I Brake For Bad Boys (27 page)

He smoothed the damp curls off her forehead, his own breath shuddering with reaction to the little convulsions pulsing through her body. “You're fine,” he said. “I'm not forcing you. Am I?”

She shook her head, her eyes squeezed shut.

“What is it?” he demanded. “Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head, helpless to explain. “Not exactly.”

His face was rigid. “What do you mean, not exactly?”

“I don't know what I mean!” she said desperately.

He drove into her, letting her feel his anger. “So figure it out.”

She didn't know why he pushed her, where he wanted to take her, what he was trying to force her to admit. But passion overpowered him, too, sweeping away his arrogance and rendering him as helpless, as desperate as she. They gripped each other, and the momentum of their explosion hurtled them unimaginably far. To the far side of fear or anger. Beyond words, beyond thought.

He gathered her into his arms afterward, wordless and trembling. They stared into each other's eyes. Tess tried to speak. An infinitesimal shake of Jonah's head stopped her.

Much later, he disentangled himself, just long enough to dispose of the condom. He slid promptly back into bed and grasped her tightly, as if he needed to assure himself that she was real.

Tess lay in his arms, wide awake, watching the moonlight shimmer on the lake, marveling at this new self that was emerging. Everything she had always taken for granted about herself had been thrown into question. Anything seemed possible.

Jonah's sleeping face seemed younger, innocent and vulnerable. His hand was tucked under his face like a little boy. She lifted the comforter to look at his body. He murmured in protest and rolled onto his back, seeking the lost warmth. She lifted it higher.

He was so beautiful, his broad chest tapering down to a lean, muscular abdomen. The dip and curves and hollows in the muscles of his flanks enticed her. She wanted to stroke them, explore them with her fingers and lips. This was the first time she had seen his penis soft. It was dark and curled up on its nest of hair. She touched it with the tip of her finger. Velvety soft, tender, and vulnerable. She touched the bulge of his scrotum, tracing a barely there caress, as soft as a kiss. Relaxed and vulnerable like this, he didn't intimidate her at all. Nothing stood between her and the impulse to lean forward and take his penis in her hands.

She caressed his balls, following the delicate tracery of veins, marveling at the unexpected fragility of his body. She stroked the graceful lines of his groin, his muscular thighs. Leaned forward to inhale his scent, musky and male, mixed with the smell of sex, of herself. He was already swelling, thickening. Fuller, longer. Quickening in her hand.

He jerked awake with a sharp exclamation, his body rigid with surprise, and stared at her, dazed with sleep. She smiled, and closed her hand around his penis, pulling slowly. “Oh, God,” he said thickly.

She put her finger over her lips. “Shh.”

He reached for her, but she shoved him down without ceremony.

 

 

He had woken up in the middle of one of his favorite adolescent wet dreams. She was a fantasy princess, gorgeous and stacked. All she needed was a little metal armored bikini, like Red Sonja. No, scratch that. To hell with the bikini. She didn't need a damned thing. She was naked. She was perfect. She was heaven.

She slid down his body with voluptuous slowness, licking and kissing him everywhere. She rubbed his cock gently against her silky soft, flushed cheek, kissed him with her lush lips, and then pulled him into her mouth, a warm, liquid, sliding, suckling bliss. She slid her clever little tongue all over the seething tension at the tip of his cock, making him sob with pleasure.

She pushed his legs apart and cuddled up between them, her eyes mysterious pools in the moonlight. She gripped him, a hard, strong grasp as he had shown her, and drew him deep into her mouth.

It was the sweetest, most delicious, explosively exciting thing he had ever felt. Heavenly torture. She lapped at him like a kitten lapping cream, sliding and swirling her tongue. He arched off the bed and cried out, begging her not to stop. But she wasn't stopping. She tried everything that came into her head—deep and slow, hard and fast. Exploring him, putting him through his paces, finding out what made him weep with pleasure, what made him scream.

She settled into a lazy rhythm of suckling bliss. Her other hand crept around his waist and caressed his ass, pulling him even deeper into her mouth. He flung his head back and stared up at the moon, his eyes filling with white light as his orgasm rushed through him, huge and uncontrollable. She let out a surprised sound at the long, wrenching spasm of pleasure. There was an astonished silence.

