A Hint of Scandal (14 page)

She couldn’t let him walk away.

She inched forward and pressed her mouth to the corner of his. Heat blasted inside her, every inch of her seeking, crying for his touch, for his caresses.

His hands moved to her shoulders, but he didn’t press her toward him, or touch her except to anchor her. In fact, after a couple of seconds, she realized he wasn’t even kissing her. He just stilled, his heart racing under her fingers, a shudder coursing through him. And he wouldn’t kiss her unless she asked him now, unless she made a decision.

The scent of him beneath his cologne sent a wave of longing through her.

She pressed her mouth to his, fully this time. His lips were hard and soft at the same time, sending a sweeping roar of longing through her. His powerful body racked as a shudder went through him. “Please don’t go, Alexander.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

H
IS
HAND
SNAKED
around her nape, into her hair and pulled her close, while the other cupped her cheek. “You’re going to make this as hard as possible, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

His hands traveled up her arms, his fingers moving over her skin in mesmerizing circles, as if he couldn’t help it after holding back for so long. She trembled all over when his hands reached her shoulders, and pressed slightly. The thin material of her tee was no barrier to the heat gliding from his touch to her skin. His long fingers moved to her neck, tilted her head up to meet his gaze.

She moved her hands to his chest, encountering hard muscle that sent jolts of awareness through her fingers. His heart rumbled under her hands.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, sliding his hot mouth over her jaw, to the pulse at her neck. She shivered as he licked her skin. He pulled back and stood at the edge of the bed, his gaze never wavering from her.

He tugged his tie loose, and yanked it away. “Take off that T-shirt.”

She froze at the raw desire in his tone, his hoarse command setting her skin ablaze with need. There was a razor-edged calm to his movements, a dark shadow in his gaze, as if he didn’t give a damn anymore, as if, now that they were giving into it, there was no need even for the facade of control, for the veil of restraint.

It terrified her and aroused her at the same time.

His fingers worked feverishly on the buttons of his shirt. He chucked it off, his lean, tightly muscled chest stealing the remaining air from her lungs. She watched him, her mouth dry, unable to move, unable to speak, the taut rippling of his chest muscles as his hands moved to his trousers, and stilled as his gaze took in her frozen stance. “You have five seconds to change your mind, Liv.”

Her nipples hardened, the soft cotton of her tee chafing against them. She shook her head, enjoying the sight of him too much to even muster a response. His gaze never moved from her, as he rid himself of his trousers and boxer shorts.

She didn’t turn away, she didn’t even blink, she couldn’t if her life depended on it. Broad shoulders narrowed down to a lean waist and leaner hips. A smattering of dark hair disappeared into a line down his washboard stomach. Even the muscles at his groin were well formed, sending a blaze of heat over her.

She licked her lips, and his erection, thick and jutting up, twitched at the innocent movement. Her breaths came hard and fast, dampness pooled at her core. She needed to touch him. She extended a shaky hand toward him as he reached the bed. Her fingers grazed the velvety hardness of his shaft but he stopped her, his fingers wrapping around her wrist.

“No.”

With that word, he grabbed her hands and hitched them over her head. And then he climbed into the bed, looming over her like a dark shadow, pressing her into the bed. Her bed creaked under his weight. The meager light from the overhead bulb threw the hard planes of his face into sharp relief.

She wanted to protest, wanted to say something as he pushed her back. But then he slid his huge body, a hard wall of heat, over hers, until he covered every inch of her, just as he’d said. Their mingled moans rent the air. Her breasts were crushed against the solid wall of his chest, his erection skimmed her belly and his rock-hard thighs cradled her groin. The most delicious feeling crept into her already sluggish blood.

He raised his head and met her gaze, something flickering in it. She felt a curious urge to shy her gaze away from him, never having mastered the art of hiding her feelings. She felt naked, devoid of armor, a curious vulnerability she had never experienced before. His free hand moved, palm downward, drawing a path upward over the thin material of her tee, touching, not touching, throwing her headlong into a spiral of need.

She panted, fighting for breath as he buried his face at the base of her neck and inhaled deeply. Her tummy rolled on itself as he licked the spot, her fingers threading around his biceps. She wanted to pull him to her, she wanted to touch him, wanted him to touch her properly—all the achy, needy places crying for his attention, yet she couldn’t get her arms to understand her intent.

