SIXTEEN

“This is Natches. Leave me a message if you have to.”

Natches’s voice message usually managed to make her smile, but this time, she couldn’t seem to make the effort.

“It’s Lyrica.” She swallowed tightly. “Hell, you have my number . . .” Her voice broke as she fought back a sob. “Can you call me back, Natches? I really need to talk to you.”

She disconnected the call.

She couldn’t call Dawg. If she did, she would start crying the second he heard the pain in her voice and softly asked, “Hey there, baby sister, tell me what hurts.”

Dropping the phone into her bag, she stared around the bedroom. She had to pack her clothes. She’d just recently unpacked them when Graham had suggested there was plenty of room in his closet and dresser. Her hands had actually trembled as she’d put her things away, thinking of his claim that no other woman had shared this space with him.

Gathering her strength when all she wanted to do was rage, to run from the house and escape Graham and the pain building inside her, she bent and dragged her suitcase from beneath the bed where he’d stored it.

A shadow of something attached to the bed frame had her frowning and lifting the white dust ruffle to investigate further. The handgun attached to the metal rail surprised her. There was another on the other side of the bed.

Pulling back slowly, she straightened, then lifted the leather bag to the mattress and opened it quickly. She was turning for the closet when Graham stepped into the room.

His gaze went instantly to the luggage, the anger in his gaze darkening as he snapped the door closed behind him.

“You promised me twenty-four hours,” he reminded her, the low rasp of his voice sending a surge of awareness, of sensual trepidation up her spine.

Not fear. He’d never hurt her. But this was a part of Graham she had no experience with. A side of him she had never seen before. The dark, wicked eroticism on his face, the sexual knowledge that gleamed in his eyes and her own awareness that he wouldn’t hesitate to use it to hold her there.

And when everything was over, when she was no longer his preferred flavor, what then?

“A promise based on the assumption that staying here would hurt less than walking out,” she informed him as that thought slashed through her heart.

“Staying here would hurt less than being dead?” A sharp bark of laughter escaped his lips. “Excuse me for disagreeing, sweetheart, but I think the process of getting dead might hurt worse.”

Would it really? Graham could destroy the part of her that loved, that believed in love. Would death hurt more than losing what she sensed could have been between them? Or would have been between them if he had been willing to share his own heart.

“Natches or Dawg will be more than happy to pick me up. Once I’m with them, I’ll be safe. They’ll make certain of it,” she informed him, stalking to the dresser to remove the items there despite the prickling of her skin as he watched her.

“Take a single item out of that dresser, Lyrica, and the considerate lover I’m really trying to be will evaporate. Is that what you really want?”

Considerate lover? Well, by god, wouldn’t he have to be a lover first? Evidently, they’d just had sex, nothing more. That wasn’t her definition of a lover.

“What I want isn’t an option,” she snapped, turning and bracing her hands on her hips as she faced him again. “And staying here is no longer an option, either.”

His lips tightened further, the muscles at his jaw clenching as he folded his arms in a move that only increased the appearance of width in his already broad chest.

“Because you learned I had a past lover?” he said mockingly. “I’ve had many.”

No kidding. So many in the past year that she had nearly lost count herself. But it wasn’t the quantity that hurt as damned much as the knowledge of the one she hadn’t known about.

“A lover that mattered,” she cried out furiously, painfully. “One that you regret so desperately that you’re taking me to your bed because I look like her?”

It was killing her. The thought of it was so demoralizing, so painful she could barely breathe for it.

“Go to hell, Graham. The least you could have done was told me. You could have let me know you’d lost the woman you loved . . .”

He was on her before she could attempt to evade him. Pulling her to him, lifting her from the floor, and tossing her to the bed with the utmost gentleness and the utmost dominance.

Rolling to her back, she sat up quickly, one hand braced on the mattress, the other brushing her hair back from her face as she stared back at him.

“You think I’m taking you to my bed because you look like Betts?” he snarled, already jerking his boots off. “Oh, hell no, baby. I took her to my bed because she looked like you. Because I couldn’t think for the need to fuck you, couldn’t sleep for dreaming about it or get through the day without fantasizing about it. Because the hunger tearing me apart blinded me to such an extent that I didn’t even know when I was being betrayed.”

Fury whipped over his expression and in his eyes, filled his voice, and left Lyrica staring back at him in shock.

Whipping the T-shirt over his head, his hands went instantly to his belt and the metal button securing the band of his jeans. In only a few seconds he was shedding the denim, the heavy, engorged length of his cock standing out from his body fiercely. The fingers of one hand wrapped around the shaft, stroking it slowly as his eyes narrowed on her.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered, his voice a deep, lust-filled rasp that sent weakening need flooding her further.

