CHAPTER TEN
SKIN TO SKIN. Heat to heat. Wet to wetter.
Incredible hardness pressed against the softest part of Ryanne, electrified nerve endings purring with approval. She was careful to brace her weight on her knees rather than Jude’s thighs, unwilling to exert undue pressure on him. With only one foot, he might have trouble remaining balanced.
“What are you waiting for?” She glided the tip of her nose over his. “I’ve done my part. Kiss me.” Kiss me, and never stop.
“Needed a second to enjoy the view.” He tangled his hands in her hair, fisted the strands and drew her down slowly, so slowly, an eternity seeming to pass as the space between them shrank...more...a little more...
His mouth pressed against hers, the contact exquisite.
Eager, she opened for him. His taste tantalized her senses, and reminded her of his scent; spiced rum on her tongue, black magic in her veins. He dueled her for control. The moment she ceded, he rewarded her by yanking her ever closer. Her nipples smashed against his chest, her next breath sparking a glorious friction. Her blood like gasoline, the breath after that starting a fire. Inside and out, she burned.
This is sex, just sex. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure, and a long overdue rite of passage. An experience she yearned to have, her desire for Jude Laurent eclipsing...everything.
Just sex, just sex, just sex.
“I swear you’re the human equivalent of strawberry shortcake.” He sounded accusatory—and drunk with passion.
“Well, you are the human equivalent of honey, and I want you drizzled all over me.”
The words drew a moan from him, and with the next sweep of his tongue, the tone of the kiss changed. From exploratory to explosive, the fierceness of his desire feeding hers. Pressure built. They ate at each other, ravenous. The more he gave, the more she wanted, until she feared her appetite would never be satisfied.
With one hand on each side of her spine, he trailed his fingers down, down, then he cupped her bottom and moved her. Her aching core met his erection, and she groaned with delight.
“Jude.” Biting the cord of his neck, she anchored her nails in his shoulders. “Don’t stop.”
The sounds he made...like music. An erotic melody. Or a spell meant to enthrall her for all eternity.
As his fingers continued their journey, sliding to her stomach, she began to pant.
“You were made for this, weren’t you, shortcake.” He cupped her breasts, dragged his thumbs over her aching nipples.
Shortcake. What an adorable nickname! Tears of happiness burned her eyes. Tears Jude might not understand. He might think she was too attached to him, or too heavily invested in their relationship, and leave. At least the water continued raining over her, steam filling the stall, masking the embarrassing development.
With his chest flush against hers, she felt surrounded, every inch of her body sensitized. She glanced down, luxuriating in the sight of his hands—those big, bruised hands—kneading her breasts.
Those hands had beaten two trained fighters senseless earlier, had cracked bone, busted cartilage and ripped out enamel with ease, and yet, those same hands now handled her as if she were priceless china.
Trembling, she grazed her nails over the stubble on his jaw. Jude’s inhalations grew as labored as her own, the tattoo on his chest heaving, the inked heart seeming to beat, the swords sliding in and out of the chambers.
Their eyes met, and for the first time, she thought she saw scorching possessiveness in those navy blues. Shivers didn’t dance, they consumed.
“Look at you,” he said. “Eyes wild, lips red and puffy, even a little pouty. Breasts spilling from my hands. Hips rocking. You are passion incarnate.”
She was?
She must be. She couldn’t stop grinding against his erection. “I want you.” Now. “Foreplay isn’t necessary.”
“Maybe not for you.” He ran his tongue along her collarbone, earning a hiss.
When her thundering heartbeat slowed, she nipped at his lower lip. “Are you telling me you’re having trouble with your equipment?” Reaching between their bodies, she wrapped her fingers around the base of his shaft. “Because I would beg to differ.”
Peering into her eyes, he pinched her nipples. “There’s nothing wrong with my equipment. I like the sounds you make when I touch you, the way you move and touch me, and I don’t want it to end.”
New shivers, an avalanche of want and need. “Tomorrow we can—” The words do it all over again died inside her mouth. One time. Just sex. No regrets. “Take your time, then, cowboy. I’ll just sit here and enjoy the ride. But don’t go too slowly, or I’ll have to shift your gear.” As she spoke, she stroked his length up...down...up.
“Problem.” He flexed in her grip. “If I speed, I’ll get ticketed.”
“Don’t worry. You can pay my tickets with kisses...and give me a thorough body cavity search.”
He chuckled, then nipped the lobe of her ear. After kissing the curve of her jaw, he licked a drop of water from her chin. “You truly enjoy making me squirm, don’t you?”
