by Lori Foster
Wanting his touch, she widened her legs...but he didn’t move, didn’t do anything else except look at her, her eyes, her breasts, back up to her mouth. He lowered his head for a gentle kiss—when she wanted something more than gentle.
“Stop.”
He froze, his mouth still touching hers for several heartbeats before he raised his head. Muscles of restraint corded his neck and across his shoulders, but his voice was infuriatingly polite as he asked, “Stop?”
Ronnie scrambled out from under him but didn’t leave the bed. “Remember, I have a knife in my boot—”
“No reason to stab me,” he said deadpan, falling to his back.
“—so it’s safer if I get them off now.” She cast a look over his supine body, completely filling two-thirds of the bed, all stretched out and tense, his erection a very noticeable ridge in his pants.
All for her.
If this didn’t happen soon, she might possibly implode. “Hustle up and get your clothes off, before I’m tempted to use force.”
CHAPTER NINE
“THANK GOD.” IF she’d called a stop at that point, pretty sure he’d have died of perpetual, unfulfilled horniness. Rolling to his feet, Jack toed off his shoes and opened his belt. All the while, he watched Ronnie as she laid the knife from her boot on the nightstand.
Maybe she wasn’t joking about force.
And why did that make his dick jump in interest?
Hell, everything she did spiked his already savage hunger. Her bossiness? A crazy kind of turn-on. If she wanted to take over in bed, he’d gladly suffer the pleasure of it.
But deep down, he thought it was something entirely different that she needed—and he planned to give it to her.
Her platinum hair swung with her movements, coming down to hide her face, catching the light as she tucked it behind her ear.
Anticipation gathered along every nerve ending. Yes, of course he’d had other women. Plenty of them. He’d been with vain women and women who’d made him laugh. He’d had women who hoped for more in a relationship, and women who were no more interested in commitment than he was.
But he’d never had anyone like Ronnie Ashford. He’d never wanted anyone like this either. It was unsettling but also stimulating.
Bare except for her jeans, her unflawed skin creamy and pale, she removed her boots and tossed them across the room. He admired the graceful lines of her tapered back, supple waist, and flat belly. Her arms were slight but with a woman’s strength, her neck long and elegant.
Those firm breasts that fit perfectly into his palms had little to no sway with her movements.
His attention zeroed in on her rosy nipples, still drawn tight, glistening wet—from his mouth.
Fuck, he needed her.
Oblivious to his scrutiny, or uncaring if he watched, she ripped off her socks, balled them up and threw them in the direction she’d sent the boots.
Going to her back on the bed, she lifted her hips and shoved down her jeans and panties, then kicked them off.
Something powerful—emotion, lust, or a combo of the two—stalled his breath in his chest and he stood there with his pants gaping open, the waistband in his hands. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.
Brazen as always, unselfconscious in her nudity, she turned on her side toward him, elbow bent, her head in her hand, and asked, “Need help?”
Posed for him, she made the most beguiling picture he’d ever seen. Proud shoulders swooped down to an exaggerated dip for her waist, before slightly flaring up again to her hip. Beautiful legs, long and lean, and surprisingly small, feminine feet. She painted her toenails. Considering her rings and makeup, the sight of purple polish shouldn’t have surprised him, yet it did.
She was a true blonde. Not platinum, no, but still fair.
“I don’t mind if you look...but I’d rather you touch.” Her lips curved with invitation. “Or taste.”
His pants were off in a heartbeat. For once, he didn’t worry about folding them. He just drew his wallet from the pocket and then kicked them aside. After setting out two condoms, he stretched alongside her, drawing her slight body into his, making full contact with the heat and silk of her skin. “God, you’re perfect.”
Snorting—an odd sound for foreplay—she pushed him to his back to half loom over him. “I’m just me. Too thin and not real shapely, but you...” She straddled his thighs, making his cock swell more as she looked him over.
Jack didn’t mind that—he wasn’t overly modest either—but he wouldn’t let her get by with insulting herself. Relishing the open view of her splayed thighs, he insisted, “I’m a good judge of these things. I’ve seen enough naked women to know, and I’m telling you—”
Smashing her fingers over his mouth, she shook her head. “I don’t need that, Jack. You’re here, so you obviously want this. That’s good enough for me.”
He bit her finger. Not exactly gently.
Snatching back her hand, she scowled. “Hey.”
“Keep it up and I will retaliate. Each. And every. Time.” He clasped her hips, narrow, yes, but with more than enough curve to push him to the brink of control. “I’m so hard right now, I hurt. I’ve never wanted anyone like this, so if you claim to be so plain, explain what the hell is wrong with me.”
“Are you kidding?” She looked at his body with open greed. “Nothing’s wrong with you.”
When she started to touch, he shook his head. “That emphasis—was that to say something is wrong with you? Because if it is—”
“Fine!” She leaned down to kiss him. “You want to pretend the flat-chested look is in, feel free—oof!”
Using his hold on her hips, Jack flipped her to her back, then immediately flipped her again so she lay facedown. In the short space of time where surprise held her still, he stroked the small satiny bottom that swished just right when she took her long-legged strides.