She shook her head, though not in denial of the order, more in denial of the revelation that she’d torn from him.

“We need to talk . . .”

“Oh, baby, we’ve talked enough. Now spread your legs.”

She shook her head again.

“Want to test me, pretty girl?” he whispered, stepping closer to the bed. “Spread your legs. I’m going to eat my fill of that sweet pussy and see just how crazy I can make both of us while I’m doing it. And you’re going to just lay that pretty little body right back there and enjoy every minute of it. And maybe, just maybe, by the time I’m finished fucking us both into oblivion I’ll have a handle on whatever the hell it is that you do to me.”

What she did to him? What did she do to him that made him so angry?

“This won’t solve anything,” she argued desperately, though even she was aware of the fact that she wasn’t trying to escape him. “You know it won’t.”

“Sure it will.” One knee rested on the edge of the mattress. “You’ll be so fucking tired when your deadline rolls around that you won’t be able to consider leaving, let alone actually packing or walking out my door. Now, spread your legs, or I’m going to spread them for you. And when I do, I’m ripping any panties you’re wearing right off your body, and before I finish, I’ll spank that pretty bare pussy of yours until you know better than to lie on that bed and argue with me.”

A spasm of clenching pleasure gripped her womb, sending a rush of heated, slick warmth to spill from her sex. It was all she could do to keep from moaning at the very thought of it.

“Oh, you like the thought of that.” Satisfaction and lust gleamed in his eyes and darkened the savage lines of his face. “Let’s see how much you like the application of it.”

“Oh.” A gasp of surprise parted her lips as he reached out, gripping her legs and pushing them back before spreading them wide enough to make room for his body.

As he slid between her knees, he gripped her wrists, pulling them from the bed and pressing her torso back.

Just that quick, just that easy, he had her spread out before him, and before she could process the thought, he ripped her panties from her hips.

“Damn you, Graham,” she exclaimed in outrage, managing to angle her upper body upright. “That was a matching set.”

The fine material of the skirt was pushed back to her hips, the folds between her thighs bare but for the heavy layer of slick, glistening moisture that coated the inner seam of her intimate lips.

Her face flamed at the sight of her juices welling from her and preparing her so quickly for his possession.

Pulling her hips toward him and lifting them slightly, Lyrica found herself on her back once again as Graham’s broad hand cupped the dew-rich folds. Parting the swollen lips, his fingers found the trapped, slick heat, groaning in appreciation at the excess.

Lifting his hand, his gaze locked with hers, he lowered it again, patting the tender flesh with a quick little flick of his fingers.

Prickling heat raced over the folds of her pussy. Her clit pulsed in shocking pleasure and throbbed in hunger.

“You like that,” he growled, the sound low, harsh as his expression tightened further in lust. “Let’s see how you like this.”

His hand lowered again, the light tap sending heat racing across her flesh as her hips jerked at the sensation.

She couldn’t bear this. Her clit was throbbing so hard, was so swollen, she swore she could feel air brush against it.

Another tap of his fingers and she cried out, her legs falling open farther, the need for more, for the rising clash of sensations, overwhelming her.

“Do you like it, baby?” he demanded relentlessly. “Tell me to stop.”

“No!” The whimpering denial fell from her lips unbidden. “Oh god, Graham, please . . .”

Her hips lifted again as though pleading for more.

The next tap was heavier, sending a flush of licking flames to surround her clit and tighten around it in impending climax.

Graham’s low, harsh chuckle had her breath catching as she forced her eyes to open, forced herself to stare back at him, anticipation clawing at her senses.

“Oh, I’m not letting you off that easy,” he promised her. “You’re not coming yet, sweetheart. As much as I’d love to watch your orgasm consume you. Not quite yet.”

Panting for breath, Lyrica could see the determination in his eyes, in the hard lines of his face.

“Making me wait to come won’t change anything,” she retorted, though weakly.

It might have had more effect if it hadn’t sounded like a moaning plea.

“We’ll just have to see about that,” he stated, too confident, too dominant. “Want to make a bet on it, baby?”

She wasn’t betting on anything at the moment. She stared back at him silently instead, licking her dry lips nervously as his eyes narrowed on the action.

Cupping her pussy once again, one finger eased between the folds as her hips lifted to him once again. His touch slid through the heavy slickness there until it found the entrance to her vagina.

