by Tracy Wolff
Ryder shifted, once again catching her wrists in his big, talented hands. Then he pulled them forward, clasping them in front of her body with one hand.
“What are you—” Her voice was husky with desire.
“Look.” His voice was deep and gravelly, nearly unfamiliar in his desire for her. She felt a sharp rush at the thought that she had done this to him, that she had driven this beautiful, talented, amazing man so crazy with lust that he could barely speak.
Then she followed his gaze, was transfixed—much as he was—by what she saw in the dim lights that ran along the trailer roof.. He’d captured her wrists in such a way that her arms framed her breasts, plumping the already full mounds up and out for his pleasure.
For her pleasure too, because already she could feel the increase of blood flow to the constricted area. But he wasn’t done, the hand on her wrists tightening so that her arms squeezed her breasts even more tightly. They actually stung, the air chafing her sensitive skin and too-tight nipples.
“You’re beautiful, Jamison,” he told her, eyes wide in lascivious appreciation. “So goddamn beautiful.”
She felt beautiful when he looked at her like that, when he touched her and held her and stroked her like she was the only woman in the world. She knew it was a lie, knew he’d probably be with another woman before the week ended, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when he was looking at her like she was his whole world.
Ryder leaned forward, pressing himself against her until the strength of his chest and shoulders was the only thing keeping her upright. Then he bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth.
He sucked her deep and she gasped, begged for mercy. But he had none as he bit and licked, sucked and nuzzled her straight into ecstasy.
Wrapped up in the incredible heat burning through her, the climax caught Jamison by surprise. Though she’d known she was close—so close—she hadn’t expected to hurtle over with nothing but the touch of his mouth on her breast.
There was a roaring in her head, a fuzziness that overtook her as a freight train of pleasure slammed through her body. It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced and it left her with no choice but to hang on for the ride.
Her body convulsed again and again, wave after wave of ecstasy shooting through her, sizzling along her nerve endings, lighting her up like the pyrotechnic display Shaken Dirty used to close every concert. And then she was flying, soaring, dissolving into the endless night sky.
She came back to earth slowly, shocked at the heights she’d scaled. Uncertain about the amount and degree of pleasure Ryder had shown her. She wasn’t a virgin, had slept with a couple men in committed relationships before. But nothing they’d shown her, nothing she’d ever experienced, could have prepared her for these moments with Ryder. No wonder the groupies always seemed so desperate to find their way into his bed.
The thought chilled her, had her withdrawing into herself. But Ryder wasn’t putting up with that. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly against him as he kissed his way across her bare stomach.
“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he told her.
She stirred against him, unsure of what to say, what to do on the heels of what was supposed to be her first casual sexual encounter ever. Too bad that it felt anything but.
He stopped kissing her abruptly, tilted his head up until those gorgeous onyx eyes of his blazed into her own. “Jamison?” he asked, his voice still husky with desire. “Are you okay?”
And just that easily, she relaxed. Hearing him say her name, knowing she was more to him than some nameless, faceless body soothed her as nothing else could have.
“More than okay,” she teased, dancing her fingers over the bare skin of his chest to play with his nipple ring. She wanted to touch him, to explore every inch of his sexy, gorgeous body before he walked away. Before the chance was lost to her forever. “When do I get to touch?” she asked.
“After I’ve gotten my fill.” His fingers went to the waistband of her shorts, started to unbutton them.
“You haven’t yet?” she asked as he shimmied her shorts over her hips and let them fall to the ground. Then she lost the ability to talk as he kissed his way over her abdomen to the top of her lacy bikini panties.
“Not even close.” He ran a finger under the lace, teased the curls at the apex of her thighs. “Open your legs.”
She obeyed instantly, the commanding note in his voice sending shivers down her spine. Still, much as she wanted him inside her, she wanted something else more. “I want to touch you, feel you—”
“Oh, you will baby. You will.” He slid his hand lower, stroked his way over and down her sex.
She trembled, her body teetering on the edge of a second orgasm from no more than that simple touch. “Ryder,” she said, his name an agony of need welling up inside her.
He laughed, a soft, gentle expulsion of air that had her sex clenching and heat sweeping across her belly.
Just that easily, she shattered. Driven beyond thinking, beyond rationality, she clutched at his shoulders. Then turned her head and sunk her teeth into the only part of him she could reach—the bicep of the arm that was holding her pinned against the trailer.
Chapter Fifteen
He froze at the feel of her teeth sinking into his flesh. For one second, two, he was motionless, held in place by a desire so fierce it bordered on obsession. Then Jamison moaned and the spell was broken. And so was his resolve. He’d wanted to spend the night petting her, touching her, gentling her to orgasm after orgasm—she more than deserved that kind of care from him. But there was no way he was going to last all night, no way he was going to last more than a few more minutes before burying himself inside of her.
Determined to give her all that he could in those minutes—and to make her come at least once more before he slid inside of her—he let go of her wrist and crouched down. Brought both of his hands to rest on her bare thighs. Coaxed her into opening her legs before her innate reticence could kick in.