She felt his mouth curve against her skin, his hot openmouthed kiss singeing her flesh. She shivered all over. He shifted his weight a little to the side. “Of all the times to be scared, now, Liv?”

She moaned as he tugged her tee off one shoulder and sank his teeth into her flesh. She inched her fingers over his nape, into his hair and tugged his face up. The tendons in his neck stood to attention, the angles of his cheekbones jutting out. “I’m fine.”

“Good, because I can’t do this slowly.”

His voice sounded drugged, so unlike him that she stared at him, whatever she had been thinking a forgotten mist in her head. He rolled her tee up, color bleeding into his cheekbones with each inch of her flesh he uncovered. Her skin, in turn, tingled with sensation, prickled with need. His hands faltered for a split second when he inched the cotton over her breasts, his gaze riveted to them. And then he pulled the tee over her head. Before she could blink, he tugged her panties down over her boneless legs.

“Protection?”

With his stubble grazing the side of her breast, it took her a second to grasp his meaning. She wanted to squeeze her legs together, but he lay in between them, his erection a hard, pulsing weight rubbing against her groin. “Pill,” she answered, glad that she didn’t have to say more than one word.

“Perfect, because I need to be—” he pulled at her ankle and placed her leg over his shoulder, his erection rubbed against her core and she groaned restlessly, her skin too tight, too hot to bear “—inside you
now.
”

Balancing his weight on his elbows, he entered her in one deep thrust. Their combined moans, guttural and needy, shook the air as he filled her completely. A sense of utter completion filled her as he laid his face in the crook of her neck, his breaths coming hard and fast, his chest crushing her breasts. His stubble was rough against her skin, his muscles hard against hers. His shoulders were like a steel wall under her fingers. Yet it felt painfully good, beyond anything she’d imagined.

She opened her eyes and froze at the stark beauty of the man. Every muscle in his body, from his spectacular face to the lean strength of his shoulders, looked as if it was carved from granite, a study in masculine perfection. He rose above her, his weight on his elbows, his back arched, every muscle, every sinew stretched with tension. “I can’t not move,” he muttered, a depth of regret in his gaze.

With that hoarse statement, he pulled out all the way, slowly, letting her feel every inch of him, and thrust back into her with a force that would have sent her to the top of the bed if he hadn’t held her anchored to him, exactly where he needed her to be.

She cried out, at the friction, at the hot quiver of her muscles, at the ache slowly building up over her lower belly, at the need spiraling inside her as he repeated the action. His pelvis rocked against hers with each thrust, pushing her a little higher on the bed. His movements were rough, fast, her cheap bed creaking every time he moved.

And it was exactly what she wanted from him. Because he had thrown off the last vestiges of control, because he was giving into what he wanted and it was the Alexander she loved, the Alexander she wanted.

She raised her bottom and met him halfway on his next thrust, sensation upon sensation piling upon her, every nerve ending blasted into a higher plane where only pleasure existed. He cursed, long and hard, drops of sweat beading his forehead, a delicious tension in every inch of him.

She moaned, the sound clawing its way up her throat, as he rubbed the pad of his palm over her cleft, almost-painful pleasure splintering into a thousand fragments within her, the muscles of her core contracting and expanding, her body jumping out of her frayed skin. She dug her nails into his back as he thrust deeper and harder one last time, his body a taut wire. And then he was shuddering, his grunt, guttural and hoarse, as he spilled into her and collapsed over her.

He was crushing her, her breathing already fractured and uneven. But she couldn’t protest, couldn’t even say a word. It felt so good to be lying beneath him, it hurt so much that he would walk away from this that she felt a dark void of pain open up in her gut. She shut her eyes, scared that he would see too much.

Slowly, he shifted away from her. Olivia fisted her hands into the sheets. It was either that or grab him with both hands so that he couldn’t move away from her.

But he didn’t.

He moved to the side on her tiny bed and tugged her closer when she’d have shuffled away. He pulled the throw over them, encasing them in warmth. But nothing could take away the chill that had already seeped into her blood. “Liv,” he said, pushing away her sweat-slicked hair from her forehead, a tremor coloring his voice like she’d never heard before, “please, look at me.”

Olivia opened her eyes. A hint of uncertainty gleamed in the depths of his eyes. “Are you okay? I didn’t—”

Her smile cost her more effort than anything else. She didn’t want his gentleness, that was the one thing that would break the wave of mounting grief she was holding inside. “I’m perfectly fine.”