“Pull your top up.” The order came as his finger found and rubbed at the clenched entrance of her pussy. “Show me your breasts or I’ll rip the bra off next.”

A deep, heavy spasm of pleasure rippled through her womb at the threat.

Hands shaking, she pulled the snug cotton up her torso, revealing the lace-covered curves he wanted to see before pulling it over her head and tossing the material away. Her breathing grew heavier, her heart beating faster as she released the front catch of her bra, almost panting as she struggled to pull the straps over her arms and remove it as well.

Her breasts were swollen, her nipples so hard, so aroused, they ached. After tossing the bra from the bed, her hands moved to the sensitive mounds, cupping them, moaning at the heavy flush that mounted his cheeks as he watched her.

“That’s it, baby. Let me see you touch your pretty breasts. Show me what you like. What you want.”

Drowsy, wicked sensuality flared inside her. She should be ashamed, but it was a distant thought. So distant that the flush that heated her breasts was one of arousal rather than shame. She would consider the other emotion later, she decided. Much later, after she’d followed the sensations racing through her to their ultimate conclusion.

“Show me, Lyrica. Now.” The order was reinforced by a surge of pleasure she couldn’t have anticipated.

“Oh god! Graham!” Swift, brutal pleasure struck at her as she was suddenly impaled by the hard thrust of his finger. Using the pad of his palm to press against her clit, he nearly sent her tumbling into her release.

“Show me,” he growled, lifting himself closer as that wicked, experienced finger rubbed with destructive sensual strokes deep inside her pussy.

Touch herself. That, she was experienced in.

She’d masturbated enough to thoughts of him that she knew well how to caress her own body, knew the pressure to use, where she was most sensitive.

Finding her nipples with her thumb and forefingers, she didn’t bother with slow, gentle strokes. The hard flares of nearly painful need striking at her senses would pay little attention to gentle anything. She gripped the sensitive buds, rolling them firmly, pulling at the exquisitely heated flesh and whimpering as the slightly rough touch sent lightning forks of painful pleasure to strike at her pussy.

Now, this she hadn’t known. Just how much better that pinching pleasure at her nipples could make the penetration of her vagina.

Twisting beneath the rubbing caress inside the clenching tissue as she worked her nipples with quick little tugs and rolls of her fingers, she thought she’d go crazy from the sensations. Rapture nudged at her clit, the need to orgasm burning through her senses even as the need to prolong the deepening pleasure battled side by side with it.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he crooned, the dark sexuality of his voice spurring her pleasure. “Work those pretty nipples. Show me how you want them pleasured while they’re in my mouth.”

Her hips jerked again, twisting in desperation as his finger withdrew. A second later, two returned, broader, hotter, penetrating her with such striking sensations that her body bowed as the rippling spasms of near orgasm shuddered through her.

“Ah, like that, do you, sweetheart? Do you like this?” His fingers twisted, scissored inside her, creating a friction and a pressure that had her fighting to breathe as the fiery lashes of impending ecstasy tore through her.

She twisted, her hips thrusting against him, her head pressing into the mattress, grinding into it as she fought for that one just-right sensation that would trigger her release. Her need for it was a pulsing, burning blaze, growing out of control as it washed through her senses.

“That’s good, baby.” His voice was rougher now, darker. “Let’s see if you like this.”

She was only barely aware of him moving until the rubbing strokes inside her pussy eased.

“Don’t stop.” She couldn’t bear it. “Oh god, Graham, please don’t stop.”

Slowly, the pressure returned, stroking, rubbing, barely moving inside her yet creating a firestorm that blazed through her senses.

It was so good.

It was electric. The pleasure was so intense it bordered pain and she only craved more.

She was begging for more. Thighs spread, her feet dug into the mattress as her fingers roughened her nipples with desperate need. She could feel the perspiration dewing her flesh, feel the slick juices ease past his fingers to spill from the clenched depths of her sex, as fiery sensation erupted over and over again within the sensitive tissue, yet the striking overload of pleasure was never enough to send her into release.

“That’s it, lift that sweet pussy to me,” he crooned as her hips lifted again.

His fingers withdrew.

A desperate cry was tearing from her lips as his fingers impaled her once again just as his lips surrounded the pounding, engorged bud of her clit.

“Graham, it’s so good. So good.” She was panting, fighting for breath as the sensation whipping through her body increased. If it was a firestorm before, it was a conflagration now. Burning, melting through her, building with rapacious intensity.

