25. The Storm

This vortex raging between them was heady stuff. A savage storm. Explosive waves. A violent, tossing sea. Hailey wasn't sure she was strong enough to ride it out, but she clung to it, desperate to delve into the depths with this man who was causing seismic shifts deep inside her.

"I don't want to hurt you," that man murmured as he devoured her neck and earlobes, deftly avoiding her lips. Though his mouth hadn't fused with hers, it was managing to raise goosebumps over her entire body, fed by the frissons of pleasure skittering up and down her spine.

"Contrary to what Dixie thinks, I'm not a china doll. Just kiss me already," she gusted out. His damn arms remained planted on either side of her, and she wanted them on her, crushing her to him. She wanted all that steely strength surrounding her.

He drew back and scanned her face, his full mouth curving into a devilish smile that carried promises she was impatient for him to keep.

"Demanding, aren't we?" he chided. His gleaming dark-green gaze dragged down her face, lingering on her lips with a single-minded focus. And she ate it up. He wanted to claim her, and damn it, she wanted him to. She wanted him to brand her all over with his mouth, his teeth, his powerful hands. She wanted him moving inside her, pounding into her with wild abandon while she clawed his back.

Oh boy, she was in trouble.

At last, he slid an arm down and wrapped it around her, tightening his hold, while his other hand reached up, tugged off her scrunchie, and loosened her tresses. Fingers diving into her hair, he cupped the back of her head and lowered his mouth to hers in a soft, tentative kiss. His tongue snaked out and gave her lip a little swipe.

"Does that feel okay?" he whispered against her lips.

She couldn't even feel the cut. "More than okay," she exhaled, slightly embarrassed by the telltale breathiness in her voice. Her fingers were twisted in his T-shirt, and she rested her damaged hand in the muscled channel of his back. His frame practically surrounded her, and a familiar soap-and-pine-and-leather scent invaded her nose.

Every inch of her tingled with awareness.

With both hands now, he angled her head and slanted his mouth over hers. The instant the tip of his tongue touched her lips, she opened, eager for a taste, desperate for him to sweep inside and lay claim. He neither hesitated nor disappointed, licking into her mouth, exploring, savoring. He tasted as good as he smelled, a hint of honeyed spice and man. She drank him in as though she'd been stumbling across a desert under an unrelenting sun.

He tilted her head to deepen the kiss. While his tongue mapped her mouth, one hand continued cradling her head. The other glided to her waist and squeezed, then to the small of her back, where he splayed strong fingers and pressed her closer. She grew hyper-aware of every touch, every lick, every pinpoint where his skin leaked heat into hers. The slide of his soft beard against her chin electrified her nerve endings. Her tongue tangoed with his, greedy for more. She feasted on his kisses, unable to get enough.

The kiss jumped from zero to a hundred in a frenzied burst, transforming from cautious exploration to a demand filled with urgency and heat and the passion he'd kept leashed. Satisfaction soared inside her; she had brought that out in him. Her heart thudded so hard against her chest wall she thought he might feel it slam against his own. Little cries and mewls she fought to contain vibrated at the back of her throat as lust boiled in her blood. Her breathing choppy, she released his shirt, running her fingertips up his powerful arms, plowing into his silky hair. Soon she was digging her nails into the planked muscles of his solid shoulders, urging him to take it farther and deeper. Her mind whirled around what "it" was. Strip her down and push her onto the couch. Bend her over the credenza. Fuck her till she couldn't remember her own name.

What the hell had possessed her?

Who cares?

He overwhelmed her, and she loved it.

His hands moved to her ass and squeezed. Down the back of her thigh one hand trailed, to her knee, where he hooked his fingers and lifted her leg to his hip. The steely bulge in his jeans jammed against her pelvis. He grinded against her, his breathing as ragged as hers, and she met each of his thrusts. He snaked his free hand under her top and splayed his fingers across her back, pinning her closer still, steadying her as his hips flexed into her.

