stripped, looking like she would shatter if he touched her, she drew him.
She had fascinated him back when they’d first met. A scrappy, low-class, determined girl who had clawed her way up from nothing, just to get an education. To try and change her life. But the fascination had changed. It was different now. Deeper. As though she’d burrowed beneath his skin.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She pushed up from the floor and stood. He expected her to yell at him. To insult him. Because he’d caught her feeling vulnerable, and that was what she did when he spotted a crack in her armor.
Instead she just straightened, blond hair flicking over her shoulders like a silvery wave, her chin tilted upward. She was like a proud queen, one who would never acknowledge what he’d just witnessed. She would pretend to be above it, above him, if she had to, in order to protect herself. To keep herself securely locked in her ivory tower.
“Of course.”
She would never take sympathy from him, and he didn’t like seeing her broken. “You owe me an apology, Hannah,” he said, changing tactics, hardening his tone.
She tipped her chin up. “For?”
A smile curved his lips, heat pooling in his gut as he stepped toward her. “You insulted me. Good manners dictate you tell me you’re sorry.”
“But I’m not.”
It was a bad idea to push her. It had been a bad idea to come to her room in the first place. “Perhaps I can change your mind.”
She took a step toward him. “I doubt it.”
“I don’t.”
Hannah sucked in a deep breath, tried to erect a barrier between herself and the dark sensuality radiating from Eduardo.
She hated how she shook when she was near him. How much her body ached for his. She hadn’t had sex in nine years. Pathetic, but true. All because of fear. All because she was afraid that if she ever let herself lose control, she would find out that she had never changed. It was why she lashed out at him, it was why she ran from him.
She hated fear. Hated how much of it lived inside of her. She’d bought into her own lie of strength. Had done for years. She’d found someone who hadn’t challenged her, who hadn’t tapped into any sort of deep sexuality, who hadn’t worked at uncovering her secrets, and she’d been able to pretend. Pretend that nothing had ever happened to her, that she had never been Hannah Mae Hackett. High school dropout, pregnant teenager, fraud.
With Eduardo, she couldn’t pretend.
With Eduardo she couldn’t hide the fear, not from him, not from herself. He stripped her with one look. And his touch …
It had to stop. She wouldn’t be afraid. She could still have control, even in this. She had to.
She took another step toward him and put her hand on his face. He reached up, wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “Do not test me, Hannah, not again. I am not playing games. If you kiss me, you had better intend to follow through.”
“Or what?”
He chuckled. “I would never hurt you. Would never force myself on you. But I will never allow you to touch me again, either. I do not play. If you turn back now, nothing will happen between us.”
“I don’t intend to turn back,” she said.
“Then why did you earlier?”
“Because this is a very, very bad idea. I thought I would turn back while I still could.” Now if she turned back she would be doing it because of fear, and she would know that was why. But if she kissed him … She could do it now. While she had him off guard. While she was in command.
He turned her hand and pressed a kiss to the underside of her wrist, his dark eyes never leaving hers.
“Why don’t you kiss me?” she asked.
“Why don’t you apologize?”
A laugh escaped, nervous. Strange sounding. “I might feel more sorry if you just give me what I ask for.”
He hesitated for a moment, dark eyes glittering. Then he dipped his head, his mouth claiming her quickly, fiercely. She didn’t want anything intruding, no thoughts, no emotions; she only wanted what he made her feel. The i
ntense ache that he brought to her core, the desire to have him, over her, in her.
She ran her hands down his bare chest, relishing the feel of his muscles beneath her palms. She’d never touched a man who looked like him, had never been with a real man, truly. Fumbling teenage boys who didn’t know what foreplay meant hardly counted as comprehensive sexual experiences.
They hadn’t been the complete sensual playground that Eduardo was. He was so masculine, so perfectly formed.
She felt her breath getting short, choppy, and she slowed it, taking a few steadying breaths to help reset the rhythm. To keep herself from losing her mind.
She had the control here. He wanted her; she could see the hunger in his lean face. She held the power.
