Pure Dynamite (39 page)

And as much as he didn't want to tell her the truth, he knew she deserved it.

"My old man was the worst kind of drunk. Beginning on my eleventh birthday, I had to take him on, try to whip his ass. Every time I lost, he'd make a notch." Adam ran his fingers over the six marks. "I was a slow learner."

"No one should suffer that."

"As warped as it sounds, I looked forward to it. It was my only opportunity to strike back. I could usually get in at least one good blow before he nailed me. And afterwards, I had a full year to plan. I finally kicked his ass two weeks before I turned seventeen. He never laid a hand on me after that."

Renata closed her eyes. She remembered his mentioning that his mother had abandoned him. What kind of woman left her child to such a fate?

Her hand dropped lower, to the mottled scars that etched his chest and sides. "And this?"

He hesitated. His father had decided one night that Adam looked too much like his mother. And while Adam had been able to keep the acid off his face, he obviously hadn't been able to completely disarm his drunken father.

"Another ugly tale," he whispered. "Best forgotten."

A million questions clamored in Renata's mind, but she quelled them for another time and let her natural instincts take over; her instinctive need to heal.

She eased his shirt off his shoulders, off his arms. Bending close, she pressed kisses across his chest, taking her time, making certain every scar was touched. She felt him shudder as her tongue darted forward, warm and moist, soothing the tense muscles, caressing his flesh with her lips.

When she finished, she straightened. One hand still stroked his chest, while the other strayed lower, stopping at the waistband of his jeans.

"May I touch you? Here?" Her hand hovered.

At his nod, her hand dipped lower, grasping his erection through the fabric, tracing the blatant outline with her fingers.

He groaned in pleasure, but didn’t move to touch her. "Are you sure about this?"

Renata met his eyes. She wasn't sure about a lot of things. Who Adam was. Or when she'd be free. But one question haunted her: What if something happened to him? The thought of never seeing him again tore a hole in her heart.

She had feelings for this man. Whether they were right or wrong, or whether she'd regret them later remained to be seen. So much of this ordeal had been out of her control.

All the more reason that, for now, she wanted to take charge of the one situation she could.

"I'm sure of two things," she whispered. "I... want to touch you again. And I want you to make love to me."

Adam swore. Then apologized. "I'm sorry, but I've never wanted to hear those words so badly in my life."

"Then I'll ask again." She unfastened the top snap of his jeans and eased her fingers inside. "Will you make love to me? Please?"

With a groan he tugged off her clothes. One day, he'd slowly strip her clothing away, savor the sacred act of undressing her. Today, his sanity couldn't handle it.

He lowered his pants, eager to be naked. To feel, to touch. His erection brushed the soft skin of her abdomen, the drag of flesh on flesh so electrifying he nearly climaxed.

He slowed, gathering control. And giving her one last chance to back away—praying she wouldn't take it.

"Are you sure?"

She answered without words, pressing closer, rubbing slightly from side to side. He reveled in the delicious friction; wallowed in the sweetness of her welcome.

She pressed another kiss to his chest, her tongue swirling, devouring the mottled skin. He gritted his teeth against the unfamiliar sensation and emotion it evoked. No one had ever kissed his scars. Made him forget they were there.

He ran his fingers through her hair, marveling at its silky texture. She twisted her head and pressed her lips into the center of his palm. Another jolt shot through him as he caught her gaze. Her eyes were dark with desire. Longing.
She wanted him.

And in that moment he was entranced. He was her captive.

He lifted her into the shower, closed the curtain around them. Then he put a hand on either side of her face and kissed her. It started gently, his lips moving lightly against hers. Her mouth parted. Eager. The kiss deepened and his tongue swept in, tasting her. Encouraging her. She responded, opening her mouth fully.

Adam's world spun. Dizzy, he ended the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. She gulped air, proof she'd been equally affected.

"I could do that forever," he whispered. "Kiss you."

"Me, too. But what about this?" Her hand slid down to his hips, then angled toward his erection.

"Easy, sweet." Adam stopped her. "It's my turn to go first. Remember?"

She blushed.