Then he stopped.

In her woodsy fog, she blinked up at him. Dark pools stared back at her, and he rested his forehead rested against hers, panting, "God only knows who might barge in. What would you say to taking this upstairs?"

"Don't people barge in up there too?" she croaked.

"Not if I lock the door. And throw the deadbolt. And slide the bar into place. And I'm doing all those things if you say yes."

Did she want to go upstairs and lock herself inside his mini fortress with him, knowing what would follow? Oh hell yes. Because when had she been kissed like he kissed her? Never. Well, maybe the first time he'd kissed her, but that had been days ago, and they'd been interrupted.

Shifting his stance, he slid his hands down her arms and rested them on her waist, holding her as though she were a fragile doll. Again. "Well, surfer girl, what'll it be? And I'm not asking for your drink order, just so we're clear."

He continued holding her lightly with a gentle reverence she didn't want from him. She longed for him to inflict the storm he'd unleashed moments before on her, to use his masterful self-assurance, and that need emboldened her.

"Just so we're clear," she teased, "what are you asking for?"

He raised his head and wagged it back and forth, his gaze climbing to the ceiling before coming back to land on hers. "‘Ask' might be too polite a word, but what I want is you naked and squirming under me."

Oh! His boldness electrified.

Before she could agree that's what she wanted too, he spun her so she faced the door, her back to his front, the fingers of one hand twisted in her hair so he could hold her head where he wanted it. Dropping his mouth to her neck, he started a slow, sensual climb upward with tongue-filled kisses. Both hands glided under her top and inched up her rib cage. Her breath hitched. His fingers prowled upward, undeterred.

"I want you naked and squirming on top of me," his mouth mumbled as it went. Seeking fingers deftly unfastened the front bra clasp and tugged the cups out of his way. "I want to hear you yell my name when I make you unravel for the third time." His fingertips traced the contours of her bare breasts, and her nipples tightened into impossibly hard beads. He rolled them between his fingers and thumbs before palming her breasts. His mouth hovered by her ear now, and he whispered roughly, "I want these in my mouth."

With a flex of his hips, he pushed his erection against her backside.

Chills charged up and down her spine, spreading to every part of her body. God, she couldn't breathe!

Leaving his hands right where they were to do what they were doing, he tucked his chin on her shoulder. "That answer your question?"

"Y-yes?"

"You don't sound too sure, surfer girl. Yes, what?"

"Yes, I want that too." She barely squeezed the words out of her lungs.

He removed his hands, and she nearly groaned in frustration. Turning the doorknob, he pushed the office door open and motioned for her to go upstairs.

"Will Chance try to bolt?" She glanced at him over her shoulder as she climbed and caught him staring at her butt.

He gave her a sly grin that added moisture to her already damp panties. "Yes, I'm totally checking out your very fine ass. I'm also imagining what it's going to feel like when I get my hands on it."

Zings sped through her core. She might have added extra sway to her hips.

"Chance is at Charlie's tonight," he added as he reached around her to open the apartment door. No sooner did he open and close it than he had her pinned against it, his hands twining in her hair.

"Can't seem to get away from doors when it comes to you," he rumbled low.

She wasn't complaining. She reveled in his impatience—it gave her some semblance of control, meager as it was.

His mouth descended on hers, and there was nothing tentative or gentle about it. It was a consuming, possessive claim. As he kissed her at a level below frantic, he worked her top off over her head, but it got hung up on her wrist brace. Soon the brace and the bra were gone. She yanked at his shirt hem, and he helped her take it off by grasping the back and wrenching it over his head. Then they were bare chest to bare chest, breathing hard, their skin limned in the golden glow cast by a kitchen pendant and a floor lamp. The frenzy ebbed for a beat. He eyed her breasts appreciatively, his fingers following his gaze, and she returned the admiration, feathering her fingertips over his smooth skin stretched taut over deliciously defined muscle. She placed the pads of her thumbs atop his flat nipples, and he grinned down at her.