“Sorry,” he muttered, as soon as he could speak.

She wiped her mouth and kissed his thigh. “What for?”

“I didn't ask if it would be OK. To come in your mouth, I mean. It just, uh, happened,” he said cautiously.

“Don't worry about it,” she murmured. “I think I communicated nonverbally that I had no problem with that.”

He was still panting, dizzy with pleasure. “Do you want me to, uh, get you a glass of water?” he offered.

She reflected for a moment. “That would be nice.”

He scrambled to his feet and stumbled, weak-kneed, to the bathroom. Ran her a glass of water and brought it back to her. “That was amazing,” he said as she drank. “A fantasy come true. Thank you.”

“I liked it,” she said.

“Anytime,” he assured her. “I swear. Anytime.”

He waited until he was sure she was asleep before he dared to close his eyes, but even then, they wouldn't close. He was too dazzled by the blazing moonlight to sleep now. Too astonished by the sweet passion of the mysterious woman in his arms.

He held her close against him and let the shape of the moon burn itself into his sleepless eyes.

She woke up disoriented. Her body felt different. Sore, glowing, strangely alive. The air on her face was cold, but her body was incredibly, wonderfully warm, tangled up in the sleek, powerful limbs of—oh, God. It wasn't a dream. It was Jonah, holding her tightly against him. His muscular chest rose and fell beneath her cheek.

Memories flooded back, of what he had done to her, what she had done in return. She didn't even recognize the woman she had been; wild and desperate, out of control. At his mercy, body and soul. She had never been like that with anyone. Jonah had pried open doors she never knew were there. He had moved her to the core. And if Larry had been able to wreak such havoc with her feelings and her self-esteem, she could not even bear to imagine the damage that Jonah could do.

The mountain was glowing pink with dawn, and the spectacular beauty of it just scared her all the more. Her eyes were wide and hot, and her stomach ached with nameless dread. She jumped nervously as Jonah stirred beneath her and lifted his head. “What?” he said sleepily.

“How did you know I was awake?” she whispered.

“I heard you thinking,” he said grumpily. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” She wiggled out of his arms.

“Bullshit.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled until her back was sealed against the delicious heat of his torso. “You're upset.”

She struggled away from him and sat up. The drawer of the little nightstand was open, a box of condoms torn open, used wrappers discarded on the surface. She covered her hot face with her hands and let out a harsh little laugh. “Condoms everywhere, huh? Living room, dining room, bedroom; do you keep them in every room in the house?”

“What the hell? You're upset because I have condoms?”

“It's not the condoms. It's the thought of being one of a crowd. Do you bring a different woman here every weekend?” She knew she was being bitchy and unreasonable, but the words just flew out.

His body stiffened. “Stop it. That's not fair. I told you that I'm not seeing anyone else, and my past is none of your goddamn business.”

“You are so right.” She scrambled out of bed. “I'll just grab my clothes and be on my way.” She looked around. “Where are my clothes?”

“Scattered all over the living room floor.” He lunged for her, hauling her back against him, and dropped down onto the bed, pulling her onto his lap, against his hot, prominent erection. He grabbed her arms and wrapped them around her waist, clasping her wrists and holding her in a breathless clinch. He pressed his face against the side of her neck. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

She struggled against his tight embrace. “You,” she spat out. “You're the matter with me, Jonah Markham. I want to go, and you're holding onto me like a vise. Let me go, and I'll be fine.”

“No way,” he said. “You're not going anywhere. Not in this mood.”

She twisted around, staring up into his furious eyes. “You can't keep me here against my will.”

“Watch me.”

She went very still in his grasp, appalled. “But that's—”

She squeaked in alarm as he flung himself onto his back, taking her with him. He rolled over so that she was flat on her belly and he was on top of her, covering her. His erection pressed against her bottom, hard and urgent. If he dared, if he even so much as
thought
that he could—panic exploded inside her. She wriggled frantically.

“Jonah,” she said breathlessly. “This isn't right.”

“I've already tried to do the right thing. I did everything you said. I obeyed you to the letter—”

“Oh, sure! Like hell! You totally ravished me. I was not in control for one second,” she said furiously.

“Only when you gave me permission,” he pointed out.

