“Oh God. I can’t. I—”
He ignores me. He just grips my hips with his powerful forearms, his clasped hands resting on my stomach to hold me immobile as he dives back in. He’s relentless, licking and sucking and kissing and teasing, and my hips circle violently, my head thrashing from side to side from the mind-blowing pleasure of it all. I come again with great heaving shudders, but he doesn’t stop. He just takes me to the pinnacle again, and this time I come even faster.
“Fuck. Me,” I manage to say the third time, barely able to breathe. He’d done the same in Playa—made me come with his mouth and tongue, but this time it’s different. That night, he’d given me orgasms. Tonight, he’s taking them. And the distinction is extraordinary.
He laughs, a low throaty chuckle, as he reaches up to caress my breast.
“No, seriously. Fuck me. Here. Now.” I should be sated, languid with satisfaction from the best orgasm of my life, but my need to feel him inside me, to take him into me, is overwhelming.
He arches an eyebrow at me. “Does demanding to be fucked usually work with the guys you take to bed?”
“Of course,” I lie smoothly. There’s no way I’m admitting to him there haven’t been a lot of guys in my bed ever, and none since him. “My pleasure. My terms.”
He actually has the audacity to laugh! “My cock. My rules,” he counters with a grin. “You said you wanted to lose control. Did you mean it?”
Oh God. “Yes.”
“Then hand over the power to me to pleasure you my way. Trust me to know how you need to be taken.”
His words have me aching to see just what he thinks I need. And seeing the heat in his eyes, I realize I was right. This is how to get Liam. And my God but I want him, and everything he’s offering. No control. The thought is mesmerizing.
“Okay,” I whisper.
In one fluid move, he hauls himself out of the pool and stands over me, the water dripping from his body. He doesn’t bother with a towel. He just strips off his swim trunks, revealing the most beautiful cock I’ve ever laid eyes on—thick and hard and delicious looking. Without warning, he scoops me up off the ground into his arms, and holding me close to his chest, carries me through the open doors into the bedroom. It’s dark, but the fairy lights and the flickering glow of candles on the terrace lend an air of romantic, isolated otherworldliness. He sets me down on the large canopied bed and turns to grab a towel, quickly drying himself off. I sit back on my heels, watching with fascination as he rummages through the nightstand drawer. “Damn. No condom.”
“It’s okay. I’m on the pill. There’s no way I’m leaving something that important to chance!”
He laughs and tosses the towel on the floor. “Of course not.”
I worry briefly that a guy like him might have STDs, but he has been in a coma for months. I waver as he kneels next to me on the bed. His finger circles my breast and I inhale sharply. Why do I care? We probably won’t make it out of here alive anyway.
“This other guy—the one who’s toppling from the number one spot tonight—tell me how he fucked you. Did he make love to you slow and sweet and easy?”
“Mmm,” I purr, taking a perverse pleasure in goading him, especially since he doesn’t know the “other guy” was him. “Worried you won’t measure up?”
He doesn’t look worried at all. In fact, he looks downright cocky, and it’s hot as hell.
“Nope.” He fists his fingers in my hair and pulls my head back, exposing my throat. He kisses my neck gently, nibbling softly before feathering light kisses up along my jawbone. “Is that how you like it? Slow and sweet and easy?”
I moan with pleasure, but I don’t answer. It is, but not tonight. Tonight I want him hot and desperate and so turned on that nothing’s going to deter him, and especially not me.
As if reading my mind, his fingers tighten in my hair and he yanks my head back, then sinks his teeth into my shoulder. I squeal from surprise more than pain, although there’s a tinge of that too. “Or do you like it rough and hard and out-of-control?” he rasps.
I’d seen hints of this side of him in Playa—the way he’d intertwined his fingers with mine, moved them over my head and held them there while he sunk his cock into me and how he’d lightly gripped my throat as he kissed me—but nothing like this full-on dominant, raw, carnal side I see in him tonight. He’d clearly held back with me that night. Somehow this version of Liam is even hotter, and I crave giving him my body without reservation. Even if, or maybe especially because, I’m sort of terrified.
