Too Wilde to Tame (6 page)

Her bare breasts were crushed against his chest, her knees bracketed his hips, and the urge to possess her in the most elemental way possible overwhelmed him. Tangling his fingers in Mia's soft, thick hair, he held her head in his hands and slanted his mouth across hers in a hot, deep, tongue-tangling kiss.

Then he began to move.

Her hands slid to his shoulders, and her fingers dug into his muscles as he surged into her, again and again, tearing a moan from the back of her throat. His strokes became faster, longer, ruthlessly demanding, and a whole lot primal. With each thrust he felt himself grow harder, thicker, until lust and need collided into white-hot heat and an all-consuming pleasure that threatened to engulf him.

Lost in the rush of sensation, lost in her, he wrenched his mouth from hers, tossed his head back in pure ecstasy, and arched into her one last time, high and hard and infinitely deep. A guttural growl tore from his chest, and his entire body shuddered as he came, harder and stronger than he could ever remember.

His scorching release seemed to go on and on, wringing him dry and leaving him weak and devastated, until he could do nothing else except collapse on top of Mia. He buried his face against her neck, and as he gradually recovered and his mind cleared, he became intimately aware of the woman beneath him—especially the fact that her body wasn't nearly as slack and relaxed as his own. Although he'd just experienced the most explosive orgasm of his life, Mia had not.

Swearing beneath his breath, he moved off her so he was laying by her side and no longer crushing her with his weight. Normally, he enjoyed foreplay. Loved every aspect of it, actually. Making a woman come was just as exciting and pleasurable to him as his own release. Except tonight, with Mia, he hadn't even given her the opportunity to reach her own orgasm. Hadn't even taken the time to make it good for her. He'd been so hot for her, so eager to finally end the sexual tension that had been building for months between them, that he hadn't been able to think beyond his own satisfaction.

Disgusted with himself, he zipped up his jeans and reluctantly glanced over at Mia, expecting to find her glaring at him for being such an insensitive, selfish cad—which was no less than he deserved. Instead, what he saw made him feel as though someone had just sucker punched him in the stomach.

She was lying next to him on her back, just the way he'd left her, with her head turned slightly away from him, eyes closed. If he didn't know better, he would have thought she was sleeping, but he instinctively knew she was giving herself a few private moments to recover from what had just happened between them. Her face was flushed, her breathing still choppy, and she'd draped one arm over her exposed breasts in a belated show of modesty—which was very telling considering she was half-dressed, with her bra bunched beneath her breasts and her skirt hiked around her hips.

It struck him as a pose of self-preservation, a way to protect herself—without even realizing she was doing so.

Finally, her lashes fluttered open and she slowly glanced his way. Her gaze was guarded and her expression was tentative, even a bit uncertain. She looked so damn vulnerable, and that was a term he never would have equated to this woman beside him. No, the sassy, impudent Mia he was familiar with would have shattered the silence with a smartass remark and brushed off the encounter as just another casual, one-night-stand affair.

But this Mia staring at him… oh, Lord, she had the ability to cripple his emotions and make him care. At the moment he had the strong urge to reach out and touch her, gently this time. To smooth away the silky strands of hair that had fallen across her soft cheek. To lean down and kiss her slowly, leisurely, and make love to her with only her needs in mind this time.

That thought reminded him once again of what a self-absorbed lover he'd been, fueling the need to make amends for being so thoughtless with her.

"Mia… I'm sorry," he said, his tone low and rough, though the words alone seemed inadequate.

She stiffened, her gaze suddenly flaring with rebellion. Abruptly, she sat up and tugged the hem of her skirt down her thighs and readjusted her bra so her breasts were covered again. That quickly, her entire demeanor shifted and changed. Gone was that glimpse of insecurity he'd witnessed, and in its place was a spark of defiance that put a wall between them and shut him out.

"You don't owe me an apology, or anything else for that matter," she said, her tone infused with a thread of sarcasm he immediately recognized as a defense tactic. "I'm a big girl, and what we just did was completely consensual."

She thought he was apologizing because he was feeling guilty about what just happened. Oddly enough, he had no regrets—and that was something he refused to analyze too closely at the moment, although he knew he'd eventually have to face that issue at some point. She'd also made it very clear in her comment that she wasn't the type of woman to develop expectations about them, or him, just because they'd slept together.

Now this was the Mia he'd come to know. He found it ironic that he was beginning to realize that her stubborn, too-confident attitude was an act of some kind—a possible way to protect herself and emotions when a situation became too intimate or personal.

As it just had with them.

Exhaling a deep, frustrating breath, he stood up, went to his dresser, and pulled out a clean T-shirt, which he handed to Mia so she didn't have to put her wet top back on. She slipped the shirt over her head and let it fall to her thighs, dwarfing her petite frame. He was just damn grateful it covered her adequately so he didn't have to look at her bare skin and lush curves, which had the potential to distract him from the conversation they needed to have.

She glanced up at him in silent thanks, and as soon as she met his gaze and he had her attention, he spoke what was on his mind. "I'm not apologizing because we had sex," he said, wanting to be sure she understood his stand on that score.

Her expression turned wary and confused. "Then what are you sorry for?"

There was no sugar-coating what he had to say, so he didn't even try. "I didn't exactly give you the chance to come."

Her brows rose in surprise and then the corner of her kiss-swollen mouth quirked in amusement. "I'll spare you your male pride," she said as she stepped around him to the other side of the bed. "I'm not one of those orgasmic kind of women, so don't let it keep you up tonight worrying and wondering. The fact that I didn't have an orgasm wasn't something you did or didn't do."

Stunned by her admission, he turned to stare at her as she picked up The Electric Blue T-shirt she'd worn earlier. "You mean to tell me you've never had an orgasm?"

