Only this, only lips beneath mine, and hips beneath mine, and soft, plush skin in my hands to mold and to caress. I find her nipple through silky fabric, rubbing it gently with my thumb. It hardens, and a deep sense of possession forms inside me.
Mine. This body is mine. This woman is mine.
I might go crazy with needing to be inside her, but something holds me back. Some sense that it would break the spell, that maybe she would turn to ash in his hands if I dare to push for more or even look, and so I hold myself suspended in torment, savoring every second.
But I can’t hold out, not with her little pants against his neck or her not-so-gentle hands scrabbling at his back. I rock against her, incensed and senseless. She shuddered beneath me in a small, early climax and it’s too much. Too fucking sexy to bear.
I freeze that way, suspended on ice, my body rigid with denial.
“Jessica?” he asked hoarsely.
I need her to do more than take me, to accept this. I need her to want it as badly as I do. Because I won’t accept only one night with her. Not if I’m going to be inside her.
Her eyes opened wide, as if he had surprised her.
As if maybe she’d been in a dream all this time, while he touched her, while she orgasms, her pussy warm and wet through their clothes, his dick aching to be inside.
She pushed at him, and he let her up.
Her hair was tangled on one side and sticking up on the other. Her shirt clung to her body in the wrong places, wrinkled from sleep and his hands. She was glorious.
Her eyes blazed with anger and arousal. “What are you doing to me?”
I used to be good with women, smooth enough I could find a new one every night at the bar. And now here I am, trying to convince a woman who had just orgasmed against his cock to let him do it again. Not only once. Forever. Again and again.
“Do you want me to leave?”
Very smooth, Locke. I’m sure she’ll swoon with that kind of smooth talking.
The anger fades from her expression, leaving only sadness. “No. Of course not.”
Realization is a cold ball in my stomach, and I pull away from her. I sit on the edge of the cot, unwilling to leave her until I’m sure she’s okay. Not that I’m much help. “You’re saying that because you think you owe me. Because you think I’m asking for payment.”
Doubt flickers in her eyes. “It’s not… you.”
I can’t help the sardonic, humorless laugh that escapes me. “It’s not me, it’s you? I’m the one who came two seconds away from fucking you while you slept.”
She touches my arm, and it’s all I can do not to flinch away. “It’s just that’s how men have been for me. Always demanding something. And I’ve never wanted it.”
Then I can’t help it. Her words hit me like a blow. I recoil, physically, standing so that I can get some space from her and the terrible truth of this. Of course she’s terrified of men. She has the mark of the Luski mafia on her finger. I don’t know what they did to her, but I know they love violence. She would have seen her share of it, would have experienced it at the hands of terrible men.
Men like me, apparently. And I’ve never wanted it.
“Fuck,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry.”
“Until now,” she says, kneeling on the cot, looking more like a sex goddess than she has any right to look in a jail cell. “You made me want it. I thought you could feel it.”
Her cheeks flush as if she’s embarrassed to even talk about her orgasm. As if she’s embarrassed that she even had one. Oh fuck. “Was that your first?”
She looks away, ashamed. “You know I’ve had sex before. I have Ky.”
I take two long steps back to her, tilting her chin up so that I can see those beautiful blue eyes. There’s so much pain inside them, it almost hurts to look, but I can’t stop. “Your first climax. Was that your first time?”
“Yes,” she whispers, eyes wide, unblinking.
Jesus.
My high walls, my careful distance melt to nothing, leaving me exposed. Every desire and every hope. If she can twist me up this much in one night, I can’t imagine what prolonged exposure might do. I would self-combust.
Or have sex with her, which seemed possibly worse and so much better all at once.
“Stay,” I say roughly, my voice gravel against concrete.
Her blue eyes flash with worry. With longing. “What about Ky?”
Did he think he would want her without her child? “He can live in my house. It’s big and empty. And there’s a room in particular that would look great painted blue.”