Flickering strokes of his tongue tormented her clit as it caressed around it, over it. Then it would pause, and rub, just rub, as the fingers buried inside her were rubbing, at the side of the painfully sensitive flesh before resuming the torturous flickering strokes once again.

She felt suspended within a cloud of purely sensual flames. The licking heat burned around her, inside her. It pulsed and throbbed as fingers of electric static struck over her flesh, clenched at her pussy.

When he’d pushed her to the brink of sanity, when the need for release was like sensual talons raking through her senses and her orgasm was like a wave cresting within her, he stopped once again.

“Damn you!” she cried out as his fingers eased back, the callused tips releasing that highly responsive spot they’d found inside her feminine flesh.

Then he kissed her.

His lips settled against her intimate folds and delivered a series of heated kisses. Fierce and heated, his tongue took quick, intimate swipes against the saturated flesh, her juices lying thick and slick upon her flesh.

Greedy, hungry kisses. Suckling, a heavy male groan rasped from his throat as his tongue swiped against her entrance.

Caressing hands stroked her inner thighs, then behind her knees. Lifting her legs, pushing them back, he opened her further to him, revealing the feminine flesh hidden between the folds and allowing his lips and tongue free rein.

In one hard, striking thrust his tongue sank inside the snug muscles of her cunt, flickering there, licking, drawing more of her moisture free to his carnal kiss.

Wild, wicked waves of pleasure crashed over her senses. Drowning, immersed in the electric pleasure whipping over her, Lyrica fought for something to hold on to. Her fists clenched in the blankets. Straining against the pleasure, desperate to fly over the sharp edge, she felt suspended upon the ecstasy building just beyond.

“Graham. Please. Oh god, please, I can’t bear it.” She was whimpering, desperation clawing at her body, tightening it as his caresses moved back to her clit.

His tongue circled with lashing tastes, preparing it for his lips to surround it, to suckle it inside the moist, fiery heat of his mouth.

Two fingers impaled the tightly clenched tissue of her pussy, pushing in, assaulting the tender flesh with waves of burning pleasure. Waves that rolled across, traveled through, and seared the sensitive nerve endings there before surging over her body with increasing heat.

His tongue lashed at her clit, and his mouth suckled the tender bud as his fingers found that place again.

“There!” Her strangled scream came as her feet pressed into the mattress again, her hips lifting to him then stilling, locked into place where the extremity of the sensations was at its height. “There. Oh god. Graham. Let me come. Please, please let me come.”

The caresses inside her shifted, the pressure increasing, the rubbing strokes moving faster, sensation massing, tightening, whipping around her with blinding force as the feeling of electric static intensified. It shot through her body, centered in her womb, infused the sucking heat at her clit, and threw her suddenly, powerfully, into a supernova.

As her release was tearing through her body, she was aware of him moving, quickly positioning himself between her thighs and thrusting, working the heavy width of his erection inside intimate muscles clenched tight, flexing and spasming in rapture.

The impalement pushed the pleasure higher.

The first rush of release rocked through her, then began tossing her higher, each wave of incredible pleasure throwing her from peak to peak in tumbling rolls, giving her no respite from the intensity of it.

His lips surrounded one tightened nipple with hungry demand. His hips moved, the hard length of his cock powering into her with fierce, driving strokes.

Her orgasm exploded around her again, with devastating results. Her senses disintegrated with waves of blinding ecstasy that tore past any shield she may have had against the man who caused it. Tore past, filled her, warmed her where she’d been unaware she was cold, and became a part of her.

A part of her Lyrica knew she would never be free of.

When it was over, she found herself collapsed on the bed, Graham breathing heavily as he lay over her, his heart racing against her breasts. His lips were at her neck, his muscled body as damp with perspiration as hers.

Pleasure like that should never exist, she thought with sudden, blinding knowledge. No woman should ever have her heart, body, and mind so ensnared by a man that walking away from him meant walking away from a pleasure she feared part of her would wither away without.

The whisper of his voice at her ear was nearly drowned out by the racing beat of her heart as it echoed in her ears. She felt his lips moving against her neck, felt the raging regret that filled his voice.

“I’m so sorry.” The words were a brush of sound, barely heard, so quiet that at first she thought she must have imagined the words.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered them again as his hard body settled and relaxed against hers.

Sorry.

He was so sorry.

Because he knew he was going to break her heart?

Why else would he be sorry, but to sense, to know, that in those moments when the pleasure had been at its height that her soul had opened to him as well.

He owned all of her, and he knew it.

And he regretted it.

Because he knew when it was all over, she would just be one of his past flavors. One he’d grown tired of.