She craned her neck up at him, glaring. “And when did I do that? I do not recall doing that!”

“Bullshit,” he said impatiently. “Sex is messy and complicated. At least good sex. Good sex doesn't follow rules, it follows instinct. And the sex was more than good. It was incredible. I made you come till you fainted. And now you're acting like I'm Jack the Ripper.”

She gasped in outrage. “I did not—”

“So fuck it. If following the rules doesn't earn me any points, then fuck the rules. No more rules, Tess, except for mine.”

She froze beneath him. “You're scaring me now, Jonah.”

He let out a snort of disgust. “Don't be stupid. I would never hurt you. I'm just not going to let you run out on me. I
will . . . not . . . allow it
.”

“Damn it, Jonah—”

“This is just a spasm. It'll pass, and you'll thank me later.”

The calm certainty in his tone sparked a burst of furious strength, and she made one more wrenching effort to throw him off. He shifted, trapping her legs between his and burying his face against her hair.

“Damn, but you're difficult,” he muttered. “All I want to do is kiss you and pet you and tell you how gorgeous you are. I want to make you come again. Then I want to cook you an incredible breakfast. Why won't you just go with it and let me make you feel good?”

She couldn't think of a coherent answer to that. There was no good answer. The pleading tone in his voice confused her, made her heart ache and burn. She was so sick of the constant effort of staying clenched up like a fist. Exhausted from struggling to make it all alone, tired of the constricted feeling in her chest. Jonah was the antithesis of that, with his big, gorgeous body and his voluptuous appetite for pleasure, for laughter, and spontaneous delight. He had sneaked through her guard, and now he utterly refused to yield the ground he had gained. But the real problem was the burning ache of longing.

The real problem was her own reckless, treacherous heart.

To her embarrassment, she dissolved into tears. She pressed her face against the sheet to hide the silent scream of frustration, and sobs tore through her, out of control. A cynical voice in her mind pointed out that if she wanted to definitively scare him away, a good crying jag ought to do the trick. Heaven knew it always worked with Larry.

But Jonah just curled himself over her, nuzzling his face into the curve of her neck and shoulder. Breathing with her.

She cried for everything: for the shame of having disappointed her family, for the embarrassment of disappointing Larry. For how small and inadequate she had come to feel before she'd finally realized that she would never, ever satisfy them, no matter how hard she tried. For the desperation that had spurred her to run away, for the loneliness and the doubts, the hard work and penny-pinching, the effort of trying to build a life on her own, against all advice. It swept through her like a storm, thunder and lightning and a hot rain of tears.

Sometime later, she realized that she had stopped crying. A while ago. Maybe she had even slept for a while. She had cried herself to sleep with a big, live, warm Jonah blanket on top of her. She would have giggled if she had the energy.

Jonah dropped tiny questioning kisses on her neck, like he was afraid of scaring her. His breath was so warm and soft. He took the shell of her ear gently between his teeth and tugged at it. A soft, animal gesture, demanding, insisting, coaxing.

She felt renewed, reborn. Clear and light, but shivering, like she could melt into tears again at any moment. Full of light that flickered and changed with every breath, every thought. Her face buzzed with energy, as if electricity were running through it. She pressed her damp face on the sheet. “I need a Kleenex,” she said soggily.

He reached out, and presented her with a Kleenex.

“I need my hand,” she informed him. “To blow my nose.”

They gazed at each other for a long, doubtful moment, and he let go of one of her hands, and watched her blow her nose.

“Are you OK now?” he ventured.

She made a little jerking motion that would have been a shrug if she hadn't been pinned to the bed. “I think so,” she murmured.

He slid some of his weight to the side and stroked his hand very slowly, very tenderly over her hip. “So it wouldn't be a profound insult to your person if I did . . . this?” His fingers tangled tenderly into the thatch of ringlets between her legs.

She felt so shaky and melted and soft that her body was almost unbearably sensitive, but his touch was tender and unerring. She made a tiny, whispery little sound in the back of her throat and slowly parted her legs for him, letting him seek her pleasure.

And he found it. The rush of liquid heat was almost immediate. She clenched her trembling thighs around his hand. “You're taking advantage of my shaky emotional state,” she accused him.

“With you, I'd better take every advantage I can get.”

