Shameless Playboy (20 page)

 
          
“Wait,”
she whispered, pulling away. She shifted against him and then lifted shaky hands
to his shoulders to push his shirt off, so that when she pressed back against
him they were skin to skin.

 
          
Yes
. So hot. So soft. So perfect.

 
          
He
was delirious. He wanted more. And then still more.

 
          
Growing
impatient, he swung her around and then rolled her under him in a swift, simple
move. She blinked up at him, her chocolate-brown eyes molten with passion, her
generous mouth faintly damp from his.

 
          
“You
are not letting me take control of this,” she scolded him through lips swollen
from his kisses, her breasts full against his chest, the taut peaks sending
pinpricks of desire shooting through him, straight to his hardness.

 
          
“No,”
he agreed, his voice rough with desire. “I am not.”

 
          
He
propped himself up on one elbow, then traced a lazy pattern down her torso with
his hand, stopping to worship each breast in turn. He continued on to her
navel, testing that shallow valley, before he reached the waistband of her
jeans. He had them unbuttoned and unzipped in a heartbeat, and she let out a
shaky laugh.

 
          
He
tested the upper edge of her lacy panties, pulling slightly on the elastic that
held them in place. She let out a slight moan, her legs moving restlessly
against the coverlet. He looked down at her, smiled—then slid his hand beneath
the lace, to hold her wet heat in his hand.

 
          
She
gasped and shuddered, bucking her hips against his palm, her eyes drifting
closed. She was so wet, so soft, deliciously, meltingly hot. She burned into
him, making him sweat. Yearn.
Need
.

 
          
Soon
, he told himself.
So very soon
.

 
          
“Are
you sure?” he taunted her gently, his fingers learning her most intimate
secrets, stroking her silken folds, then pressing inside. “I know you had some
doubts, did you not?”

 
          
She
made an incoherent noise, her head moving against the bed linens, her hips
meeting his hand, matching him stroke for delicious stroke.

 
          
He
wanted more. God help her, he wanted everything. He’d forgotten why. He only
wanted.

 
          
“I
want you to come,” he whispered, his mouth against her ear, delighting in her
long, slow shudder, the way her hand speared into his hair, holding him as he
held her.

 
          
He
used one hand deep in her heat, his fingers moving to an age-old rhythm within
her, and his mouth bold and demanding against her breast. One breath, another.
Her head tossed back and forth against the pillows while her body tightened,
her back arching and her hands curling into fists.

 
          
“Now,
Grace,” he whispered, moving to her other breast and circling the nipple with
his tongue. “Now.”

 
          
One
tug on her nipple with his mouth, one hard rocking motion against her molten
femininity with the palm of his hand, and she convulsed around him, shattering
into pieces, her face flooding red and her mouth parting on a long, high sob.

 
          
She
was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.
His
.

 
          
And
he was only getting started.

 
          
GRACE
barely had time to breathe, and no time to compose herself, before Lucas sat up
and stripped her boots, jeans and panties from her body with more of that
consummate skill that should have worried her deeply, but instead made her
thighs clench against another thrilling wave of desire.

 
          
He
removed the rest of his own clothes as quickly and then moved back over her as
she lay, shattered, on the bed. Her heart was still pounding too hard, her
breath still uneven.

 
          
She
was supposed to be the one in control! She was supposed to be the one leaving
him this undone!

 
          
“Lucas,”
she began, not knowing what she might say. Not knowing where or how to begin.
Not even recognizing the sound of her own voice.

 
          
“Shh,”
he replied, and then he moved down the length of her body to rest between her
legs. He slid his strong arms beneath her hips, and before she had time to
react, to take back the lead and use it, he lifted her and settled his mouth
against the hot core of her.

 
          
Passion
exploded inside of her, a white-hot, searing heat that blanked out her plans,
her fears. He licked her, teased her, took her—his mouth more wicked, more
clever, more confident.

 
          
She
arched against him, into him, as he kept her anchored beneath him, his mouth
glued to her heat. She heard her own voice, moaning wordless sounds of desire,
of pleasure, of ecstasy, as if from far away. Her breath came in hard, shallow
pants, and she could not quite catch it, she could not calm down. And still he
built that fire, stoking the flames with every swirl of his tongue, pushing her
higher and higher until she toppled over the edge and dissolved all around him.

 
          
When
she came back to herself, he was braced above her, surrounding her, his wide
shoulders blocking out the world. She felt turned inside out, exposed, made
more vulnerable than she had ever been before. She did not know if she wanted
to burst into tears—or kiss him.

 
          
“Pay
attention, Grace,” he murmured, amusement and passion in his low voice, bringing
himself down against her chest, his skin like hot satin over steel, rubbing
against her taut breasts, making her sigh as the aftershocks still rolled
through her.

 
          
And
then he thrust inside of her.