He chuckled and drew his hands up her sides. Knowing he could touch her freely, openly, was like mainlining an aphrodisiac laced with amphetamines. He felt a violent need to be inside her fully and completely, all at once; to press her against the wall and not stop until every inch of his aching cock was buried deep inside her.

Except it would be all over before it started.
He needed to slow it down.

Grasping her shoulders, he turned her away from him, until she faced the wall. She drew a sharp breath, uncertain. But she didn't stop him. Her trust was humbling.

"Shhhh." He drew wet fingers down her arms, massaging lightly.

"Don't you want—"

"Oh, I
want."
He pulled her back, flat against him, bringing her backside in direct contact with his erection. He rubbed sinuously against her; pressed himself into her lower back. "And I'll
get.
Eventually. For now I just want to enjoy the journey."

"Did you think of this while you were locked up?" she asked. "I mean—"

"I learned not to." His hands were at her waist now, sliding over her smooth skin. "It was hell."

"I can't imagine. But it's over now." She arched backwards, intentionally thrusting against his groin. "So enjoy."

With a growl, Adam cupped her breasts. Being taller, he could see over her shoulders, could watch his fingers massage the twin mounds, kneading, tracing their shape. He circled her nipples, teasing before grasping them. He wanted to taste her. All of her.

He turned her around letting his eyes explore fully before allowing his hands to curve over her breasts again. Beneath his palms, her nipples hardened. He stroked and fondled before catching the tips between thumb and forefinger. He tugged lightly to test her reaction. She drew away ever so slightly, a wordless invitation to increase the pressure. He pinched softly.

She drew another sharp breath, encouraging him. Her eyes fluttered shut as her hips thrust forward slightly. Her responsiveness pleased him. She had sensitive breasts and probably enjoyed extended foreplay. Lucky him.

Adam kissed her again. She opened her mouth fully, welcoming.

He moved to touch her once more, but this time his hand dipped lower, his fingers seeking the dark tangle of curls between her legs. He stroked and petted, spreading her, his way eased by moisture.

"Open your legs," he urged. When she did, he pressed up and in, penetrating her with a single finger. She shuddered as he withdrew part way, stroked back in.

Continuing his play, he withdrew his finger—replaced it with two and gently coaxed them inside her body. Stretching her, preparing her. While she wasn't a virgin, he guessed it had been a while since she'd been with anyone. She was so damn tight—he'd die.

Her breath came in hurried, uneven pants. His thumb swept up, teasing her clitoris. She shifted against his hand, pressing. He responded, caressing her clit again and again, gradually increasing the pressure, the tempo. He watched the expressions play over her face, enthralled.

She stiffened, on the brink of an orgasm. "But we haven't—"

"It's okay," Adam whispered. "To do this."

He quickened the pace, inflaming her. When she tried to hold back, he changed the rhythm, but kept the pressure unrelenting. "Give it up, sweetheart."

With a cry, she came. Her eyes widened, then drifted shut as she pumped her hips against his hand. Lost. When the last tremor subsided, her head lolled to one side.

He waited for her to open her eyes. "I owed you that."

"For last night?" She looked disappointed. "You mean we're even?"

He grinned. "We're even. But we're not finished."

"Oooohhh."

His hand hadn't stopped stroking her. He could feel the tension building within her once more. "Feel good?" he teased.

"Good? You have an ungodly flair for understatement." She grasped his sides and pulled him closer to rub against his erection. "What about you? What about this?"

"This
definitely needs attention, but let's move to the bed first. Making love in a shower is overrated."

He shut off the water and grabbed a towel, running it first over her, then himself, leaving them both more wet than dry. Carrying her to the bed he yanked the covers back with one hand and gently laid her down, making no move to join her.

Renata felt reborn under his scorching gaze. That he liked what he saw made her feel powerful, vanquished her insecurities. Leaving her feeling deliciously feminine. She returned his stare, letting him know she found him every bit as desirable.

"I'll be right back." He straightened and crossed the room.

When he returned he tossed a strip of foil packs on the nightstand. She hadn't even thought of that part, had even tried to get rid of them earlier.

Placing one knee on the bed he bent and kissed her. She felt herself burn. For him. Only him. Not sex. Not satisfaction.
Him.