She laughed at him, and closed her eyes, squeezing her face against the crumpled sheets when the laughter started to blend into tears. She was so shaky and vulnerable, she felt like she were inside out. Every brushing touch, every kiss had a shocking, crackling intensity that shot through her whole body, jacking up the heavy yearning between her thighs into something hot and desperate.

She arched her back for him, opening wider and moving against his hand in silent pleading as he prepared her, spreading her slick juices across her vulva. She heard the tiny rip of the condom packet he was opening, the time it took to roll it over himself, and he slid his arm below her hips, raising her bottom. And then the relentless push and surge of his heat and hardness, sliding into her. Part of her.

 

 

He slowed down at the breathless sound she made, but he couldn't stop. He knew instinctively that if she bolted now, he would never pin her down again. And everything depended on keeping her here with him. He hoped he hadn't misjudged everything, ruined everything, but his sleep-fuddled wit failed him to think of any way other than seduction to soothe and persuade her.

The dawn revealed a whole array of new little perfect details, the pattern of scattered moles that set off the opalescent paleness of her skin, the sweet little dimples at the top of her buttocks. His breath caught in his lungs. She was the sexiest thing he had ever seen, the sensual curve and arch of her back, that round, rosy, gorgeous ass all spread out for him, the tight, glistening pink lips of her cunt clasping him, caressing him. Arching silently up, asking for more.

He settled into a deep, pounding rhythm, following the cues she gave him, the pulsing of her bottom as she jerked up to meet him, the rough sobbing of her breath. He curved himself over her so he could kiss her shoulders, her back, nuzzle her hair as he surged into her.

She twisted around, her eyes dewy and huge. “Jonah, wait.”

Icy panic sped through his veins. He'd read the cues wrong, he'd committed the unforgivable sin, he was an unredeemable jerk.

He clasped her bottom in his hands and withdrew from her immediately. “What? Did I hurt you?”

She twisted around, and shook her head. “I just want to be able to move a little more. Can we change positions?”

Relief made him dizzy. “Hell, yes. Any position you want.”

She scrambled up onto her knees. She had him right where she wanted him, if she only knew it. A panting puppy, desperate to please, terrified of making a mistake. She pushed him down onto his back and straddled him. He blinked, astonished, up into her cautious little smile.

“I'd like to try it this way,” she said. “Is that OK with you?”

“Are you kidding? Anything is OK with me. Anything at all,” he said shakily. From his position below, her luscious tits were full and enticing. He cupped them in his hands with a moan of delight. The plump heft of them, the tickle of her puckered nipples against his palms. Heaven.

He tried to be patient and let her figure out the mechanics of it, but she was adorably awkward and slow to find the right angle. It was driving him crazy. He gripped her hips, lifting her until he could nudge his stiff cock slowly inside her. He groaned in an agony of pleasure at the resistance of her tight, hot sheath as it clasped him, accepting him with tantalizing slowness. She slid down the length of his shaft, inch by delicious inch, eyes wide with discovery.

She braced her hands against his chest and began hesitantly to move, and he soon saw the realization dawning in her eyes, the hot flush of excitement as she shifted herself, rubbing against him with a purring moan of pleasure. She closed her eyes and flung her head back, and her hips pulsed faster and faster against him. It was so beautiful, and it squeezed his heart; it made everything inside him shake apart into a rushing torrent that swept them both away.

When he opened his eyes, he realized that she was crying again. But he could hardly object, since he was trembling on the brink of it himself. His throat was quivering, and his lungs hitched and shuddered dangerously when he tried to pull in a deep breath. He cuddled her and stared at the ceiling. “This is not normal,” he blurted.

She snuggled against his neck. “Hmm? What's not normal?”

“For sex to be this good,” he admitted. “I don't know about you, but this is not normal for me. I mean, I always like it fine. What's not to like? But it doesn't usually—” He stopped and shook his head, wishing he'd kept his big mouth shut.

She pushed herself up onto her elbow. “Doesn't what?”

“Blow my mind. Leave me all scared and humble and shaky.”

She smiled. Her eyes were full of perfect understanding. “Like you've been run over by a herd of stampeding buffalo?”

He winced. “Ouch. I wasn't that rough, was I?”

“I meant that in a good way,” she assured him.