"Do I get to do that too?"

She answered him by arching her back off the door. His thumbs toyed with her nipples for mere seconds before he dipped his head and took one in his hot, wet mouth. She let out an errant gasp. As his lips and tongue worshipped her breasts, his busy hands undid her jeans and pushed them and her panties over her hips. The feverish pace had once again taken hold, and his hands were on her bare ass, cupping, weighing, kneading.

Adrift, lost in his sucks and licks and touches, she managed to wriggle out of her clothing and fumbled with his jeans. Lips working their way back up her chest to her neck, he took her mouth again and released her backside long enough to quickly get rid of his own clothes.

His erection sprang free, and they both looked down at it grazing her low belly. She couldn't stop herself wrapping her hand around his girth. She wanted to touch, to feel that silky steel heavy in her hand.

"Fuck," he groaned. His hand closed around hers, and together they pumped him once, twice.

She found her voice long enough to peer at him and ask, "Are you going to fuck me right here against the door?"

Sliding their hands from his shaft, he pushed himself off, and his entire masculine frame came into view. He was magnificent, like a marble carving of the perfect male specimen but in living, vivid color. He stole the breath from her lungs.

"Maybe later," he said quietly. She looked into his hooded eyes, and they were scanning her body the way she had scanned his, but with unmistakable awe shining in them. "I'd rather we were in my bed for our first time."

Thank God because hot as it would be for him to do her against the door, the physicality would be awkward. She preferred to stretch alongside him, under him, on top of him, to get the full sensation of skin sliding against skin.

He led her up a flight of stairs to his open bedroom loft illuminated by the cozy glow from below and the dim light of a bedside lamp. The ceiling was too low for him to stand to his full height. The crown of her head barely cleared it, but it didn't matter because he plopped on the edge of an enormous, neatly made king bed and pulled her down beside him. He tackled her playfully onto her back and rolled on top of her, sprinkling kisses over her jawline.

"Do you want me to turn off the light?"

She shook her head. Mesmerized by the play of his muscles, she wanted to watch as they flexed and stretched. For a moment, she froze, remembering the fingerprints on her breast. The angry purple had faded to a vague pink overnight, so maybe, just maybe, they would disappear completely in the dim light.

He encircled her wrists and raised them above her head with a touch so gentle she didn't feel the sprain. She did hold her breath, though, when his gaze perused her, letting it out again when he didn't seem to notice the blemishes. Dipping his head, he unleashed a fresh onslaught on her mouth, her throat, her chest. He lavished her breasts with attention that swung from tender to ruthless, sending her so high she thought she might orgasm from that alone before bringing her back down again.

God, his mouth!

She was putty, and the way he took command left no doubt he knew it. Kissing his way down her body, he palmed her inner thighs and splayed her to accommodate his wide shoulders. He pinned her legs to the mattress while his talented tongue worked more of its wicked magic.

Her first orgasm took her by surprise, though it shouldn't have because he'd primed her when he'd first demonstrated his devotion to her breasts. The second one was a slower build, involving tongue and fingers and a thumb that knew what the hell to do.

She wanted him to stop the exquisite torture and bury himself inside her, but he refused to stray off the determined course he was on.

"No," he gruffly replied. "Not done with you yet."

Damn it!

As she clenched the covers in a death grip, she dared a glance. Between her raised knees, his glittering green eyes fastened on her face, and a vague recollection from their earlier make-out session emerged from her carnal fog. It wasn't as much a conscious thought as it was a tortured plea, but she gasped his name right before she bucked off the bed like a rocket shooting to the moon.

Her breaths were rapid-fire, her moans halting, her legs shaky. Broken thoughts drifted in a warm soup of ebbing lust. Coming on his tongue—not once, but twice—satisfied a need for release but left her wanting more. She craved the connection of holding him inside her heated walls, that fullness, that skin-to-skin contact, that feeling that only the luxurious weight of a man's body atop her could fulfill. And more than any other man before him, she wanted all that with him, and she wanted it now.