 
          
Grace
felt the leftover pleasure from her last climax coalesce and shiver through
her, kicking into her as he began to move, slow and sure, building her up again
when she would have thought she was more than sated.

 
          
Lucas
rolled over, keeping himself deep inside of her, but bringing her on top of
him. Dazed, Grace could only stare down at him for a moment.

 
          
“I
thought you wanted control,” he said, pressing kisses to her jaw, the corner of
her mouth, her neck. “By all means, take it.”

 
          
“Your
concept of control is a bit more elastic than I’d intended,” she said, amazed
that she could speak at all—astounded that she could hang words together, no
matter how breathless her voice sounded.

 
          
He
laughed, and she felt it inside of her, as deep as he was. She felt it radiate
through her, pleasure coursing outward from where they were joined, lighting
her up from within.

 
          
“I
don’t much care for boundaries,” he said, pushing her hair back from her face,
teasing her lower lip with his teeth. “Unless I set them.”

 
          
He
was so hot and hard within her, so uncompromisingly male, and Grace felt
suddenly restless, urgent. Unbelievably, she felt that tightening, that coiling
desire, begin to pull taut inside her all over again. All that mattered was
that feeling. She sat back, settling herself against him. Then she rolled her hips
into a slow, steady pace and watched his eyes go dark with passion, reveling in
the power she had over him just as surely as he could wield it over her.

 
          
But
she didn’t care about the power. Not anymore. Not after what had just happened
between them. She knew she should care about that, but she shoved it aside. She
cared only about the pleasure, about the slick slide of their bodies, the
thrust and the pull that made her feel wild, insatiable. She forgot about the
photos, forgot about the past and the pain, forgot about the lessons she’d
decided she’d teach him. The truth was his hard length within her, his wild
hands on her flesh. The truth was she wanted him with a desperation that should
have terrified her, but instead made her yearning all the more intense. She was
more hungry for him than she had ever been for anyone. Than she had ever
imagined it was possible to be.

 
          
She
was too hungry for him to protect herself. Perhaps she had known that from the
start.

 
          
At
a certain point, his hands gripped her hips, and Grace could no longer think,
she could only feel. And when she shattered one more time, he spurred her on,
his thrusts wild and urgent until he, too, fell over the edge.

 
          
She
thought he even called her name.

 
          
Lucas
knew how he was supposed to act. Smoldering, arch, easy. Hadn’t he played the
role a thousand times? He knew how to perfect the postcoital scene. He knew how
to make a woman who had just bedded him feel like a queen, as if she’d never
made a better decision in her life. He knew how to leave them wanting more.

 
          
But
none of them were Grace.

 
          
Outside,
the night had long since fallen, casting the room in shadows. Only the lamp on
the antique desk shed any light, and it was the barest halo, yellow against the
gloom.

 
          
He
was still deep inside of her. She was still sprawled over his chest.

 
          
He
had no idea why he felt a great sense of melancholy when he considered his next
move, almost as disconcerting as the unusual sense of well-being that washed
over him when he did no more than hold her and breathe.

 
          
So
much for the exorcism.

 
          
She
stirred. He had the strangest urge to pretend he was asleep, to keep her there
against him, the perfect, soft weight of her holding him down, as if she
anchored him to the world, to herself. But instead, he let her move away from
him and disposed of the condom as she pulled herself to her feet on the
opposite side of the wide bed.

 
          
She
looked over her shoulder at him, thoroughly disheveled, and he felt a fierce
stab of a kind of pride. Her hair was a wild cloud around her face, her lips
still slightly swollen, her eyes not entirely focused.

 
          
“I
am going to shower,” she said, her voice still rough from passion. There was
something awkward in the way she held herself, something uneasy. She did not
quite meet his gaze, and he knew as she pulled an arm around herself that she
felt the heaviness, the weight, that hung there between them.

 
          
He
was a master at this scene. He should have sorted it out already, made her
laugh, flattered her and teased her into pleased satiation. But his happy
manners, his notorious charm, seemed to have deserted him completely.

 
          
“Grace.”
He did not know why he said her name like that, why he felt it reverberate
through him, why he wanted to reach for her for no reason at all but to hold
her close. To stay in this moment, not to let it go. He did not know why every
part of him felt that could be disastrous to move forward, to keep going.

 
          
To
admit that he was back in Wolfstone, with all that entailed.

 
          
He
was descending into melodrama, and she was not even looking at him.

 
          
“Why
don’t you order room service?” she asked lightly, her tone not fooling him at
all. But what could he do when he was not even sure what held him in this odd,
tight grip around his chest? “We could use some food, I think.”

 
          
And
then he watched her walk across the room to disappear into the en suite
bathroom, naked and more beautiful than any woman ought to be, her head held
high and regal, the culmination of fantasies he hadn’t even known he’d had.