“I do, honey buns. I really do.” Nuzzling his cheek, she added in a breathy voice, “But I think I’ll enjoy squirming on you even more.”
With a growl, he bent his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth, his golden hair tickling her collarbone as his masterful tongue flicked one of the swollen buds. His control had snapped.
A ragged cry left her, pleasure stringing her body as tight as a bow; any second now, her arrow would fly.
Want him to come with me.
Her grip tightened on his shaft. To her surprise and delight, she realized her fingers weren’t even close to meeting. He was too danged big.
Angling her wrist, she rubbed the tip of his erection against the drenched, aching center of her body. Her other hand combed through the silken strands of his hair. When he began to suck on her nipple harder, increasing the pressure, she dug her nails into his scalp to hold his head in place.
“You’re right. I think foreplay is overrated. You ready for me?” No other warning as he thrust a finger deep inside her.
She gasped...moaned. The pleasure!
Adding a second finger, he stretched her, but not enough. Not nearly enough. Her body was starved for his, and he’d merely given her an appetizer. She needed the entire meal. “More. Now.”
He wedged a third finger inside her, and she cried out, teetering at the brink of agony or ecstasy, she wasn’t sure which.
“You’re wet. Tight,” he said, a sharp edge to his tone.
Too tight? Did he suspect the truth?
Unwilling to risk ruining the moment, she released him to rip open the condom wrapper. Tremors prevented her from successfully rolling the latex down his length. Or maybe it was her inexperience.
Need this man. Need him now.
If only she’d practiced rolling one on a vibrator, or a banana, she might have earned a gold star for her first real-life application.
Finally, exasperation got the better of her. “Help me.”
He claimed the latex and expertly secured the thing in place.
“Thank goodness. Snug as a bug in a rug,” she said. “Let’s do this!”
He snorted and yet tension emanated from him, delighting and emboldening her all over again. She affected him as powerfully as he affected her. And, as much as he hadn’t wanted to want her, he couldn’t resist her.
His hands settled on her hips and squeezed firmly enough to bruise, but he wasn’t hurting her on purpose, she knew. He was swept up in a maddened storm; they both were.
Tremors worsening, she rose to her knees, positioned him for entry...and paused.
“After this,” she whispered, “there’s no going back.”
“It’s already too late,” he intoned.
Their gazes met once again. The water had turned his sandy hair dark. Skin stretched taut over broad cheekbones, and his chiseled jaw remained clenched. His lips were open, swollen from her kisses, yet his scar appeared softer.
Yes, it was far too late to go back.
She forced her body to accept him by sliding down...down his length. Despite the potency of her arousal, despite being soaked and desperate to climax, despite the fingers he’d worked inside her, his entry burned, and she had to grit her teeth.
Though she hadn’t yet reached his base, stars winked in her line of vision. Bad news: the pain was almost too much. Good news: pleasure hadn’t abandoned her; it waited at the periphery, ready to return front and center at any moment. She just had to hold on.
“Need a sec,” she said between panting breaths. Sweat beaded on her forehead. “It’ll get better.” Absolutely. No question. No doubt.
Okay, one question: right?
“Shouldn’t have stopped the foreplay,” he said, and cursed, clearly blaming himself for her predicament.
“Not your fault. I’ve never—” She pressed her lips together, saying no more.
His eyes widened...with horror? “Never what, Ryanne?”
* * *
JUDE BATTLED THE most savage need of his life. Here, now, the past had no chance to intrude. He was too primed for release, Ryanne, tighter than a fist, slick and molten, and so hot he would swear she burned through the latex.
The urge to slam in and out of her bombarded him. Gnashing his molars, agonized by the pressure building inside him, he called on his training. Skills he’d developed when his commanding officer deprived him of food and sleep, or beat the shit out of him in order to better hone his reflexes. Take a licking, keep on ticking.
Ryanne needed tenderness, not brutality.
“Never what, Ryanne?” he insisted, afraid to move as suspicions danced through his head.
She was in obvious pain. His possession hurt her physically, as if she were...or had been...
There was just no way. No way in hell this was her first time. She was in her midtwenties. Sensual. Confident. She wouldn’t gift her virginity to a piece of shit like him. A man who would walk away as soon as he’d come.
A broken man.