As if he understood her silent wish, he climbed up her body before she could descend all the way from Cloud O, pausing only briefly to trail kisses along her hipbone, her rib cage, her chest. She came to her earthly senses when he slid off her body and she recognized the sound of a condom packet ripping. She opened her eyes and watched with unrestrained appreciation as he expertly rolled the condom over the weeping crown of his thick cock.

His eyes darted her way, and he caught her licking her lips. "Like what you see, surfer girl?"

She wriggled into a semi-upright position. "Nice, barkeep. Very nice." Don't mind me salivating over here. Her core pulsed with anticipation.

Fully sheathed, he stretched out on his back beside her and hauled her onto him. Pressing her hands against his chiseled chest, she straddled him, his cock a mast jutting between them. Eyes roaming over her, he bit his lower lip.

"Like what you see?" she teased.

His eyes shot to hers and held. Softness and heat played in their emerald depths. "You have no idea," he murmured with reverence. He wove his fingers into her hair and gently tugged. "Come here."

She did so eagerly, bracing herself on her palms, her pubic bone pinning his shaft against his six-pack. Her sensitive nipples, like hard pearls, brushed his pecs, heightening sensation.

He stroked her hair with loving caresses, and when his rough palm came to rest on her cheek, she leaned into the touch. This wasn't only about sex. She was on an unfamiliar plane with this man, and he didn't hide that he was right there with her.

He pulled her lips to his, whispering, "You are the most fucking beautiful thing I've ever seen." Her heart skittered in her chest before melting into a puddle of thudding goo. He kissed her with a tenderness so deep she nearly wept. It didn't take long before passion swelled and transformed the connection. Their tongues indulged and dueled and probed. Her body moved against his erection, and she drank in his kisses while his hands skimmed her skin, his touch becoming insistent as the kiss heated, growing wilder and more unbridled.

Breaking the kiss, he latched on to a nipple while his hand took a firm grip of the other breast. She let out a wail of pleasure and wriggled. The move released his cock, and she wrapped her hand around it and stroked, pulling a long, sensual groan from him. Then she lined herself up. His broad crown breached her entrance, and she lowered herself, taking him in inch by glorious inch, biting her sore lip to keep from impaling herself in one go.

Oh. My. God.

When he was fully seated inside her, her body moved of its own accord, sliding up and down the length of his shaft.

A "Fuck!" tore from him, and she opened her eyes to find his expression tortured.

She stopped and panted, "Good fuck or bad fuck?"

His eyes flew open and drilled into hers. "So damn good," he croaked.

She couldn't stop her smirk any more than she could stop her body from resuming its pace. But he wasn't having any of it.

Eyes still riveted on hers, he grabbed her hips to still them, then flipped them both so she was on her back. Somehow, he'd managed to stay inside her, and he was smirking down at her. Flexing his hips, he thrust in a slow, shallow rhythm. His gaze was all green-fire intensity as it held hers; it seemed to broadcast he was in command of this freight train. That look was damn hot, and she relished submitting.

He picked up the tempo, thrusting harder, faster, then he shifted and hit a spot that had her seeing stars and letting out a string of incoherent noises. She vaguely registered sweat beading along his hairline. His stare was too much, so she snapped her eyes closed and let every sensation play across her face. She wanted him to see how he was affecting her, even if it meant giving up every ounce of her control. She grabbed his shoulders, dug in her heels, and held on while he rode her hard.

Seconds or minutes later, she had no clue, the stars he'd ignited burst and rained down their glittery confetti as she flew off the edge of sanity and into blissful oblivion. He followed her over, roaring her name as he went. He collapsed atop her.

Her chest throbbed erratically with her breathing, and so did his. They were one chaotic tangle of breaths and limbs wholly out of sync, ironically brought to this point by the perfect rhythm of their two bodies.

And it was pure heaven.