He moved his hands up her waist, kissing her deeply, thoroughly, his thumbs skimming the undersides of her breasts. She moaned into his mouth and an answering sound of pleasure reverberated in his chest.
He slid his hands higher, cupping her, teasing her nipples. A shot of pure, liquid heat poured into her core. She put her hands on his butt and drew him tighter against her, his erection pressing hard against her hip.
He gripped one of the straps on her swimsuit and tugged it down, dropping a kiss onto her shoulder, peeling the Lycra away from her skin, exposing her breast. “Oh, yes. So beautiful,” he said, his voice rough, pained.
He lowered his head, his tongue caressing her nipple, circling it before he sucked it deeply into his mouth. She raised one hand quickly, fisting his hair, holding him to her. He lowered her other strap, baring her other breast. He moved his attention there, lavishing it with the same, very thorough attentions.
She closed her eyes, the sheer intensity of the desire rocketing through her making it impossible to move. Impossible to breathe. Impossible to do anything but stand there and just let him have his way with her body.
When he gripped her swimsuit and pulled it down the rest of the way, a flash of panic hit her. But it was dark. He wouldn’t be able to see. Wouldn’t notice the silvery lines that trailed over her stomach.
Even if he did, it didn’t mean he would know what they were.
He sucked harder on her breast while he teased the other one with his thumb and that last conscious thought fled.
He raised his head and kissed her mouth again, his hair-roughened chest providing the stimulation now.
“Yes, yes,” she repeated, over and over, mindlessly as he backed her to the bed and lowered her onto the soft surface.
Dimly, she remembered that she was supposed to take control, that this was about proving that she wasn’t afraid, that she could master her need for him, and hold him in the palm of her hand.
The only part that registered was the last one.
She reached down between them and touched at the apex of his thighs with her hand, moving her palm over the hard ridge of his shaft.
A little tremor of fear shot through her. Fear of pain. It had been a long time. And it had never been with a man like him.
“I … Do you have condoms?” she asked, a trickle of panic hitting her. She shook it off. She wasn’t going to let fear have anything in her anymore. Wouldn’t let it have anything in this.
He swore. “Just a moment.”
He rose from the bed and walked out of the room. She scooted to the center of the mattress, reclining against the pillows. Some of the arousal fog cleared without him there, touching her and kissing her.
It was too late to turn back now. If she did, it would be because of fear, and she wasn’t going to let fear have a foothold anymore.
But she was taking the control back. She wasn’t letting him turn her into a mindless pleasure zombie. That was her job.
He returned a few moments later, a box in hand. “It was in the bathroom. What conscientious staff I have.”
“You didn’t know if they were in there?”
“I have not needed them.” He set the box down on the nightstand and tore it open, taking out a condom packet. And then she forgot to ask him why he hadn’t needed them.
He handed the condom to her and she got up onto her knees, scooting to the edge of the bed. She swallowed hard and hooked her fingers in the waistband of his swim trunks, the damp fabric clinging to his body and she dragged it downward.
When she’d gotten the shorts off, she took him into her hand, reveling in the hot, silky skin, the hardness of him. She squeezed him lightly and he groaned, the sound deep and satisfying.
“You are certainly no ordinary man,” she said. He let his head fall back, a raw groan coming from deep inside of him.
“That’s right, Eduardo,” she whispered. “Let me.” A straight shot of power coursed through her, making her feel fearless.
She lowered her head and flicked the tip of her tongue over his shaft, her stomach tightening with desire as his hand came up to her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. She explored him with her tongue and he tightened his hold on her, halting her movements.
“I can’t,” he rasped. “I’m too close.”
She lifted her head, satisfied that she was in his power. That she was going to do this her way.
She tore open the packet and rolled the condom onto him, then straightened and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him, drawing him down onto her.
“Not yet,” he said, lowering his head again, kissing her breasts, her ribs, her stomach. Her breath caught when he lingered at the tender skin beneath her belly button. Then he parted her thighs gently, his tongue hot and unexpected against her core.