He remembered his first time with Constance. She’d had a boyfriend before him, and the guy had taken her virginity. At the time, the knowledge had disappointed Jude, even though he’d had no right to complain. He’d slept around so much he’d put present-day Brock to shame. The poorest boy in town, unwanted by his parents and siblings, had sought attention and affection from the girls at school. But in the end, Constance’s past hadn’t mattered. Nor had his. Together, they’d learned the difference between sex and making love.
Still, the irony wasn’t lost on him. He’d wanted Constance to be a virgin. She hadn’t been. He’d wanted, needed, Ryanne to be experienced. She might not be.
For a heartbeat of time, he wasn’t sure he’d change anything, his possessive instincts roaring with satisfaction.
Not just broken but twisted, too.
“You know I haven’t been on a date in two and a half years,” she said. The strain began to fade from her features, and she arched her back, sending him inside her another inch, wrenching an agonized groan from him.
Right. Two and a half years. The same as him. Almost as if they were fated to—
Nothing.
He reached between their bodies and circled his thumb where she must throb. Her hips jerked and she cried out, her inner walls clenching around his shaft. He gnashed his molars harder.
He hurt physically, but he didn’t stop. As he continued to rub her little bundle of nerves, he fit his lips around her nipple and sucked. Sucked and nipped and licked and flicked with his tongue and then sucked again. Little mewls left her as she writhed against him.
Can’t get enough of her.
Falling...
No! Hell, no.
“That’s so...so good,” she praised.
Only wanton excitement in her tone now. No, she hadn’t been a virgin. And he was relieved about that. Of course he was relieved. This hookup wasn’t special or meaningful just because Ryanne was the first woman he’d slept with since the death of his wife.
We’re scratching an itch, that’s all. People do this every day.
But shit. Shit! Guilt flared. For nine years, he’d been true to Constance. Today, his devotion had crumbled, a single wrong deed negating every right one. No longer could he say his wife was the last woman he’d slept with.
His heart stuttered against his ribs, and he stilled, only able to concentrate on his breathing. What the hell had he done?
Ryanne stilled, as well. Her gaze searched his face before she lifted her delicate hands to frame his face. Tracing the rise of his cheekbones with her thumbs, she pulled him closer, kissed the corner of his eye, the corner of his mouth.
“I bet you’ve never been so clean while being so dirty,” she said.
A soft chuckle.
“You are so beautiful,” she continued. “So wonderfully rough and tough. I’ve wanted you for so long. I tried so hard to resist you, but you, Jude Laurent, are irresistible.”
The sweetness of her words yanked him out of his head and back into the moment.
“Irresistible, huh? Woman, you just described yourself.” She’s more than an itch, and you know it. Why continue to deny the obvious?
Didn’t matter. Deny it again he did. No one had a stronger will than Jude, and in matters of the heart, he would not break or even bend, no matter how great the temptation, or how incredibly perfect. He’d faced and overcome worse obstacles, and he would not falter now. He could have this—have her—accepting a brief moment of happiness, then moving on.
“You ready for me to thrust?” Jude gave her nipple a little nip, then licked away the sting.
“I am. Are you?” Her nails scoured his back, stinging deliciously. “Pelea contigo mismo mañana. Dame lo qui quire hoy.”
Spanish, spoken in her pleasure-roughened voice...hell, yeah. But the words themselves were what pushed him over the edge. He’d spent time in Mexico and easily translated: Fight yourself tomorrow. Give me what I want today.
She knew him well enough to decipher his mood. Must have watched him as intently as he’d watched her.
Precious woman.
Dangerous woman.
“I wish you could feel what I feel. You aren’t just irresistible, you are incredible,” he whispered straight into her ear.
As she shivered, he licked the delicate shell with multiple piercings. He kissed his way down the slope of her neck—and bit the tendon running through her shoulder, the way she’d done to him.
Just. Like. That. She shouted his name, her inner walls clenching on his shaft as she came. She shuddered against him, and her nipples stroked his chest, making him mindless with desire. Remaining in place nearly killed him, but he did it. For her.
Only when she sagged against him, fully sated, did he press his back against the tiles, arch his hips and drive himself deeper inside her, burying every inch of his erection into her scorching heat.
She gasped his name.
He would have given anything to stand and press her against the tiles, using the wall as leverage while he hammered into her, her beautiful legs wrapped around his waist, squeezing him.
“Jude...I can’t...it’s...you’re... Argh! Why did you stop?” She beat her little fists against his chest.
“Am I hurting you? You’re so incredibly tight.”
“Well, you’re so incredibly big. Am I hurting you?”
He chuckled. “You’re killing me with pleasure.”