“You’re beautiful, Ronnie.”
She reared up. “What the hell are you—?”
His palm landed a light swat that had her stiffening in outrage.
But she didn’t move away.
Instead, very slowly, she turned her head to fry him with her glare. Her expression...
It was all Jack could do to keep from grinning, but he kept a stern face and repeated, “You’re beautiful. Sexy.” He stroked her cheek, now slightly warm from his smack. “Sleek. Soft.”
“So.” She eyed him curiously. “I had no idea you had these kinky tendencies.”
Kinky? If she considered this kinky, she wasn’t as experienced as she tried to let on. Or, more likely, Ronnie made sex a very short-term contract. Wham, bam, thank you...sir.
It sounded like her MO.
It would not be like that with him.
“Admit you’re sexy.”
She got comfortable, resting the side of her face on her folded arms. Reeking of challenge, she asked, “Or what?”
No, he wouldn’t let her get complacent. “Or...” He flipped her to her back and drew her arms over her head. “I’ll have to convince you.”
“I know what I know, Jack. I keep telling you. I don’t need—”
He bent and drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking softly.
Hips lifting in reaction, she gave a startled gasp.
“I know what you need.” He drew her in again, this time sucking harder, drawing on her, testing with his teeth until she whimpered.
Whimpers. From prickly, argumentative Ronnie Ashford. Very nice.
Liking that response, he blew on her wet nipple and saw it tighten even more. “I love the color of your nipples.”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out so she closed it again.
Licking the other nipple, then plucking with his lips, he said, “They’re sort of a rose-tinted brown, darker now since you’re getting excite
d.” He lifted up to look at her face. “You are excited, right?”
One tight nod was all the answer she gave.
“I better check.”
Another of those small sounds of building pleasure escaped her as he trailed a hand down her midriff, over that very sexy belly, and between her thighs. Using just his fingertips, he stroked the soft hair there—and met her gaze. “Will you be wet for me, Ronnie?”
Color rode high on her cheekbones and heavy lids half hid her gray eyes. “Er...probably.”
She might’ve meant the word to be flippant, but it came out too breathy, too eager.
He teased her with his fingers again, sliding one finger along her seam—just enough to make her quicken. “Open up.”
One knee angled out.
The quick compliance was nice, but he wanted more. “Wider.”
With a huff of frustration, she parted her legs wide, her slender thighs straining, her toes curled.
“Absolutely beautiful,” he repeated.
“Jack—”
“Just a second.” He bent to each nipple again, sucking briefly, licking so they’d remain wet. As her breath turned choppy, he eyed his handiwork and nodded. “Better. Now this.”
He trailed that same finger over her, this time barely grazing her clitoris—which made her hips lift off the bed—and down to her lips, already slick.
Growling his satisfaction, he stroked lightly over her, spreading the wetness...and making himself nuts. “Sexy. So fucking sexy.” He pressed into her just the smallest bit, only using the very tip of his finger.
His dick jumped, maybe in jealousy.
“Jack?” she moaned softly.
He forced his attention from his darker hand wedged between her pale legs, up to those smoky gray eyes. “Hmm?”
“I get it,” she gasped, her eyes closing. “You think I’m sexy. You don’t have any complaints about my body. I’m glad.” Her lashes lifted and silver eyes met his with demand. “Now get on with it already.”
Smiling, he pressed his finger deep, all the way to the knuckle. She gave a keening cry, her hips rising to meet him, working herself against his hand.
The second he released her wrists, she grabbed him. He liked that, the urgent way she reached for him. Not some nameless stranger, but him, Jack Crews.
He would be different to her, whether that’s what she wanted or not.
Settling against her, he kissed her throat, her nipples again, that luscious mouth, all while fingering her until he found the rhythm she liked, the rhythm that made her clench all over.
It was an unpredictable thing, figuring out a woman’s needs. Each one was unique, liking one thing, needing more of another, wanting a certain touch, needing to rush, or desperate for patience.
Ronnie took the guesswork out of it with the open, honest way she responded, telling him exactly what she liked with a sound or a move or, his favorite, a soft plea.
Suddenly her hands clutched his shoulders and she rolled her hips, her breath catching. “Jack...there.”
He slid his thumb over her again, saying against her temple, “Here?”
“Ah...” Her whole body stiffened. “Don’t stop.”
Two fingers curled deep inside her, his thumb gliding over her swollen clit, he devoured her mouth, and she came with a throaty growl and a rush of wet heat that made him fucking frantic.
She was still trembling when he reached over her for a condom, rolling it on with more haste than care.
Sleepy eyes watched him, taking in his body as he knelt on the bed. She murmured, “I usually like to be on top.”
But not this time? To be sure, he asked, “Is that what you prefer? Because I don’t mind.”
Shaking her head, she lifted a limp hand to him. “It doesn’t matter.”
He thought maybe it did, that there was significance in her preference, but it didn’t seem a good time to point it out. Kneeing her thighs farther apart, he moved over her. The urge to thrust into her, to bury himself, pounded under his skin.
