I Brake For Bad Boys (26 page)

Her laughter cut off abruptly. She stared, transfixed, into his burning eyes as he pushed her legs wide, settling himself between them. The hot, powerful bulk of him was poised over her. No wiggling away, no second thoughts. Her fingertips dug into his upper arms.

He leaned down, covering her face with coaxing kisses. “Relax. I'm not going to hurt you. You're ready for me. I made sure of it.”

“I'm sorry.” She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the smooth, blunt head of his penis sliding tenderly against her labia, probing, pressing. Then insisting.

“Open your eyes,” he said. “I'm Jonah, and you're Tess, and this is no fantasy. This is for real. Right here, right now. Keep your eyes open, Tess. Look at me.”

“I can't,” she said tightly.

He cupped her face in his hands. “You have to,” he said. “Now.”

And such was the force of his will that her eyes actually did pop open. She stared into his face, lost and overwhelmed. A certainty was growing inside her, that opening herself up to this man was going to change her in ways she could not yet imagine. But there was no going back. She dug her hands into his shoulders and tried to relax. It had been three or four years since she last tried this, and he was so big and solid, stretching her tender opening to the point of pain.

“Stay with me, Tess.” His voice was tense and strained. He stared into her eyes so intensely, she felt as if she were chained to him. His muscles flexed, and she cried out as he thrust all the way inside.

It was too much. She felt pinned, immobile. Stifled by his size, the force radiating out of him. The deep, aching pressure of his shaft inside her was a painful intrusion. She turned her face away, her breath getting short and strangled and panicky.

She felt his hands on her face again, wrenching her face back toward his. “Damn it. Look at me.”

The steely anger in his voice stung her own anger to life. “What the hell do you want from me?” she spat out.

He shook his head, his eyes full of angry confusion. “I don't know! Be there for me! Meet me halfway! Tell me to fuck off, whatever the hell you want, but just be strong for me. Don't you dare slip away and leave me alone, like you're scared of me. I can't take that!”

She tried to wiggle beneath him, in vain. “Aren't you happy now?” she flung at him. “Isn't this what you wanted?”

He drew back and thrust slowly inside her again, holding her gaze. “No. I want more. I want everything.”

“Great. Well, spell it out for me, then,” she snapped. “Because I don't know just exactly what everything entails.”

He cut off her words with a deep, plundering kiss that left her breathless. “I'm sorry I pissed you off, but I'd rather have you mad at me than slipping through my fingers like sand.”

“This is your lucky day, then, Jonah, because I'm furious! I don't know why, but I am. You're too big, and too heavy, and you're making me nervous. Let . . . me . . .
breathe.
” She wrestled her arms between them and shoved at his chest.

He arched himself up so his weight lifted off her, and trapped her wrists and pinned them over her head. She could breathe, but having her arms stretched out over her head made her feel helpless and maddened. She heaved and bucked beneath him, but he wouldn't dislodge himself. He just thrust in again with a voluptuous surge that made her gasp.

Despite her furious tension, she was slicker and wetter and softer than she'd ever been. He sensed the exact moment that her body found the right angle to clasp him, move with him. The moment that the pressure of his thick penis sliding along the length of her humid sheath made a flush of excitement race like a grass fire across the entire surface of her skin.

She was burning up. Crazed and feverish. She tried to free her hands, but he was immensely strong. “Let go, God damn it,” she panted.

He slowly shook his head. “No way. Be mad, Tess, if that works better for you.”

“You bastard,” she hissed. “It doesn't!”

“Liar,” he said softly. “You're opening up to me, now. All wet and soft and scalding hot. You like it. Feel this.” He drove himself deep inside her, a heavy lunge that shocked a wail of pleasure out of her throat. “See? Go on, spit some more venom at me. It turns me on, too.”

“Damn you,” she said shakily. Her face was crimson, and she couldn't stop her legs from twining around his, her sex from tightening around his thick, hard shaft. She couldn't control her own body, jerking up to meet his plunging hips.

He thrust again. “You're gorgeous when you're mad.” He slid his arms beneath her shoulders, scooping her up to kiss her again. His tongue slid into her mouth, following the same slow, plunging, sensual rhythm as his hips.

She had been poised to tell him to stop, but the words wouldn't come. They receded, slipping back into the swirling pool of emotions, anger blending with desire and confusion, in a hopeless, muddled mix. “Jonah, please.”

He kissed her face, her jaw, her ear. “Don't worry, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I've got everything under control.”

“Including me?” she snapped.