“You’re welcome.” She nipped his chin. “And no, you’re not hurting me. I’m all systems go, so please, go.”
He bit the inside of his cheek to stop another chuckle. Then he shook his head in wonder. How did she do it? How did she make him want to laugh at the most inopportune times? Or hell, how did she make him want to laugh at all?
Slowly, so slowly, he pumped in and out of her, propelled to new heights of pleasure every single time. Heights he’d never before known, as if he’d been a boy before and had finally become a man. As if Ryanne Wade had been made for him and him alone. As if he’d lived in the dark long enough and had finally stepped into the light.
Ryanne moaned in sync with his thrusts, only maddening him further. Somehow, she’d become his entire world. He knew nothing and no one else, wanted nothing and no one else. She was a tempest without equal, a storm he couldn’t escape, and she’d swept him. He would happily drown in her.
He lifted his head to peer deep into her eyes, eyes that were at half-mast as water droplets caught in her lashes. Passion flushed her flawless skin, adding a rosy undertone. The pulse at the base of her neck raced. Plump breasts bounced with his movements, dusky nipples puckering under his gaze. This woman...
In, out. “Ryanne.” Her name slipped past his lips. Her body was a masterpiece. Perfect curves, elegant spine, legs for miles. A flat belly that led to a thin landing strip of dark hair. In, out. In, out. “I’m so close.”
“Want you closer. Faster.”
He grabbed her hips and slammed her down on his lap while lifting himself up, hitting her deep, deep inside. She erupted a second time, screaming his name, her inner walls once again clenching and unclenching on his length.
Unable to prolong the inevitable any longer, he followed her over the edge, coming...coming...coming so hard...
It was the most powerful orgasm of his life.
Strength poured from him and into her, leaving his muscles lax. The same must have happened to her. She collapsed on him, her head resting on his shoulder. Their hearts raced together but out of sync, the pitter-patter of water heralding the return of reality.
He fought it, wanting to enjoy the moment, to hold her and never let go, but reality was as determined to have him as he’d been to have Ryanne.
“We finally had fun together,” she rasped. “And, honey buns, it was amazing.”
“Yes.” Yes, it was, but without the haze of desire to cloud his thoughts, he was left with nothing but raw disappointment—in himself. He should feel satisfied, but empty, guilt ridden rather than blissful. He’d given all his lasts to Ryanne, saved nothing for Constance; but he was far from satisfied and guilt ridden. He already craved another go-round, desperate to claim everything Ryanne was willing to give him.
Now he knew her sweetness, her softness...the breathy sounds she made when she came.
Now he needed more.
He’d gone years without the touch of a woman, despising even the thought of casual contact. Now he couldn’t touch this one enough, wanting his hands on every inch of her at once.
How was he supposed to ignore her appeal tomorrow? How was he supposed to live without another hit of bliss?
“This was a mistake, Wade,” he croaked.
She stiffened. “Wade again. Well. It’s a good thing we decided on a one-night stand, isn’t it?”
He’d hurt her. Damn it, that hadn’t been his intention. His head, normally a mess, was screwed up more than usual. “I’ve got to go.” He placed her on her feet and removed the condom. Seeing the tattered remains caused the heat to drain from his face. “You had one job, only one, and you failed.”
“Hey! I’m not—”
“Not you. The rubber. It broke. Damn it, I knew the water would be a problem.” Barely able to breathe, he demanded, “The timing is wrong, yeah?”
“Only if you mean I’m ovulating right now,” she snapped. “I had a period two weeks ago, making today the perfect starter-family day. Except I’m on the pill, and you had a vasectomy, remember?”
“Sperm remains active for months after the procedure, remember?” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “But you’re on the pill, and I’ll have to trust its effectiveness. Listen, don’t leave the bar tonight or tomorrow, all right. In fact, just stay up here. You’ll make yourself an easy target for Dushku. Let Sutter take over again. That’s why you promoted him to manager.” He stood and lumbered from the stall.
“Jude. Don’t—”
“No. We both agreed. This was it, a one-time thing. No need to discuss it to death.”
“Did we agree you could treat me like garbage afterward, because I don’t recall that particular detail.”
Fighting guilt, he toweled off and reattached his prosthesis, then pulled on his jeans, his shoes, and tied the laces.
“I’m sorry,” he finally told her. “I’ll... I’m gonna go.”
“What happened to watching the security feed on my laptop?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’ll watch it from home.” Not trusting himself to say more, he strode from the bathroom, the apartment...never looking back.