She was used to that, though. A quick fuck that didn’t mean anything.
Not this time.
He cupped her jaw and kissed her, striving for patience that was strained to the limit. With long sweeps of his tongue, he kissed her until she began moving against him again, one thigh wrapping over his, her finger tunneling into his hair.
Now, now she was ready. Balancing on one forearm, he reached down to slick his fingers over her again. Already wet, swollen, and sensitive, she moaned. He put his cock to her, feeling the kiss to the head, then the slow hug that grew tighter and tighter.
Ronnie surged up against him, taking most but not quite all of him. They both breathed heavily. Meeting her dazed eyes, he slid an arm under her to tilt her hips...and sank home.
Her body bowed, head back, nails biting his shoulders.
God, it had never been like this. Sex was fucking great. He loved sex. But this...? There was no buildup, no slow climb to the finish. He was already there.
Even better, she was with him.
Chemistry. Crazy, insanely intense chemistry.
And still...something more.
Jack gathered her close, his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin, now a little damp. Musky. Hot.
He withdrew, not completely because he couldn’t seem to make himself do it, then ground against her. Half out, surging back, pressing hard, withdrawing again.
She strained into him, just as desperate.
The reality pulsed in his head, in his cock.
In his heart.
Ronnie. Soft and sweet, prickly and forthright.
Vulnerable but so damn strong.
Here with him now, when he knew she hadn’t meant for this to happen.
He opened his mouth on her neck, cupped a hand to her breast, and driven by the frenzied rush of her body, slammed into her over and over. She met each thrust, trying to hold him closer, tighter. It took everything Jack had not to come, but he wanted her to climax again first, and luckily, it happened fast.
Wrapped around him, arms and legs clutching, she groaned low, her slender body trembling, her sex squeezing his cock as contractions wracked her, until finally he felt her begin to ease.
Only then did he rise up on straightened arms to groan out his own stunning release. While looking at her. Soaking up the sight of her replete body. Seeing her hair wilder than usual, her makeup a little smudged.
Beautiful. So goddamned beautiful that as he sank down to rest on her, the heavy thump of her racing heart echoing his own, he knew he didn’t want to let her go. Not now.
Maybe not ever.
* * *
RONNIE FELT THE first disorienting flutters of wakefulness, but she fought it off. Instinctively, she knew reality would bring regrets and she wanted to hold on to the unusually peaceful comfort enveloping her.
For her, sleep was usually elusive. Her norm was broken rest, darkness and shadows, memories and regrets, pulling her awake every hour or so. Right now, lethargy made her body heavy, as if she’d been out for a very long time.
She couldn’t resist searching her mind, trying to pinpoint the source of peace. Without opening her eyes, she took stock of her surroundings. It took only a nanosecond to realize why she felt so comfortable.
Jack was still in her bed. He’d chased away the darkness, keeping her safe in the night, his presence obliterating familiar nightmares.
Instead of going to his house so she could make her usual strategic retreat afterward, she’d let him into her hotel room.
And now here she was, in a place she’d promised herself she’d never be: waking with a man’s arm around her, feeling...indebted for what he’d given her. So dumb.
Damn it, she should know better than to have expectations. Whenever she did, it ended badly. But she didn’t
want this to end.
Closing her eyes, she tried to think, but it wasn’t easy, not when she was so aware of him, his scent, his heat. His strength.
The erratic way her heart began to hammer, she worried that it might wake him. Her breath caught. Her throat tried to close.
She knew this feeling. God, she knew it and hated it.
Hope.
She’d hoped that someday the only dad she’d ever known would want her back.
After she’d escaped a kidnapper, she’d hoped her family would realize they loved her, that they’d invite her to return to their lives. Beg her to come home.
She’d hoped—and been devastated with disappointment.
Emotions clamored within her as old memories surfaced in vivid detail, bringing with them the misery she’d eventually been forced to accept.
But that was then, and this was now.
She was no longer a naive young girl. No longer trusting of fate and all the ways it could fuck her over. She’d carved out a new life for herself, one where she called the shots. She trusted no one, so no one could hurt her. Never again would she be a victim, not of her family, not of a kidnapper.
Not to the gorgeous hunk currently taking up too much of the bed.
So they’d had sex. Twice.
What of it?
Yes, he’d positively blown her mind, showing her depths of sexual satisfaction she hadn’t known existed, making her feel things she hadn’t known were possible. In key sensitive places, her body still pulsed, nerve endings sparking as if asking for more.
More, more, more.
Oh, it’d be so easy to get used to him and the things he made her feel, both sexual and emotional. It’d be easy to rely on him, trust him. To hope for more.
But she wouldn’t. Hell no, she wouldn’t.
Great sex was all well and good, but it’d have to be on her terms, not his. And if it happened again, she’d be sure to recommend his house so she could walk out afterward, instead of fading into a satiated sleep.
With that decision made, Ronnie calmed. She drew one small, even breath. Then another.
Hope only made reality more devastating. So she and Jack had set the night on fire? It was sex, and yet it was more—but so what? Maybe it was always like that for him.
