Give In To Me (7 page)

“It was because I didn’t know you at all. I’m not the kind of person who generally
finds herself kissing men she doesn’t know.”

He leaned even closer then, so close that her chest ached and the very air around
her felt heavy. He wasn’t touching her in any way whatsoever, but she felt consumed
by him just the same. “Wanna know something, April Pediston?” He didn’t wait for her
to answer, though. “When you were struggling, trying to make me let go of you, but
I knew you really didn’t want me to, it turned me on in a way nothing else ever has.”

It grew more difficult for April to breathe beneath the weight of his words. To find
out this wasn’t just an everyday occurrence for him, either. To discover that he’d
been experiencing something very similar to what she had. It provided . . . strange
validation. It made her feel less alone in her unthinkable responses to him.

And yet . . . it frightened her in a whole new way.

Was she supposed to get into a deep, intense discussion about this with him? Was she
supposed to demean herself and her entire gender by admitting to him that she’d wanted
him to force her, that she’d said no when she meant yes?
No means no. Everybody knows that.
Tons of rape cases had hung on that and it had become the standard everyone everywhere
was expected to live by and respect and understand. It was still hard for her to fathom
that she’d done that—said no while desperately wanting him to keep on. Said no while
longing for him to hold her still tighter and make her submit.

You’re in too deep here.
Somewhere along the way she’d apparently talked herself into expecting him to be
a gentleman who would let this go. She’d begun to think they were going to eat pizza
and have a civil conversation and then he was going to drive her back to her car.
Maybe ask her out on a real date on the way? Maybe start over and forget the alley
encounters had ever happened? Yet now she realized all that had only been a wish on
her part, what she’d
hoped
would happen.

And what was happening in reality . . . well, it didn’t matter how capable and mature
she was—there was something about the depths of the truths in this conversation that
she simply couldn’t face.
Wouldn’t
face.

Without warning, she pushed to her feet. “I think you should take me back to my car
now. Or I can call a cab,” she added, thinking that sounded more sensible at this
point. Hell, she’d walk if she had to.

“Not yet,” he said—and then he reached up, grabbed on to her wrist, and pulled her
back down to the couch.

She gasped her alarm even as their eyes met, even as he briskly grasped her other
wrist as well and pushed her to her back against the throw pillow. He leaned down
over her, close, their gazes still locked, and despite herself, she surged with wetness.
She didn’t want that to happen; she didn’t want to be excited by him, by this. She
really, really didn’t. In this moment, more than ever since the moment she’d met him,
she wanted all that strangeness, all that unbidden passion, to just go away so that
everything inside her could be normal again.

Her breath became labored, but she managed to eke out words in between. “What are
you doing?” Though it sounded too whispery, heated.

His eyes dripped with lust. And he answered only by kissing her, his mouth coming
down hard and insistent on hers.

Yet she still didn’t want this.
I don’t, I don’t, I don’t.

And so she struggled.

She tried to break her wrists free from the viselike fists that held them. She tried
to wriggle out from beneath his body on the sofa—but his knees pinned her in between
so that she was trapped.

And with every move she made, her excitement quickened. Her breasts ached where his
knuckles pressed into them. The crux of her thighs pulsed with desperate need.

She still didn’t understand this, the way his forcefulness thrilled every cell in
her body, the urge it gave her to fight against him still more, so that he would hold
her tighter and tighter, so that he would make her . . . give in, submit to whatever
he wanted.

The urge took over then and she tried harder to pry her wrists free, even knowing
it was useless and that she didn’t really want to be let go. His rough kiss had ended
and the result of her effort was for him to force her arms to either side of her head,
wrists still in his grip. She found his eyes once again burning through hers, fiery
hot, mere inches above her. She didn’t measure her words as they came tumbling out.
“I can’t do this. I can’t want this.”

“But you do anyway,” he said low, his tone deep.

Turning desperate, put on the spot, there seemed nothing to do but deny it. “No,”
she murmured, far too weakly. And she felt the lie written all over her face. It had
been silly to even try.

Even while pinning her down, he was able to give his head a cocky tilt as he lowered
his chin to say in a smoldering voice, “Come on, Ginger. The more you fight it, the
more you want it. I can feel it in every move you make. Just let go, baby. Let go.
Give in to me.”

Oh God. Now he was . . . asking her? He wasn’t going to just . . . keep right on forcing
her?
He’s a cop. He knows the rules. He knows if I’m saying no and he keeps going that
it’s rape.
And was it?
Would
it be in this instance? Lord, she couldn’t examine that right now. Right now, everything
was too intense. And he was waiting. For her to say something. Or do something. To
assure him it was okay to go on.

And the fact was, she had no idea what she wanted right now. Her body sizzled with
hot desire. But her head . . . oh, she’d never been more confused. And she’d never
had casual sex. Or weird sex. And this would definitely be weird sex. With a man she
still just barely knew.