She arched off the bed, scrambling for something to hold on to, finding his shoulders and clinging tight. “Eduardo …”
His breath was hot on her sensitive skin, his lips hovering just above her. “Now tell me you’re sorry, Hannah.” Another light touch of his tongue sent a flash of brief pleasure through her.
She put one hand over her face, her cheeks burning, her body begging for release.
“Tell me, Hannah.” He kissed her inner thigh and her body shook.
“No.”
The tip of his tongue blazed a trail from where he’d kissed her, straight to her clitoris. Just a tease. Nothing more. “Do you want to come or not?”
“You … bastard,” she panted.
He chuckled. “That doesn’t sound like an apology.”
“It wasn’t.”
He moved his hand between her thighs, his thumb sliding over her slick flesh. She gripped both his shoulders, hard, her teeth locked together. Her hips moved in rhythm with his touch. His fleeting, too-light touch.
“Touch me, dammit,” she said.
“Not until you tell me you’re sorry.”
Her muscles were shaking, her body begging her tongue to simply say the words. She needed release. She needed him. To hell with control. “I’m sorry.”
He gave her a wicked grin, then lowered his head, his tongue working magic on her as he slid one finger inside her tight body.
“Oh, yes,” she breathed. It had been worth it. No amount of pride was valuable enough to hold on to, and miss this.
He lavished attention on her, fully, completely, with his mouth and hands. Something started tightening inside of her. Tension she was afraid might break her.
A second finger joined the first and the tension in her broke, shattering through her like a million glittering stars. There was no thought; there was nothing but the blinding intensity of her release.
When she returned to earth, he was there, poised above her, dark eyes intent on hers. He pushed her hair off her damp forehead, his hand shaking. Evidence that he didn’t have the control he’d appeared to have. “Now,” he said.
He put his hand on her thigh and lifted it so her leg hooked over his hip. The thick head of his erection pressed against her body and she arched into him. He slid in easily, filling her, stretching her in the best way.
She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. He began to move, his thrusts hard, controlled and perfect. She moved against him, met
his every move. Each time their bodies connected a sharp, white-hot sensation of pleasure struck her. She didn’t think it was possible to be so turned on so quickly again.
But she was. She was craving release, needing more of the heady rush he’d always given her.
His breath was hot on her neck, quick and harsh. She turned her head and kissed his cheek, and he turned, catching her mouth, a shudder rolling through his body as she slid her tongue against his.
“Dios, yes,” he ground out.
The controlled nature of his thrusts frayed; his movements turning choppy, desperate, keeping time with the manic need that was rolling through her, demanding release again.
He thrust into her one last time, his muscles going stiff, his entire body freezing as he found his release on a feral groan. She flexed against him and her own orgasm washed over her, waves of pleasure coursing through her as her body tightened around his. He was so deep in her, so connected with her, and in that moment, it was all that mattered.
He collapsed onto his forearms, his breathing harsh, his muscles trembling. Then he separated from her body and gathered her close to him, her backside curving into his body, his hand resting on her stomach.
They didn’t speak for a long moment; the only sounds in the room were their broken, uneven breaths. He curled a lock of her hair around his finger, the touch comforting, almost as intimate as sex in a strange way.
Her brain felt foggy. Events from only moments ago running together, reduced to points of aching need and sweeping, powerful release. Sometime soon, she might feel humiliation at the fact that she’d given him so much, so quickly.
But not now.
“I didn’t forget how to do it,” he said finally, still out of breath.
She laughed. “What does that mean?”
“You are the first woman I’ve been with since my accident. I suppose I’ve been true to our marriage vows all this time,” he said, a strange note in his voice.
It was her instinct to try and ruin the moment. To break the spell of closeness that seemed woven around them. But she couldn’t. She didn’t want to. She just wanted a moment. Then tomorrow, she could go back to holding him at a distance. Things could go back to the way they’d been. Mystery solved. Sexual tension broken.
