She nodded, her fingers at the button of his shorts already, and he thought he was going to explode. His insides burned with the need to take her, possess her, dominate her, because, Jesus, she drove him fucking crazy.
He reached for her even as she began to sink to her knees in front of him, and he hauled her back up. She tried to swat his hands away. “No,” she whispered, pushing against his arms, trying to get back to his shorts.
They tussled there for a moment, her trying to get to his cock, him trying to get her on her back on the bed, and the frenzy of hunger and excitement built in him to a fever pitch. “Samara.” His voice was a hiss. “Stop.”
“I want to—”
“Shhh.” Christ, no. It was not going to play out like that. She was seducing him and while it was a relief to not have to fight his urgent lust for her, and while he was glad he knew she wanted this with a desperation that matched his own, he wanted her to know that he wanted her that much too.
They both wanted it. Right now, right here, hard and fast and unbearably hot. But he wanted no doubt in Samara’s mind, wanted it absolutely, unequivocally clear to her that he was doing this of his own free will.
Their hands grabbed at each other, and finally, he just used his strength and held both her hands behind her back with one of his, took her knees out from under her with one leg and sent her to the mattress. He fell on top of her, his weight holding her in place, their hands still trapped behind her back. She made a noise, and he shushed her again, putting his other hand over her mouth.
She lay there, wide-eyed and panting, his hand covering her mouth, their hearts pounding against each other. “Be quiet.” The words squeezed out between his teeth. She gave a jerky nod, and he removed his hand and replaced it with his mouth, taking hers in a hot, hard, demanding kiss.
She kissed him back, and her body quivered beneath his. She was just as turned on as he was, and although he’d never even dreamt that he’d be so turned on by a little domination, the flames shooting up inside him told him he was. Unbearably, agonizingly aroused. It was her. She got him so wound up he couldn’t think, could only feel.
His body burned for her, and he let his weight sink into hers, pressing her into the soft mattress. With his free hand, he cupped her breast through her dress and squeezed. A small moan sounded in her throat. It was okay. Only he could hear that.
He kissed her until they were both gasping for breath. He released her hands and dragged his out from beneath her then pulled the straps of the cotton dress she wore down her shoulders to free her breasts. His dick surged at the sight of them, perfect round mounds of softness, tipped with sharp little nipples that begged to be sucked.
So he did.
Shifting his body, he lowered his head and took one nipple in his mouth. He ran his tongue over it, loving the velvety texture of her skin, the sweet warm taste of her. He sucked then sucked harder, bringing a gasp from her, and her fingers slid into his hair and tightened. He scraped his teeth across the puckered tip, and she writhed beneath him, yanking on his hair.
“Yes.” The word was a breath, feather light, barely audible. “Oh, yesssss.”
He moved to the other breast, using his fingers to tease the damp one he’d left, and played there until the need spearing his balls was almost unbearable.
He kissed his way down her tummy, pushing the dress as he went, hoping like hell it would go over her hips. It did, the stretchy top giving way and leaving her beneath him in only a pair of gold lace boy shorts, almost the same color as her pale golden skin.
“Are you wet, Samara?” He murmured the words against the sensitive flesh just above the lace.
“Oh, god. Yes.”
“Let me see.” He slipped his fingers beneath lace to satiny flesh. Her pussy radiated heat, and he longed to pause there, just holding her, so sweet and tiny and soft, pulsing against him, but he was desperate to be inside her. He slipped his fingers into the folds and found silky moisture, oh god, so much moisture. She was ready.
He stripped the panties off over smooth, slender thighs, tossing them who knew where, and fumbled at his shorts to get his cock out. Not even bothering to take his clothes off, he pulled a condom out of his pocket, rolled it on, moved over her, and thrust into her hard.
She made another choked noise, this one louder, and he hissed, “Sorry.”
She covered her own mouth this time, parting her thighs to let him in as he pushed into her, her other hand gripping his biceps.
“Ah, fuck, Samara.” He tried to whisper the words because he couldn’t hold them in. “You feel so good. So goddamn good, hot and tight and wet around me.”
She just blinked up at him, swallowed, and met his thrusts with her own hips lifting as he pounded into her hard, fast, desperate. Small whimpery noises escaped both of them as they tried to be quiet as they fought for release. Bodies straining together, their soft sounds of desperation mingled with the slap of flesh against flesh.
Travis swallowed the harsh groan that rose to his lips as sensation sizzled from the base of his spine outward to his toes and fingers and his brain. He labored for breath, gritting his teeth. Then he went still, holding her hips as heat exploded and rushed through his body, and he poured himself into her in long hard jets. His head went back, jaw aching, eyes closed as he emptied himself into her body.
His need had been so urgent, so overpowering, he only vaguely realized he hadn’t made sure she came too, but then she did, rippling and pulsing around him. Her tiny whimpers filled the silent room, her fingers digging into him, and he managed to tear his eyes open and watch her face as she came, hips lifting against his.
He held himself in place, his chest burning, body tight, giving her the pressure she needed to push against. When she stilled, he collapsed over her then shifted to the side and tugged her with him. His hand went to her head, cupped the back of it, and pulled her face against his chest.
“Jesus,” he gasped. “Jesus, Samara.”
Her head moved in what might have been a nod, their harsh breathing the only sound. Sweat dampened his face and his T-shirt. He was still dressed. Hell.
He got rid of the condom, climbed back into bed with her, and pulled her into his arms. There was no stopping the tsunami of emotions that raged between them. Whatever the hell those emotions were, there were so many. He wasn’t even sure if he could name them all—good ones, bad ones, confusing ones.
He stroked a hand down her bare back, loving the sweep of smooth skin and how it curved into her delectable ass. This wasn’t how it should be. He’d wanted to take his time with her. Explore her. Taste her. Inhale her.
He hadn’t even taken his clothes off, for fuck’s sake.
He’d been brutal, hard, fast and selfish. He might even have hurt her.
He should leave. Go to his own room. His heart thudded against his ribs, waiting for her to push herself away from him, to kick him out.
“That was insane,” she mumbled against him.
In more ways than one. His gut seized with guilt. Again. What the fuck was he doing here? Guilt slammed into him like an ocean wave on a bad surfing day, in spite of himself. What the fuck had they just done?
Chapter Twelve
Well, it was done. She’d finally gotten what she’d wanted seven years ago. And all she could think was...wow. She hid her face against him, hoping he wasn’t going to be all moral and apologetic.
The last time he’d rejected her, he’d broken her teenage heart. Now, seven years later, it was clear to Samara that the feelings she’d had for him had not just been a girlish crush. Seven years later, those feelings were stronger and more intense than ever. She’d thought she’d gotten over him, but now she knew—she really hadn’t.