He dipped his mouth toward her and crushed her lips to his, as if he couldn’t get close enough. The feel and taste of his mouth pervaded into her blood. He touched his forehead to hers, his breath mingling with hers. A bleakness she’d never seen before entered his gaze. “You see what I am when I’m with you.” His sigh shook her. “I’ve never taken a woman like that, Liv, without foreplay, so roughly, so selfishly, as though nothing mattered except possession.”

Olivia moved her hands over his, leaning in when he kissed her palm. She ran her hands over his chest, greedy for contact, raking a finger over a hard nipple. “You did nothing I didn’t want, Alexander.”

She wanted to tell him that she didn’t care, but the words froze on her lips.

He wore no mask, he was at the mercy of his needs, desires, he didn’t or couldn’t erect a wall around his emotions when he was with her. He was not the perfect man the world thought him. He lost control, he hurt and he was someone who needed her as much as she needed him, even if he didn’t admit that.

But the realization warmed and chilled her blood. Because whatever made this thing between them so real, so good, was also what was going to keep him away from her. Because Alexander was never going to embrace the part of him that felt, that hurt, the part that he had suppressed to survive. And she was fooling herself if she thought she could change that.

Tears stung behind her eyes, but she forced them back. She pressed her mouth to his jaw and dragged it toward his mouth. She bit his lower lip, and he moaned. The sound sent a tingle straight to her core. Tomorrow was going to come soon enough. Tonight, she didn’t want to think. “Now, please...”

The words trailed away from her mouth as he snuck his hand between their bodies, and pressed a finger into her core, while his thumb rubbed her clitoris in mind numbing circles. “Please, what?”

She threw her head back and groaned, coils of sensation gripping her lower belly again. She moved her hands over his torso, and snuggled a little closer. “I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to think. Just do something, anything.”

Plunging his hands into her hair, he tugged her upward, and plundered her mouth. He didn’t wait to be invited into her mouth this time, sucking and biting her lips. He tugged her lower lip between his teeth and pressed his advantage when she gasped. She met him, move to move, until their mouths were fused together, biting, sucking, licking. And she still didn’t get enough.

He dragged his mouth to her neck, his breathing harsh, while his hands roamed hungrily over her midriff. “This time I’m taking it slow even if it kills me.” He tracked a trail of kisses to her ear. “What would you like me to do next, Liv?”

With her hands in his hair, she tugged his head back, until they were both staring into each other’s eyes, the sound of their fractured breathing buffeting them. “Touch my breasts, please. I will die if you don’t.”

It was all the persuasion Alexander needed. He cupped her breasts, molding them with his hands, running the pads of his thumbs over their hard peaks. He flicked one swollen pink peak with the tip of his finger, and she pushed herself into his touch with a strangled moan. He pushed the words out through a dry mouth, the sight of his dark fingers on her pink nipples incredibly erotic. “You have the sexiest nipples. Pink, and tight and ripe, just begging to be sucked. Would you like that, Liv?”

She nodded frantically, and Alexander smiled. “Yes. And I’ll kill you if you stop now.”

He wrapped his hands at her waist, bent his head and pulled one hard tip into his mouth, and sucked.

Olivia bucked against his hands, an arrow of sensation zooming straight through to her core. She thrust her hands into his hair and held on tight as he shifted his attention to the other breast and suckled at it. Her guttural moan echoed around them when he tugged the nipple with his teeth. Need clawed inside her skin. She moved closer to him, needing more, the ache between her legs intensifying with every pull of his wicked mouth.

“Turn around,” he ordered and she meekly did. She was putty in his hands and she had no intention or strength to resist.

He dropped a kiss between her shoulders, and she shivered. He held her hands over them with one hand, while the other one drew a line down her spine, followed by his hot mouth and erotic tongue. He reached the indent above her buttocks and stopped. The mattress groaned as he shifted to switch on the bedside lamp, still holding her down. Only then did she realize that he was staring at her tattoo.

She turned her head sideways, trying to get a look at him.

A strip of color darkened his cheeks. Silence enveloped them as he ran the pad of his thumb over the butterfly tattoo, up and down, sending little sparks of need shooting through to the aching, wet spot between her legs, making her weak-kneed.