"Oh, I've had plenty of orgasms, sugar," she drawled, resorting back to the sassy woman he was all too familiar with. "Just not with a guy or during sex."

That made him think of how she did achieve sexual satisfaction—all on her own. It wasn't difficult to imagine Mia pleasuring herself, with intimate caresses, the slow, sweeping strokes of her fingers and her soft, sweet moans. In fact, that particular fantasy dancing in his mind was downright erotic and made him hard all over again.

He shook his head, still trying to comprehend the fact that all her sexual encounters had lacked one crucial element. "I can't believe you've never climaxed during sex."

Her shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug as she slipped on her skimpy panties, as if she'd come to accept the way things were for her. "It just doesn't happen for me that way, and I'm not into faking an orgasm for the sake of a guy's ego, so don't give it a whole lot of thought."

How could he not? He wanted to be that guy who gave her an amazing sexual experience, complete with an earth-shattering orgasm while he was buried deep, deep inside her. He wanted to be the one who took the time to make it so good for her, she'd never settle for less than the ultimate pleasure her body was capable of feeling—pure, unadulterated ecstasy. And if he was lucky, she'd scream his name when she came.

Oh, yeah. Now mat was a fantasy he'd love to make a reality. Except he was certain his erotic daydream would never come to fruition, considering he had no intention of repeating what had happened between them tonight. To do so would be emotional suicide for him, not to mention all the other complications of having an affair with Mia. Mostly, having to explain to her brothers or cousin and his business partner, Steve, that he was having a hot, but temporary, affair with her.

That announcement would certainly go over like a lead balloon, and he'd probably end up castrated by the protective bunch for daring to touch Mia—the baby of the family. It didn't matter that she'd instigated tonight's sexual encounter—they'd expect him to show some restraint, to be the strong one, to resist the temptation Mia had been tossing his way for months. And if that control happened to slip, as it had tonight, they'd expect more out of him than a one-night stand with Mia. Except he didn't see a future with Mia and himself, not when she was so completely opposite of the kind of woman he was looking to spend his life with.

She was reckless, defiant, and trouble just waiting to happen. However, what Cameron couldn't erase from his mind was that unguarded, unplanned glimpse of a more vulnerable side to Mia he'd seen earlier. But he understood this woman well enough to know that she'd never admit to such a weakness.

He watched as she sat down on the edge of the bed to put her shoes back on, and an important thought struck him, one he couldn't dismiss. "Mia… there's something else we need to talk about."

She glanced at him hesitantly, and he couldn't blame her for being cautious after the discussion they'd just had about orgasms.

He pushed his hands into his front jeans pockets, calling himself a hundred kinds of fools for being so careless, but he'd completely lost his head with her and hadn't given a single thought to using a condom. No, that had been the very last thing on his mind. "We didn't use any protection."

She looked away and finished sliding her foot into her heeled shoe. "I appreciate the concern, but we're fine. I'm on the pill."

"Great." He was definitely relieved. The last thing he needed was to worry for the next few weeks about the possibility of Mia being pregnant. He couldn't imagine her settling down into domestic bliss and devoting her time to a husband and a baby, and he was certain such a fate would put a major crimp in her carefree lifestyle. That was obviously why she took her own precautions.

She stood and approached him. Her gaze met his steadily, her features giving nothing away as to what she was really thinking or feeling. "Since we've pretty much established that I'm not drunk, there's no reason for me to stay here and you can take me home."

With that, she walked out of the bedroom, head held high, leaving him to follow behind.

EARLY the next morning, Mia sat at the small drafting table she'd set up in the corner of her bedroom in the apartment she shared with Gina and absently sketched out a design for a new stained-glass project. After last night's escapade with Cameron, she'd woken up feeling tired, emotionally and physically, but mentally inspired, and she always followed her muse when it beckoned.

Besides, other than grocery shopping, she had nothing planned for the day, or the weekend for that matter, which gave her the perfect opportunity to develop the image in her mind on paper, then begin the creation process with stained glass.

During the week, she worked a normal nine-to-five grind as a secretary at the tile company her oldest brother, Scott, along with her other brother, Alex, now operated for their father. Her job at Nolan and Sons provided a steady and reliable paycheck, but this was her dream, and had been for years now.

She longed to set the artist within her completely free and make a name for herself with her unique, custom-made stained-glass designs. And if she was completely honest with the inner child still locked inside her, she ached to use this talent of hers to validate herself as more than just the baby of the Wilde family and to support herself on her own, without having to rely on her brothers or the family business for her income.

Unfortunately, everyone treated her stained-glass art strictly as a hobby and brushed it off as something she did in her spare time or out of boredom. She had to admit they'd never discouraged her artistic flair, but neither had they done anything to cultivate her confidence in marketing her work.

Her family, her father especially, had been relieved when she'd gone off to college. But instead of the business degree everyone had been expecting her to bring home, she'd stunned them all by graduating with a degree in 3D glass-work. Her father and stepmother wrote it off as yet another act of rebellion, one of many since her mother's death when she was five. But to Mia, that degree had been her proudest achievement—an accomplishment that was hers and hers alone and something no one could ever take away from her.

She sighed to herself, wishing all those college courses and techniques she'd learned had been put to better use than making gifts and holiday presents for friends. Foolishly, she'd harbored grand illusions of expanding the family business to incorporate her stained-glass designs in some of the bigger projects and restoration work Nolan and Sons took on, but Scott had shot down the idea. Gently, of course, and in a very placating manner, but the sting of that particular rejection still hurt.

Scott felt there just wasn't a big enough market for her custom stained-glass artwork, which included an array of abstract designs, mosaics, impressions, floral patterns, and Celtic reproductions. She'd made some gorgeous, one-of-a-kind pieces over the years, but obviously none of them had been good enough to elevate her status in the family business.