Stripped Down (16 page)

He’s big, almost too big to close my fingers around but I’m damned sure going to try. His dick is a hot, silky length of steel and I know exactly what I’m doing next.

I tighten my grip, sliding my fingers up, up, up. His breath catches, and right now he’s
mine.
“You still want to wait, cowboy?”

ANGEL

Rose disobeys me. She takes her hands off the headboard, palms my dick, and I almost shoot off the bed. Naturally, my dick would be happy to go wherever she led, but she doesn’t get to leash me. Not that easily. It doesn’t matter that part of me—probably the part that’s sported an erection for her since she walked back into Lonesome and my life—aches for her. Or that I want to freeze the moment forever and live it over and over. The heat of her hand surrounds me, stroking firmly, roughly upward. The palm of her other hand cups my balls. Jesus. She’s broken all the rules.

“Rose.” I growl her name, reaching for her hands.

“Nuh-uh.” She fucking bites my lip, and the unexpected sting distracts me, and then I’m lost in the sensation of her hands moving up and then down, her clasp an erotic pressure when she reaches the head of my dick. She’s gonna make me blow, make me come, and it feels so good. Down. Up. My body jerks in her hold, and I about fly out of my skin when her fingers dance down my dick in an unexpectedly gentle skim.

She makes me off-balance.

Her hand closes over my dick head again and then pushes down the hard shaft in one long, luxurious stroke. Fuck if I don’t follow along, a dog on a leash, wanting more. The soft, slick sound filling my bedroom is an erotic precursor of what’s gonna happen real soon, a tease of the in-and-out to come. My dick’s going inside her, and I’m gonna ride her hard until she comes. But right now… fuck… she rings me with the fingers of her left hand, her index and thumb forming a wicked circle that squeezes pleasurably while her other hand makes another return trip down me. She’s making me come.

Fuck these games she plays. I don’t play to lose—I play to
win
.

I flip her over and yank her panties off.

Pinning her hands over her head to the headboard with one hand, I knee her thighs apart.

“You wait,” I whisper roughly. “You come when I say.”

I can’t tell if the muffled sound she makes is agreement or a fuck-off, but then she moves her legs wider. She’s trying to take control again. I press my fingers against her core.

The sweet, creamy scent of her arousal fills the small space left between us, and a primitive satisfaction fills me. This is my Rose, spread out in my bed. In my house. I’m gonna show her just how well I can take care of her now that I have her exactly where I want her.

In my arms. In my bed.

Rose Jordan, waiting for me. She smells like goddamned heaven and we need to get just one thing clear.

“Don’t let go,” I tell her. “Or I’ll stop.”

I take my hands away, pull her over me, and lick her sweet, sweet pussy.

ROSE

Angel eats my pussy.

His orders make me mad, but he also makes me wet. One of us has to compromise, and right now I’m almost willing to do it. I wiggle upward until I can watch his dark head at work. I can’t see his tongue, but God, I feel every inch of him. Seconds ago, I was ready to skip to the main course in my Angel buffet, but now I could be convinced to slow down and savor. Angel is both driven and determined—and he’s hell-bent on making me come. That’s not a bad fate.

He spreads me open. I don’t understand exactly how we got here, but somehow I’m hanging onto the headboard exactly like he told me and my pussy’s hanging over his face, his big hands gripping my hips and my butt, moving me so his tongue can hit me right where I need him most.

His fingers dig into my ass and he drags me forward, holding me steady. He makes a meal of me, his tongue lapping my juices, licking me everywhere. I can’t tell if he’s licking me clean or just making me dirty as hell, but I love it. I get a death grip on the headboard as my knees give out.

“I won’t let you fall,” he promises me.

I believe him. He’s got me, I know it, and I’d relax if I could, but he makes me feel so damned good. He covers my clit with his mouth, and does something with his tongue that makes me whimper. I fucking groan and whimper, letting him own me and the moment. It feels that good.

And then he blows, and I’m about to detonate.

“Angel.” I moan his name, but he’s the devil and not my savior because the bastard laughs and slides a finger inside me. He’s fingerbanging me and I’m loving it, almost loving him, which puts me in the danger zone. I’m too close to something, and I need to pull back, but the bright shock of pleasure that throbs to life in me has me focused on just one thing.
Coming
.

“Apples,” he growls. “You smell like apples. I like that.”

I want him to tell me he likes
me
, but then he swirls his tongue around my clit, and it’s almost two much. I dig my fingers into the wooden headboard, twisting, seeking more. And he gives it to me, pushing a finger deep inside me. I tighten around him, bearing down, clenching with everything I have. He tunnels deeper into my body, pulls back. His finger curls against a secret, hidden spot and the pleasure detonates through me. I’m coming apart. I can’t hold myself together.

So good.
So dirty, so bad.

His tongue swirls harder around my throbbing clit, pressing, pushing. I hang onto the bed and ride his wicked, wicked mouth. My Angel. The tension builds fast and painfully sweet, tiny shocks rippling through my pussy. I’m coming for him.

