Page 121 of Off Limits: The Firsts

So very bad.

“This can’t happen. You can’t let this happen,” I mutter as I move into the room. “We’re not good together. We can’t be good together. Not even for a night.” Shit. Shit. Shit. “This was a huge mistake. Christ, the last time . . .”

I kick my heels off and fling them carelessly into the hotel room as my mental chastisement for what I almost let happen reigns.

For what I wanted to happen.

The last time . . .

I undress with trembling hands, and my need to take back everything that just happened owns my every thought.

But I can’t. I know, I can’t.

And I hate that a small, unprofessional part of me doesn’t want to.

The last time . . .

Those three words keep repeating in my mind as I climb into the shower.

As I crawl into bed.

As I try to clear my head and not think about him when the taste of his kiss still lingers on my tongue.

The last time . . .

The last time almost broke me, because it was only after I walked away that I realized I’d fallen in love with him.

Dekker

3 years earlier

“Dekker.” Hunter groans my name and every part of me aches as he pushes his way into me.

Our fingers link and our bodies churn with a deep-seated burn that neither of us can put out. Time after time. Hookup after hookup.

We may be in a new hotel, in a different city than usual, but dammit, Hunter knows exactly what I need, and how I need it.

It’s been a shit day. An even shittier week. And the only thing I looked forward to was this.

Him.

That thought scared the shit out of me but didn’t deter me from showing up, and it sure as hell didn’t prevent me from holding myself back when my heart constricted in my chest when he opened the door.

There’s something different about tonight, though.

“Fuck. I needed this.” A kiss to my lips. A grind of his hips. “I needed you.” A pull out as his teeth nip my collarbone and the head of his cock slides along every damn nerve.

Something’s definitely different.

Sure, the carnal hunger was there for our first round tonight. The clothes yanking, hands possessing, can’t-get-in-me-quick-enough desperation that we thrive on.

But now—this second round—is so very different.

The sex has shifted. Less greed, more need. Less fervor, more finesse. Less guardedness, more vulnerability.

He moves in and out of me with silent strokes. His lips are on my skin, the heat of his breath against my ear.

When he pushes up and meets my eyes, gone is the usual cocky smirk. Gone is the humor that usually lights up his face. He’s intense and serious, and my breath catches when our eyes hold and he moves.