“That,” I manage to say. I want it dirty and primal and fierce. I want Liam, uncensored.
He rises up on his knees, his hand cupped around my chin bringing me with him, and he kisses me. There’s nothing sweet about it. He forces my mouth open with his thumb pushing against my chin so his tongue can snake languidly into my mouth, leaving little doubt who’s in charge. It’s not me, and I fall into the kiss like a woman drowning.
Abruptly, he spins me around, takes my hands, and physically slams them on the wall behind the head of the bed, his hard chest pressing against my back as he holds me there. Oh God. This is hot as hell.
“Keep them there.” He lets go and trails his hands up the length of my arms, his fingertips raising little goose bumps of pleasure and quickening my pulse. I don’t dare let go. He gathers my hair into his hand, wraps it around his wrist, and bites the nape of my neck. I shiver deliciously. With a guttural growl, he tugs my head back and kisses me again. Actually, that’s not the right word. This time, he fucks my mouth—violently and wildly—his lips demanding my full acquiescence.
When he’s done with my mouth, he squeezes my ass roughly and gives it a slap. It’s not a spank, exactly. More a reminder that he’s in charge, and I better not forget it. I intend to protest a little, just for show to make sure he knows I won’t give in without a fight, but then his hands are on my breasts, kneading them roughly, and I forget everything else. He knows I’m too far gone to stop and he has every intention of taking advantage of it.
He reaches around me and slowly slides two fingers forward over my mound, stroking over my clit before slipping them into my slick opening. I moan. He starts moving them in and out, slowly at first, and then faster, until he’s finger-fucking me so hard, the bed slams into the wall with each thrust. I keep my hands where he placed them on the wall. It’s a necessity to hold myself steady, but it also gives him implicit consent, and unrestrained access to my body. It’s heady as hell.
His lips near my ear keep up a steady commentary, telling me precisely all the things he intends to do to me. Every filthy word makes me wetter.
And his hands… I’ve never felt this kind of pleasure before. His fingers are driving into me vigorously, and with each forward thrust of his hand, he stimulates my G-spot with his finger and my clit at the same time with his palm. My thighs are shaking with the effort of keeping my legs open for him, and the buildup to another hard climax. I cry out, close to shattering.
“Shh,” he whispers. There’s a world of power in the simple command. It’s definitely a warning to be quiet—after all, the windows are still open—but it’s also “I’m in control” and “Do what I tell you.” But he doesn’t stop. He goes and goes and goes, still holding me by the hair until I come violently with a scream.
Without giving me even a minute to recover, he flips me onto my back and yanks me to the edge of the bed where he’s now standing, his thickly veined cock sticking straight out and ramrod hard.
“You sure you want this, baby?”
I nod vehemently. I’m too strung out on pleasure to string together any sounds that might sound like words.
He again takes both of my wrists in one of his hands and very deliberately places them over my head. Then he grabs my hips and pulls me farther off the edge. I panic, afraid I’m going to fall. He smiles and drags me closer, past the edge, so I’m completely at his mercy. “Shh.” That command again, reminding me to let go.
He g
rabs my ankles and pulls my legs up and out so I’m spread open for him. Then he oh so slowly slips his magnificent cock into me, inch by beautiful inch until I’m filled and stretched with the achingly wide breadth of him. With a groan, I try to move, to take him deeper, make him fuck me, but he holds me immobile, his stronger body pinning mine.
“Tell me you want it. I need you to say the words.”
“I want you, Liam. I want you to fuck me. Rough. Hard. No holds barred. Take me over the edge with you this time.”
He slides out a little, then slams back into me. “Like this?”
“God. Yes. Deeper. Harder.” He punctuates each of my words with a fuckstroke, each one more forceful than the last. He handles me roughly, manipulating my body for his pleasure. His hands, just above my knees, firmly hold my slightly bent legs up and apart as he finds his rhythm, and he pumps his cock in and out of me. My body moves with his in an orchestrated dance as old as time, my breasts bouncing with each thrust, driving me toward that point of mindless need again.