Trying to move slowly, to give her time to get used to him, he once again slid a finger along the edge of her purple lace panties. He never would have taken her for a lace girl—not cool, practical, reserved Jamison—but here was the proof. The sexy panties cupped her sex like a lover, nestling between the folds of her pussy as he was so desperate to do.
Leaning forward, this time he trailed his tongue along the edge of the lace, relishing each gasp and shiver his journey elicited. “Do you have more of these, baby?” He pulled at the waistband a little before allowing it to snap back against her bikini line with a satisfying smack.
“Yes.” It was a gasp, and barely a coherent one at that.
“I’m glad.” He smiled then, let her see the wicked promise in his eyes. Then leaned forward and with his teeth, ripped the things to shreds.
She gasped and his grin grew wider even as a powerful surge of need tore through him. This was what he’d been thinking about, dreaming about, for what felt like forever.
Jamison, hot and wet, her skin flushed a sexy pink.
Incoherent with need.
As desperate for him as he was for her.
“Please. Ryder.” She moved her hand to his chest. Played with his nipple ring. Stroked her way down his stomach until she got to the waistband of his jeans. “I want you,” she whispered, bringing her hands back up to his shoulders where she clutched at him, pulled him closer.
“Want isn’t enough,” he told her, determined to push her as close to insanity as he was. “You have to need me the way I need you.”
“I do!” It was nearly a wail, one that turned to a high, keening cry as he nipped at her inner thighs with his teeth. He loved the sounds she made, nipped and licked and kissed at her in an effort to get her to make them again. To make more. He was losing his mind, drowning in the fount of her sensuality and he wanted her to feel the same. Needed her to be as desperate, as crazy, for him as he was for her.
; “Let’s see about that,” he told her, his tongue darting out to run the length of her sex in one slow, long sweep. She tasted like peaches and honey and sweet, rich cream. He delved deeper, wanting more of her. Wanting all of her.
“Ryder!” Her scream shattered the silence around them and pushed him up to the edge of the line he’d been riding. “Ryder, please. Fuck me. Please, fuck me.”
He loved the pleading tone in Jamison’s voice, loved more the breathless words spilling out of her throat. But it wasn’t enough, wasn’t near enough. He had a fleeting thought that it never would be, that he would want her like this forever. But then she moaned, clutched at him, and the ability to think deserted him completely. All he could do was feel.
The need that had been building inside him for days exploded, turned white hot and dangerous. His breathing was shallow, his cock threatening to burst with one more touch from her. He pushed the desire down, fought it back. Jamison would come for him again, this time against his mouth. Only then, when she’d lost all control and inhibitions, would he give in to the lust driving him to the brink of madness. Only then would he take her.
Lifting her right leg, he draped it over his shoulder. She inhaled sharply in surprise, tangled her fingers in his hair. He gentled her, angling his shoulders so that he could support her weight. Whispered to her of everything he was going to do to her. Then leaned forward and thrust his tongue as deeply inside of her as he could reach.
She went wild, her body thrashing against him as she arched her hips and clutched at him. He held her still, stopped the bucking of her hips with a heavy hand on her stomach and continued to take her higher. She was delicious, intoxicating, the sweetest honey he had ever known, and in that moment he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
It scared him, this need he had for her. Had him pushing her higher, faster, in an effort to quiet the feelings raging inside of him. It almost worked, would have if she hadn’t cried out for him, grounding him in the middle of the maelstrom.
“Ryder!” It was a plea, a demand, a cry for surcease, but he couldn’t stop. He had to have her, had to taste every drop of her sweetness, had to take every shudder and cry she could give him. Stroking deep, he concentrated on finding her every sensitive spot and worked to take her higher than anyone ever had before.
When she was just about there, when she was sobbing and pleading and he sensed she couldn’t take any more, he pulled his tongue out of her luscious warmth. Then, slipping his hands beneath her ass, he lifted her up higher, opened her wider, and wrapped his lips gently around her clit.
Her body arched violently as she came, bucking so wildly that she almost dislodged him. But he held on, used his tongue and teeth and lips to ride her through one climax and into another.
He was a man possessed, utterly enchanted by, completely addicted to the exquisite feeling he got from giving her pleasure. He could stay like this forever, his cock throbbing, his mouth buried in her incredibly sweet, incredibly responsive sex. Making her come would be his new obsession.
He’d had a lot of women in his life, had used his fame and charm and looks to take whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Had used sex to keep his demons, and his failures, at bay.
But sex with Jamison was different. Because Jamison is different, a primitive voice in the back of his head warned even as it urged him on. Thrusting his tongue inside of her, he sent her over the edge to one final climax before skimming his mouth across the curve of her hip to the flat plane of her stomach. Unable to resist, he sucked on the soft flesh of her waist until he marked her, relished the high-pitched cry she didn’t even try to hold back. Then he soothed the small hurt with his tongue and lips before pulling back.
“What—” she asked, dazed. Confused. She was trembling, but he knew it was from pleasure instead of cold. Her skin was nearly feverish.