He grinned, delighted. “That's the spirit. Keep your eyes on me.” And then he began to move.

She'd never felt anything like this before. Totally new sensations bloomed, one out of the other, and he watched it all, studying her face with heated fascination. The tension in her trapped arms, in her straining body, just sharpened her exitement, heating the volatile blend of feelings closer and closer to the edge. He reached down with a murmur of encouragement, toying with her clitoris while his hips pulsed and ground against her. Silently demanding that she take that blind leap, again.

His cry of triumph was the last thing she heard as she flew off the edge and lost herself.

He waited, motionless, for her to come back, while the aftershocks of her orgasm clenched him rhythmically. When she opened her eyes, he began again, and this time she sensed that he had given himself leave to seek his own completion. He was rougher, more urgent. The deep, slamming thrusts would have frightened and intimidated her before, but not now. She was changed. The wild, rebellious part of her, dormant for so long, had roared to life and found its equal. She wanted to lose control, to bite and scratch, to be taken deep and hard. She didn't even notice when he let go of her hands. She just found herself clutching his waist, holding herself up so she could see his thick penis, gleaming as he thrust and withdrew, his hard, ridged belly, his muscles flexing. She dug her fingers into him greedily, demanding without words for everything he had to give.

He shoved her down onto her back and rose up onto his knees, folding her legs up until she was spread as wide as she could go. “Is this what you want?” He lunged into her, deep and hard.

She grabbed his butt and dragged him closer. “Please.”

“You'd better not punish me for this later,” he warned.

Passion had changed her body, lengthening her sheath to accommodate him, waking up millions of nerve endings she had never known existed. She was made for this sweet, savage rhythm. Made for him, desperate for the sliding friction, and the deep, sweet pressure against the mouth of her womb.

Then pleasure burst, rushing over them and through them both, fusing them together like molten gold.

He lay trembling on top of her, till he became aware of how hard she had to struggle to breathe beneath his weight. He lifted himself out of her tight, clinging depths, flopping onto his back.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “I think you practically killed me.”

He let his head flop to the side towards her. She licked her lips.

“That doesn't sound very complimentary,” she whispered.

“Believe me, it is,” he said solemnly. “Right from the heart.”

“Not very poetic, either.” Her voice was barely audible.

He would've laughed if he hadn't been so limp. “So you want mind-blowing sex, and then you want me to be poetic, too? Let me recover, OK? As soon as I can breathe, I'll be a perfect gentleman.”

She rolled up onto her side. “You're not gentle,” she said quietly. “I'm never buying that perfect gentleman line of yours, ever again.”

A pang of guilt assailed him. “You didn't need gentleness,” he said defensively. “I'd already done the gentleness bit. It did its job. If I'd kept on being gentle, you would have gotten bored.”

She snickered. “Bored? With you? Hardly. So now you're the expert about what I need?”

He knew he was skating on thin ice here, but he had nothing to follow but his instincts. “Yeah, Tess. I think I am,” he said simply.

She propped herself up on her elbow, her eyes shot through with gold from the firelight, wide with fascination. “So it was all calculated, then? Don't get mad, please. I just need to—to understand how this works. I didn't know sex could be like that.”

His stomach clenched with apprehension. “Like what?”

“That it could go so far,” she said softly. “Make me feel so strongly. It was scary.”

“I didn't mean to scare you,” he said roughly. “In fact, I hated it when you were scared.”

“I know you did.” She reached out and patted his chest, an unconscious, soothing gesture. “So you were deliberately trying to—”

“No. Nothing was deliberate. I didn't think, I didn't try, I didn't calculate. It just happened.”

Her hair tumbled forward over her chest as she sat up, her eyes full of thoughtful speculation. “So you just lost control, then?”

His hand slammed down hard against the afghan. “Yes, I did,” he snapped. “I lost control. I admit it. Sorry, OK? Are we done, now? Do we have to keep hashing this out? Can we please move on?”

She leaned over and touched his cheek gently. “I wasn't criticizing,” she assured him. “I'm glad I wasn't the only one who lost control. It makes me feel less self-conscious.”

Her eyes were soft, completely sincere. She really wasn't blaming him. She wasn't even angry. The look in her eyes was so sweet, he felt himself stirring again. He took her hand in his and pressed a kiss against it. “You really are innocent, aren't you?”

“Not anymore,” she said primly. “You made like you were all harmless and docile. Pussycat, my butt. You're Attila the Hun.”

The gleam of humor in her eyes reassured him. “It worked for you, though, right? I made you come, what, four times?”