The whole world could end right now and I wouldn’t notice. I’m too caught up in the sensation, reeling from pleasure. Nothing exists but him filling me, and his words that have my pussy clenching more tightly around him…utterances of “good girl” and “that’s it” and “hold on, I’m going to fuck you harder.”
“Oh. Oh. Oh. I’m going to come.”
“No, baby. Not yet. Give me more.”
“But—” My words fade as his lips fuse with mine.
The words bring back an onslaught of memories, but they dissipate as need collides with sensation. Just when I think it can’t get any better, he pushes my legs up higher, practically folding me in half, and drives into me again. Now, with each stroke, he hits my G-spot and I whimper. His palm covers my mouth, forcing me to focus on his words and those final sharp, deep thrusts that will carry us both over the edge.
He’s in full-on dominant mode, pressing me tightly to him so he can feel every throb of my sex as I clench around him. I can feel him tense up, increasing his speed until, with a loud grunt and an “oh fuck yes,” he thrusts one more time and comes inside of me as I shatter into a thousand tiny pieces.
Chapter Eight
Liam
I dream of Charlotte again. Her scent entrances me like a drug, and her body is soft and yielding under me. I hover over her, so close we’re sharing the same breath, our fingers entwined over her head as I slowly move in and out of her. Our eyes lock and in that moment, I know—I know—that she is the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. She is a galaxy of stars, constellations yet to be discovered, but I know she is my universe.
“What?” she says, her voice husky. I shake my head, unable to tell her what I’m thinking. It sounds crazy.
I thrust harder and she gasps, her fingers gripping mine. “I’m gonna come,” she cries.
“No, baby. Not yet. I don’t want it to end. Give me more.”
I wake with a start, disoriented for a moment. There’s a warm, naked, decidedly curvy female body next to mine, familiar and yet…not. Charlotte’s chestnut brown hair is fanned over my chest, her long lashes resting against the gentle curve of her cheek like a butterfly perched on a peach. She wasn’t a dream this time. She’s real, and curled sweetly into my body with one long, slim leg thrown over mine. Last night comes rushing back to me in a flood of memories.
God, she’d been exquisite. She’d been everything I’d dreamed of and more. I couldn’t imagine in real life she’d really be that tight, that responsive, that…perfect. But she was. The only difference was how we’d made love. In my dreams, we always make love slowly and passionately, almost reverently. In real life, she’d wanted it hard and dirty and I’d been happy to oblige her.
Just as I’d suspected, under that cool, reserved exterior is a wild woman. Despite her need for control—or maybe because of it—she’d liked the way I’d taken control, the words I’d whispered in her ear as I claimed her body. She’d met me kiss for kiss and stroke for stroke.
I should have said no when she took off her bikini top and told me she’d changed her mind about no-strings-attached sex, but I may as well have tried to stop the sun from rising. She’s haunted my dreams too many times for me to turn her down. Besides, when she looks at me with those big brown eyes, I’m ready to give her the fucking sun, the moon, and throw in some stars for good measure. Making love to her when she asked was a no-brainer.
However, she is my little sister’s best friend, and I don’t want to hurt her. I make it a point to never get so attached to a woman that she expects things I can’t deliver. Hell, in my current situation, I can’t even promise dinner and a movie. Yet she was adamant she didn’t want any sort of relationship, and I actually believe her. I’ve never seen a woman as commitment phobic in my life.
For some reason, her attitude annoys me. What the fuck is up with that? What we have—an agreement for only the here and now—is perfect. Contrary to my dream, she’s not the love of my life. I barely even know her, not really, and with the trouble I’m in, I have no future with anyone.
She stirs next to me, her eyes opening.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
“Weren’t you supposed to sleep in the hammock last night?” she murmurs with a sleepy smile. I grin. I’ve never been with a girl with as smart a mouth as Charlotte has. It’s intoxicating as fuck.
“That deal was contingent on you feeling nothing with me and, based on the way you begged me last night, you felt plenty.”
She blushes and rolls away from me. “I did not beg.”
I grab her by the hip and turn her back so she’s facing me. “Really?”
“Really.”