As was he. His balls were on fire, his cock burning with the need to bury itself in the wet, silky heat of her. Lowering her to the ground, he turned her so that she was facing the trailer. Part of him wanted to see her face when they made love, to see her eyes go all cloudy and unfocused. But he didn’t make love that way. He never had. It was too personal, made him feel too vulnerable. And while he wanted to know everything about Jamison, wanted to get as personal with her as he possibly could, he was afraid to let her see what was inside him. Afraid she wouldn’t let him touch her if she knew just how fucked up he was.
“Ryder!” Her high keening cry dragged him out of his head and back to the present, where he so obviously wanted to be.
Determined to get inside her—to stay inside her-- he pressed on her upper back so that she was leaning forward, her ass thrusting back for him. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the obligatory condom. Unbuttoned his pants, rolled it on. And then, intertwining his fingers with hers, he thrust into her from behind.
She cried out, arched wildly, tugged as if to free her hands from his grip. But he held on, covering her with his body. He couldn’t let go now if she begged. The moment he’d slid into her, the music had started in his head. A sweeping, electric number that lit him up even as Jamison destroyed him with pleasure.
He was rough, rougher than he’d intended, but he’d lost control. Any gentleness he’d had in him had been used up in the long, sexy moments of going down on her. But even as the music swamped him, he made sure that every cry he pulled from her was of pleasure, made sure that every slam of his body into hers took her one step higher.
He wrapped an arm around her to make sure she was protected from the cool metal of the trailer, and then he rode her hard and fast. Each thrust was a frenzy of raging need, each stroke a declaration of control and ownership and vicious, violent need.
And Jamison was taking it. No, she was begging for more, her muscles clenching tightly around him. He reached down, pulled her legs further apart. He needed to go deeper, needed to drive his cock so hard and deep inside of her that he’d never forget the feel of her. Never forget the music pouring through him.
Sobbing, Jamison dug her fingernails into his hands, hanging on for dear life as his thrusts moved her onto her tip-toes. “Do it!” she gasped, her body shaking uncontrollably as her sex clenched tightly around his dick. “Please. You have to.”
The music got louder. His body screamed for relief. But he refused to give in—not now, not when she was so close to coming again. He was desperate to feel her orgasm, to feel her body as it spasmed wildly around him.
Easing back a little, he brought his hand down, gently stroked her clit in rhythm to the music in his head. “No, baby, you have to,” he whispered, following the words with a desperate lunge inside of her. “Come on, Jamison, baby. Let it take you. Let it—”
She screamed, her back arching beneath him like a bow as the waves exploded through her. Gritting his teeth, he kept up the hard, steady strokes until sweat streamed down his body. Until his muscles cried out for relief. Until yet another orgasm whipped through Jamison and she cried his name while she came.
Only then—as the music reached a shattering crescendo—did he give himself up to a release so violent, so powerful, it was like rock and roll itself.
…
When it was over, when she could finally think again, Jamison laid her head back against the cool metal of the trailer and just breathed. She’d had sex before, even made love before, but nothing and no one could have prepared her for this. For Ryder.
He made love like he sang—darkly, dangerously, and with an incredible attention to detail that left her a quivering, boneless mess. For the first time in a long time she felt satisfied. Even more, she felt soft. Like everything inside of her had melted into a puddle of goo.
Which wouldn’t be so bad if she hadn’t felt her heart—and the barriers she’d very deliberately erected between herself and Ryder—melt right along with everything else.
Panic began to set in with that realization, obliterating the post-orgasmic glow that made her want to stay right wh
ere she was—even if that place was backed up against an equipment trailer—forever. Heart racing, hands trembling, fear vibrating through every nerve ending she had, she waited for Ryder to put her down. To move away. To slide the defenses he wore so seamlessly back into place.
But he didn’t. Didn’t do anything but rest against her, his face pressed into the curve of her neck, his body pressed into her own. She could still feel him there, inside of her, was desperately afraid that she always would. In the last few minutes, Ryder had done more than fucked her. He’d taken her over completely.
Panic became full-blown terror. Suddenly she wanted to struggle against him. To demand that he put her down so that she could find that distance again. She needed to breathe, to think, to be by herself if only for a few minutes so that she could rebuild the defenses he had shattered so completely.
She’d spent years of her life lusting after Ryder, wanting him beyond all good sense and comprehension, but now that she’d had him she was only more confused.
What did this mean for them? For her? For him? Were they together? Or was she a moron for even thinking like that? Of course you are, she told herself as she fought the urge to shove him away. It was stupid, ridiculous really, to imagined she was anything special when she thought about how many women Ryder slept with in a year or a month or even a typical week.
She wanted to be different, wanted this moment between them to be more than that, but how could it be when she’d thrown herself at him like just another groupie? Twice now he’d touched her and twice she’d gone up in flames without him taking her for so much as a cup of coffee. It was preposterous to think she was anything more to him than a quick lay. A good time.
And yet even as the thoughts formed, she knew she was being unfair to Ryder. Knew she was letting the hysteria get the better of her. He was her friend, had been her friend and her champion and her hero for more than a decade. Just because they’d slept together—just because they’d scratched the itch that had been building between them for days now—didn’t mean that she was suddenly nothing to him. Of course she meant more to him than some groupie whose name he didn’t know.