“Don't be cocky,” she reproved. “It's unbecoming.”

He pulled off the condom, grinning. “Speaking of which. Anytime you want to try oral sex, I'm at the ready. Now that I've taken the edge off, I think I can risk it.”

“Edge? I'm totally destroyed, and you've just taken the edge off?”

He got to his feet and held out his hand. “You didn't think we were done, did you?” he asked in mock horror. “Please, please, please, tell me you didn't think that.”

She linked hands with him and let him pull her to her feet. “Are you a sex maniac?” she asked. “Or is this normal?”

“I don't know,” he admitted.

They stared at each other, speechless and shy. He kissed her hand again, wondering how long this shaky, off balance feeling was going to torment him. “We'll see how you feel after a midnight snack,” he told her. “Come on, let's go have some leftovers.”

It was definitely time to lighten up, take a step back, he told himself. He'd shocked himself. He'd never meant to let things get so intense. He'd intended to be gentle, careful, endlessly patient. Not a sweating, pounding, screaming madman.

Even so, here she was, holding his hand, and padding stark naked and trusting alongside him into the kitchen. His erection bumped up another notch. Well over a forty-five degree angle, and heading up to ninety. She noticed it, her eyes skittering away. So cute and shy.

“I didn't know men could recover so quickly,” she observed.

He washed his hands, waited while she did the same. “You make me so hot, I can't see straight,” he said, opening up the fridge. “I've been fantasizing about that white dress of yours for months.”

“Oh, please.” She covered her smile with her hand. “You mean the Vee Have Vays to Make You Talk dress?”

“Is that what you call it? Grab some forks out of that drawer.”

She handed him the forks. “My roommate Trish named it. The most un-sexy garment ever created.”

He snickered as he pulled plastic wrap off the eggplant. “Not.”

“A guy would have to have a truly dirty mind to find that dress a turn-on.”

“That's me,” he said cheerfully. He stuck the bread in the toaster oven. “I can already see myself, flat on my back, and you in that dress, standing over me. Legs spread. No underwear. Interrogating me.”

She giggled, wrapping her arms across her breasts. He gently peeled them away, pushing them down to her sides. “You cold?”

“Not really,” she murmured. “Just not used to being naked.”

He touched her breasts with the tips of his fingers, light, tender strokes. “You're gorgeous,” he told her.

She reacted to his touch with a little tremor, and a flush swept up over her chest, her neck. “It's sweet of you to say so.”

He realized, with horrified dismay, that she didn't believe him. “I'm not particularly sweet,” he said. “I don't give false compliments. And you're not just gorgeous, you're drop-dead gorgeous.”

“Please, Jonah. Don't push it.” She backed away from the intensity in his voice. He followed her, trapping her against the counter.

“It just gets me going, when you tell me not to push it. Did you know that I've been obsessing about every detail of you for months, now? I'm crazy about your hair, you know. I love all those little fuzzy bits that curl around your neck at the end of the day. I've been dying to unwind that bun and see how long it was. To put my face in it and just inhale your smell. God, what a rush.”

Her face was tight with discomfort. “Jonah, you don't have to—”

“And your tits,” he forged on. “God. You can't imagine how many times I thought about popping open the buttons on that white dress, one by one, and seeing those unbelievable breasts pop out—”

“I wear a T-shirt under the dress,” she said, giggling.

He cupped her breasts in his hands and leaned down, kissing them. “Don't trample all over my favorite fantasy,” he protested.

And before he even realized what he was doing, she was arched back over the counter, gasping, saying something in a pleading voice, but he was too swept up in a flare of unexpected lust to hear it. He licked and suckled her, reveling in her abundance, his erection pressing against her soft belly. He was rock hard, as urgently aroused as if he hadn't just had wild, wonderful sex on the living room rug, and her clutching hands, her flushed, shivering eagerness just egged him on.

She was so small, it would be easy to just push her up against the wall, spread her wide, and pin her into place with his thrusting body. And she was still soft from the last time, more than ready to—

“Jonah! The toast!”

He lifted his head and wiped his mouth, dazed. “Huh?”

“The bread! It's starting to burn! Don't you smell the smoke?”

“Damn.” He let go of her and lunged for the toaster. “God damn automatic timer's broken.” He sneaked a guilty look at her. “I, uh, thought the smoke was coming out of my ears.”

Nothing was going as smoothly as he had hoped, though it was a thousand times more interesting than he had imagined. Too interesting. Of all the sex scenarios he had envisioned, jagged, scary, on-the-edge-of-disaster sex was not one of them. The primal instinct to conquer and subdue. Caveman stuff. Wild. The woman really did it to him.