I slide my middle finger between her folds and slowly massage her G-spot. She gasps. “Need a replay?”
“I—um—aah!” Her protests turn to pleasurable moans as I play with her body, taking advantage of her still sleepy, relaxed mood to bring her to a quick and delicious orgasm. This morning our lovemaking is slower, softer, and less intense than last night, but there’s still that primal undercurrent—that almost animalistic need to possess each other—and while I make damn sure she begs again, this time, when her soft hand closes around my cock, so do I.
We drift back to sleep with her in my arms, her cheek resting on my chest. I wake up to her thrashing around on the bed, muttering “no” over and over again with such terror in her voice, it makes me want to slay her dragons. I gently shake her. “Charlotte. Wake up, baby. It’s just a dream.” Her brown eyes fly open, filled with fear. I pull her to my chest, stroking her hair as I murmur, “Shh. You’re safe.” After a few minutes, her body relaxes next to mine.
“I—sorry. Nightmare.”
“You want to talk about it?” I don’t stop stroking her hair.
“No. I just keep seeing the knife. Feeling the point of it pressed against my neck when the cartel took me…” She trails off. Takes a deep breath. Then, with her voice firmly back under control, “I’m fine.”
Obviously, she’s not, but nothing I can say will take away the memories that haunt her.
The sun is streaming in through the open windows. “Let’s have some breakfast and hit the beach. I promised to teach you how to surf.”
“Really?” She sits up, pushing her long brown hair off her face, her nightmare forgotten for the moment. She frowns. “Is it safe? You seemed a little worried yesterday about making sure we looked like newlyweds.”
“Maybe I just wanted to kiss you.”
“Oh.” There’s a secret little smile on her face, and I realize making Charlotte smile is quickly becoming one of my favorite pastimes.
I get up and stalk over to the coffee maker set up on the dresser opposite the bed, not bothering to cover my half erection as I start coffee. “I think it’s okay for us to go down to the beach. Don’t worry. I’m not taking any chances with you, sweetheart. You’re safe with me.”
“I know,” she says, and the sincerity of that simp
le utterance slays me.
A few hours later, I’m wondering if she’s changed her mind about that vote of confidence, since she refuses to listen to anything I tell her about surfing. We’d started out okay. She’d listened attentively on the beach when I’d explained the basics, and she’d followed my directions to a T as we practiced going from lying on the surfboard to standing. Not that I was surprised. I’m positive Charlotte is the kind of girl who would sit in the front row and write down everything the teacher said in school. I’d admired her smooth grace, and figured she’d catch a wave on one of her first tries.
Then, we’d paddled out into the Pacific so she could test it out for real. I gave her a few last-minute instructions on how to safely wipe out—suggesting she try kneeling and then standing until she got the feel for it, and then she sat on her board and watched me demonstrate the process a few times. She was eager and excited and insisted she was ready, so I watched for a good wave for her and motioned her out. Like a lot of first-time surfers, she ended up riding the white water, and also like most first-time surfers, she wiped out. Again. And again. Now, each time she tries to get up again, she fights the ocean like she’s wrestling a bear. The board slides out, she regains her footing, and then plants her feet in the sand before she gets back on her board, only to have a wave crash into her and knock her down. At this rate, she’s going to be exhausted in no time.
After the fourth or fifth time, I swim over to her, hauling her out of the surf and holding her to me. She doesn’t fight me.
“I’m never going to be able to surf if I can’t even get on my board,” she says, the frustration apparent in her voice.
“You’ll get the surfing part down,” I assure her. “But you’ve got to stop fighting so hard when you fall. When you plant your feet in the sand, your body’s too rigid, so when the waves come, they knock you down. If you ride the waves as they come, you’ll stay afloat. Also, don’t look out too far or you’ll be overwhelmed. Just take each one as it comes.”
I show her what I mean, letting wave after wave buoy us up as it rolls in and deposits us back on the shifting sand of the ocean floor as it continues its journey to the shore. I’m still holding on to her, but I can feel her body begin to relax as she accepts the rhythm of the ocean. After a while, I let go of her, letting her take a few on her own.
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