Page 43 of Deep (Chicago Underground 8)
“A mirage?” It had felt so real. “And it’s happened to you.”
His gaze lowered to my mouth. “Yes.”
My throat went dry. “What did you want?”
What did he want so badly that he imagined it?
He bent his head and kissed me.
His lips touching mine—soft, almost tender—was somehow more intimate than standing in front of him naked. The brush of his fingertips as he cupped my jaw were more sensual than my fingers on my clit. With just a stroke of his tongue against the seam of my lips, my body roared back to life—the banked heat from earlier already boiling over.
“My fault,” he murmured.
I felt dazed, too strung tight with need to figure out what he meant. “Your fault?”
“I shouldn’t have left you like that, on the edge. Not before something dangerous like this. The adrenaline spike would have made anyone reckless.”
“I wasn’t reckless.” Or was I? Maybe I had a death wish. That would explain my attraction to Philip.
He kissed my forehead. “We’ll take care of that right now.”
“We…we will?”
“I said I would protect you, kitten.” Large hands grasped my hips. That was my only warning before he lifted my body higher, the brick wall scraping the skin of my shoulders, tugging at my hair. “This is protection,” he murmured.
His thigh pressed between my legs.
I gasped at the heavy pressure, the pleasurable ache that throbbed at his body heat. My jeans were still on, his slacks too. The fabric between us might as well have been air, I felt him so sharply.
I was gasping into his mouth, shattering. “I need… I need…”
“I know, kitten. And you’re going to get it. You’re going to make yourself come. But not with your fingers. With me.” He slapped my hip. “Ride.”
“What?” But even as I asked, my body was already obeying, rocking my hips toward him, the blunt pressure of his broad thigh like bliss against my clit. He was taller than me, larger than me. It was really like riding him, even though I was backed against the wall. My legs were spread wide by only the width of one thigh while his other leg supported us. Because God, I couldn’t hold myself up anymore. I could only rock against him, mindless, overwhelmed by him—his scent, spice and clean sweat. By the feel of him, hot and hard and surrounding me. By the heat of him, pressing against my clit with every forward motion.
“That’s right,” he said, his voice thick and low. “Make yourself feel good. Take what you need from me. I’m so hard for you. So hot for you. I’d do any fucking thing for you like this.”
And I understood for the first time why Shelly had felt so confident back then, the power that came from making a man weak with desire. Except my body was frantic, my mind white with need. It wasn’t only him brought low through desire—it was me too. I had to surrender first.
I fought it, a familiar fear rising up. The same fear that kept me holding back with Sloan, with every man I’d ever met. A fear born on a night long ago, but not so dissimilar to this. When cruel men had tried to take me by force. When Philip had rejected me just as cruelly. I was too much and yet not enough. I was wanted, but only against my will—only fighting it. This was the only way I could take it.
“No,” I whispered.
He didn’t slow down, didn’t stop. “Yes,” he said, pulling my hips in a steady sexual motion. “You’re going to come so hard you’ll gush all over your panties. It’s already happening. You can’t stop this, kitten. You can’t stop me.”
My lips parted on a sharp cry, and then his mouth closed over mine—holding me in while I came apart. Lights gathered in my vision and then
exploded, scattering across the dark, parting to reveal his face, his eyes, the triumph in his expression.
My sex pulsed in wild pleasure, leaving my panties wet and my body wrung dry.
Something hitched in my chest. My first orgasm with a man had been in my dorm room, with Philip bleeding and half-conscious. And now my second, in a dirty alleyway behind the Meat Market. Were we always destined for these strange and broken moments of pleasure? Was the wholesome and sweet simply out of our reach?
My breath caught again, and then I couldn’t hold them back anymore. Tears wrenched my chest, and I fell against him. He caught me in his embrace, murmuring to me, “I know. I know it was hard for you, kitten. You were so beautiful, so brave.”
He held me until the sobs turned to quiet sniffles, until the sniffles faded to a silent numbness. And all the while he stroked my hair, my arms, my back. All the while he cradled me in his arms as if I were something precious, something rare.
*