He fished the bread out of the toaster. Tess was staring down at his erection again. She made a nervous little gesture toward it.

“Wow. Are you always . . . I mean, do you already want to—”

“It can wait while you have something to eat,” he said, with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “This erection isn't going anywhere. Not while you're walking around my kitchen naked.” He piled a tangle of roasted pepper onto a chunk of bread. “Come here,” he urged. “It drips.”

Her smile as she chewed made his chest practically puff out with self-satisfaction. He hand-fed her until she was laughing and begging for mercy—his cue for the coup de grâce. More chocolate soufflé. And he oh-so-clumsily let a big glop of whipped cream slide off the spoon and down over her breasts, leaving a creamy white trail for him to follow with his tongue. There were drops on her belly, and some slid lower to tangle in the luxurious nest of dark ringlets at her crotch.

And that was it. He had to taste her again, right here, right now. He shoved her up against the kitchen cabinets. Her small hands clutched his head, her thighs trembled as he forced his hand between them and opened her, sliding his tongue into her damp curls and seeking the delicious, delicate little bud of pure sensation. Loving it, worshiping it with his tongue. He lapped up her sweet, copious juice, sliding his tongue voluptuously up and down the slick, delicious folds of her tender cleft until she cried out and clenched around his thrusting finger.

She went limp. He caught her before she could fall to the floor, and swept her up into his arms. Time to take this to the bedroom. He didn't want to do anything creative or playful or fun, didn't want to show her the hot tub, didn't want to try any tricks. He just wanted to pin her down on his bed and bury himself in her, face to face, hips grinding, eyes locked. All his.

Staking his claim.

 

 

Jonah carried Tess up the staircase and down a corridor, into a large, moonlit bedroom. He laid her on the antique four-poster bed, shoving aside the thick down coverlet. He flicked on a bedside lamp, staring down at her, his eyes hot with predatory hunger.

When he had that look on his face, he made her very nervous.

He pulled a condom out of the bedside stand, rolling it over his erection with casual skill, and climbed into bed, pushing her down onto her back. “You're shivering,” he said. “I'll warm you up.”

“I just bet you will,” she said with false bravado. “You're burning up.”

She stiffened against him as he pushed her legs wide, but he had already gained entrance; there was no shutting him out. He shoved the smooth, blunt tip of himself into her and surged inside, in one smooth, seamless thrust. The wind tossed the trees outside. They sighed and moaned uneasily around the house. She splayed her hands against his chest. “Jonah,” she said breathlessly. “What are you doing?”

“God. If you have to ask.”

He thrust into her, hard enough to make her gasp. She shoved against his chest, suspicious. “Hey. Are you trying to show me who's boss?”

“Now why would I do a stupid, futile thing like that? I know better. Besides, I already know who's boss. I am, because that's how you need it to be. When you want that to change, let me know.”

“You arrogant bastard.” She writhed, and he responded with a deeper thrust. “You're doing it again. Making me angry on purpose.”

“Yeah.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “You were getting scared again. What am I supposed to do? Sing you a lullaby?”

“Are you challenging me?” she demanded.

“Do you need to be challenged? How's this for a challenge?” He reached down, hooking her knees with his arms. Spreading her wide.

She tried to gather her wits, but it was hard when he had that dark, volcanic look in his eyes. “Don't answer a question with another question,” she said shakily. “It was OK the first time, to trick me out of being nervous, but now you're just pissing me off for the fun of it.”

“Why are you afraid of me?” he demanded. “What did I do?”

“I am not afraid of you!”

He swooped down on her with a fierce, hungry kiss, as if he wanted to devour her whole. He lifted his head, panting. “Yes, you are. That's why you're angry. Because it's better than being scared. But there's something on the other side of your anger. I want to know what it is.”

“You won't get to it by forcing me,” she said sharply.

“Oh, I don't think I'm forcing you.” He pushed both her legs to the side, and stared down at where his penis was squeezed between her trapped legs, hot and tight. He slowly pushed himself deeper. Pulled back. The intense friction made her whimper with terrified pleasure.

He found just the angle and pressure she needed. Everything he did was calculated to drive her wild. He was as skillful at manipulating her emotions as he was with her body. She hated him for playing her like an instrument. She loved him for being a virtuoso.

She flew apart around him, sobbing with yet another bursting rush of pleasure, but she felt him holding back his own release. His face was a grimace of concentration. He wasn't done with her yet.