“Now,” I groan, and that one word sounds like a plea and not a command. He twists, jackknifing upright, and I hear the welcome sound of a foil packet ripping open. He places the broad, condom-covered head of his dick at my opening.

The grin he gives me is downright feral. “You taste sweet.”

There’s nothing sweet about me. Not really. The sweet is all on the outside, like the honey you daub on a fly trap before you lure the unwanted insects in and squash them. Men like me, but they don’t know me. They just want to fuck me, and I’m fine with that. When you’re the one who owns the orgasms, who says when and where and how the other person comes, you’re the one with all the power. My pussy ripples, clenching on nothing.

“Take me,” I tell him. “Don’t talk. Move.”

My dirty-talking, domineering Angel would be even better if he came with a mute button. He just laughs, not done playing with me.

“You’re gonna wait for me,” he promises darkly, shoving himself inside me. I’m tight, he’s large, and it’s a stretch. From the satisfied look on his face, he knows all these things, and he’s such an asshole because he
likes
it. Likes knowing I’ll be sore tomorrow and won’t go a minute without thinking of him pounding me good. God, he’s so big, and so
there
. When I let go of the headboard, he retaliates, threading his fingers through mine and pinning them to the pillow as he thrusts home in one hard, fast stroke.

Oh. God.

My hips speak for me, slapping up to meet his, making demands. “Faster.”

“Ask nicely, darling.” The smile that twists his gorgeous mouth isn’t pretty. He’s thinking about making me beg—and I just might do it. He has me right on the edge, ready to come. He gives me what I need. He drives his dick into me, his gaze sliding over my body as he takes me. The tension builds in me, my pussy tightening on him, taking him all the way.

I think I whisper
please
.

“Now,” he orders, slamming into me and finding my clit with his fingers. “Give it up.”

I come, white-knuckling the pillow and his grip. It’s so good and there’s no holding back. I arch up into him, hips pumping, and he gives it to me as well. My gaze locks onto his face helplessly, my body riding the wave of pleasure he controls. His gaze is fiercely possessive. I’m his right now and we both know it.

But he’s mine, too. I clench down on him, holding him to me deep inside my body, and he comes too. He’s lost in me, his hips pounding mine as he thrusts harder and faster. When he loses control, I’m watching, my breath tearing from me in harsh pants, but I’m watching. I see him come, his orgasm making him shake and press against me. And for just a moment, he softens. I feel it, see it.

Angel does have a soft side, and it’s for me.

I drift awake hours later. The sheets on Angel’s bed are tangled around our legs, and shadows fill up the bedroom. If I listen carefully, I can hear Angel breathing, a steady in-out close by, but he’s moved away from me. We’re not entwined anymore. Somewhere, not so far away, other people move around the house. Angel’s brothers, probably. Maybe his housekeeper. Being caught by Axel and J.J. would be awkward, but I should get out of here.

Sex isn’t about love. It’s about getting off.

Angel’s even more dangerous than I thought, though, because he’s made me feel emotions I didn’t think I could. He makes me feel
more
. More passion, more need, more… caring. And that’s a recipe for disaster.

It’s cooler now, the overhead fan beating out a steady stream of cooler air. Or maybe the heat’s gone down in both of us. It doesn’t matter. The part of me that yearns to wear Angel on my body like my own personal fur coat is sated. Or that’s what I tell myself.

Getting up shouldn’t be difficult. I’ve played this game dozens of times before. We’ve had sex and it was great, but it’s still only the bridge to the magic land of Orgasm. Any other, longer term destination is crazy, even if we did talk about relationships, because a man like Angel could swallow me up, and I stand on my own two feet. No exceptions. That’s always been rule
numero uno
in my playbook. I don’t do keeper men.

Angel may be a possessive bastard and a prick, but he’s got rules of his own. I doubt I’d like his rules now any more than I did at sixteen. He’s black and white, certain his way is right, while I need more gray in my life. I’ve always colored outside the lines other people draw.

I sit up carefully. I’ll find my clothes. I’ll go. I’m sore between my legs, and I’ll remember this afternoon for more reasons than one. Part of me wants to roll over, ride Angel like a cowgirl, and make the evening memorable, too. That part of me is a hussy, and she knows better. The longer I stay, the greater the chance Angel makes me feel something besides an orgasm.

That wonderful, horrible, dangerous something
more
.

He looks softer asleep, his mouth relaxed, that fierce gaze temporarily shut down. Watching him feels even more intimate than the sex. I don’t think too many people have seen him sleep. When he shifts, I can see the tattoo on his bicep. That ink has a story, I’m sure. It’s part military trident, part something else that looks like curling black script. His eyes open and he meets my gaze.

The thought comes out of nowhere and has to be orgasm-induced
. I could love this man
.

“Stay,” he says, his fingers curling around my wrist. He’s holding on, and part of me doesn’t like that. Part of me needs to push him away, to make room to run.

Not everything about me is pretty. If he knows, he won’t want me to say.