His words turned all her swirling anticipation hot and dangerous. The nickname suited her, for once, because she felt recklessly out of control. With her body folded in such an emphatically submissive position, and two hundred pounds of riled-up, hung-over, hard-packed man behind her wielding a thick, heavy cock she’d teased past all civilized limits, there wasn’t a chance in hell of a slow, gentle fucking. No, she was about to get retribution or reward—maybe both—in the form of a flesh-slapping, bone-jarring, mind-numbing subjugation. She’d feel it inside and out, possibly for the rest of her life. Wanting it more than she’d wanted anything in a long time—and she’d grappled with some pretty serious wants in her life—she lifted her hips as high as she could.
His first thrust pushed a low groan out of him and rocked her onto her tiptoes. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip to keep from crying out in ecstasy, or agony, or some indefinable place in between. So big. So much. She blinked her eyes open and checked the mirror. Oh God. So much more still to receive. Before she could catch her breath, he gripped her hips, withdrew a fraction, and thrust deep. Deep enough to jostle a cry from her after all. Deep enough to make their bodies come together with an audible clap. Deep enough to fill her mind with a single, desperate imperative—Wider!—even as her body instinctively strived to make room for him. She lifted one leg and searched for somewhere to brace it while struggling to stand firm on her other trembling limp. “West…wait.” Needing more leverage, she fisted her hands in the sheet under her.
“We’re way past ‘wait,’ Roxy. The time for ‘wait’ came and went the second you walked in here in nothing but my T-shirt and your fuck-me panties,” his voice rumbled from behind her. “There is no…wait…left…in…me.” But even as he fucked those words into her, he caught her roaming leg and hitched her knee along the bedrail.
Her whimper of gratitude might have embarrassed her, but there was no time for reflection. He hiked her hips high, pushing in, sliding out, pushing in again, accompanied by a soundtrack of brass battering plaster and skin slapping skin. Like any good musician, she worked to keep up her end of their duet, but he added an extra beat here and there so she could never get a perfect handle on the rhythm. He kept her off balance, kept her guessing, kept her frantic for the next surge because every forceful thrust shoved her throbbing clit into the bedding and gave her a fleeting opportunity to sneak in a completely self-serving grind. All the friction from him moving inside her, and the pressure from her moving under him, set off tremors deep within—little warnings of something imminent and devastating building below the surface sensations. Each withdrawal dragged her back from the brink, like a tidal creature caught in a receding wave.
She clawed the mattress and fought the backward momentum even as her inner muscles hugged his shaft, clinging to him.
“Do it, Roxy. Tear up my bed. Come on my sheets. Make sure that weeks from now when that restless heart of yours has led you somewhere new, I’m lying here drenched in your scent, dreaming of you.”
“I—” She couldn’t reply. She’d lost touch with the part of her brain that handled sophisticated responses. Only a primitive speech center remained intact to communicate the most basic biological urges. “I need…”
Lodging himself deeper, he adjusted his hold on her hips and pressed her firmly into the bedding, letting her buck and grind at will. His thumbs glided back and forth over her sweat-drenched skin, stroking her tattoo, encouraging her to slow her rampant pace. “Show me what you need. Show me how you move this sweet ass when you want to come.”
Through a pre-orgasmic haze, she caught his reflection in the mirror. Head down, jaw locked, attention fixed on her backside as it rose and fell with each clumsy pump of her hips. He helped her along with the smallest of thrusts every time she prepared to bear down on his cock.
Strangely comforted by the generosity of his restraint, she slowed to a less frenzied tempo, rocking forward and holding there for long, suspended moments, not releasing until her shaking muscles burned from the effort. She was crawling toward a point of no return. Closer…closer…just a little closer…
“Fuck.” His eyes closed. A dark flush invaded his cheeks. “Roxy.” He thrust deep. “You know the most reckless thing about this?”
That she’d thought she could hold onto sanity while he fucked her right out of her deluded little mind?
“Me,” he muttered and cursed again. “I’m about to come inside you like you’re mine to keep.”
The low growl of his voice pushed her gloriously close to euphoria, but as each word echoed in her head, an inner alarm blared. Late, but very, very loud. “Oh God. Don’t…” She pushed up onto her forearms and struggled to get her other knee under her. “Don’t come inside me, West. I’m not—”
“Shit.” He pulled out so quickly the hard, wet length of him slapped the inside of her thigh. “Shit,” he repeated as a heavy hand landed on the center of her back and held her down. A long, shuddering groan filled her ears seconds before hot, liquid ribbons lashed her ass cheek.
Chapter Twelve
“I’m so sorry.”
Those three soft words filtered through the rush of blood pounding in West’s ears. She was sorry? He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. It might have become one, except he pried his eyes open, and the sight of her lying there with her arms tucked under her chest, her hair a