And he was starting to look—oh no—a little angry. And when he spoke, it came through
lightly clenched teeth. “Say something, Ginger.”

She still didn’t, couldn’t, frozen between her usual self and this wild, lusty self
she didn’t quite recognize.

“Damn it, say something. Tell me it’s okay. Say it’s okay and then you can go back
to fighting me all you want.”

Her whole body tensed at that last part. The fact that he knew, that he understood
that part, only added to her horror. And it was hard to think with him pressing her
for an answer.

So she found herself responding with . . . honesty. But a quiet honesty. Because somehow
it felt like the quieter she spoke, the more it would be like she hadn’t. She lifted
her head as much as she could, given that she was pinned to the couch, and she whispered
in his ear as softly as possible. “Don’t ask me. Don’t ask. I can’t say yes.”

When she rested her head on the throw pillow again, his eyes were immediately back
on her, his frustration from before having clearly changed to comprehension. “Then
don’t say no, either,” he rasped gently. “Got it?”

And now her
own
frustration was mounting. Because—God—she wanted him, she wanted this! She couldn’t
help it. And she couldn’t keep trying to deny it to herself. She still hated admitting
it with her whole being, but she heard herself saying, far too desperately, “Just . . .
just do it.”

After that, time blurred. Reality along with it.

There were moments when she continued to struggle—because it did feel good. Because
his tightened grip or the heavier weight of his body on her at least gave her the
sensation
that she wasn’t
permitting
this, that she wasn’t okay with casual sex with a virtual stranger. It felt better
to think he was taking it from her, that she had no choice.

But then came moments she forgot to struggle and when it was more like what he’d said
a few minutes earlier—like she was giving in to him. She was relaxing into it, letting
him do things to her. And even then it was easy to pretend, to tell herself he’d simply
worn her out, that she knew she couldn’t get away from him so she’d had no choice
but to give up.

When he released her wrists, that was a fighting moment—it happened without thought
on her part and she found herself suddenly struggling again, squirming beneath him.
He responded by simply grabbing on to them once more, though, then trapping both in
one fist above her head, same as back in the alley.

And also same as in the alley, that freed up his other hand to explore her breasts.
Her breath grew shallow as he boldly ran his touch first across one heaving mound,
slowly, thoroughly, deliciously, and then the other. She found herself glancing down,
watching his large hand mold and caress. She saw both breasts heaving in rhythm with
each ragged breath she took, their upper curves visible above her top. The sight added
to her arousal at a time when she hadn’t thought that possible.

He kissed her some more as that same hand finally ventured downward, tugging the hem
of her top from the waistband of her skirt. This time she let herself kiss him back.
Or she forgot about
not
letting herself anyway, and her mouth moved beneath his with instinctive purpose,
hungry for more of him.

When his tongue pressed its way between her lips, she felt pleasantly invaded and
didn’t hesitate to meet it with her own. Why did merely kissing this man feel so much
more intimate than with any other man she’d ever been with?
Maybe this is true chemistry, true passion. Maybe you’ve never really experienced
that before. Maybe you thought you had, but it’s taken this, him, to show you what
all-consuming desire is really about.

Of course, they were doing more than kissing now—at the precise moment he pushed her
tank up over her bra, he settled more firmly between her legs and an unmistakable
erection came to rest between her thighs. It didn’t matter that they had clothes on—she
couldn’t remember the last time anything had felt that good to that part of her body,
and a heated sigh left her.

When he ended the kiss, she glanced down to glimpse the cream-colored lace that held
her breasts, lifting them up, keeping them pretty and pert, and thanked the fates
that she’d worn an attractive bra today. She watched his hand running over it, still
making her feel good there, too, and bit her lip at the pleasure spreading through
her.

“If I let go of your wrists,” he said low, deep, near her ear, “do you think you can
be a good girl and not fight me too much for a little while?”

The truth was, she rather liked being stretched out the way she was, her position
thrusting her breasts slightly upward, and again making her feel like she had no choice,
which made doing this so much easier. Yet the practical part of her understood that
he wanted to touch her with both hands, and she wanted that, too, so she relented,
simply giving a quick, tiny nod.

And even when he released her wrists from his strong grip, she still kept her arms
extended over her head, watching as he cupped the outer edges of her breasts in both
hands, his thumbs curving around the underside. Then he bent to kiss them through
the lace.

Her breathing grew louder again, and without ever making a conscious decision, her
pelvis began to lift against the amazing hardness there and they fell into the hot
motions of slow, rhythmic sex.

Soon enough, her big bad wolf curled his fingertips into the cups of her bra and drew
them both downward until her breasts were fully revealed, now framed only by the creamy
lace. Her nipples, not surprisingly, were taut and pointed, and having them exposed
between them sent an electrical current through her body. And when he sank his mouth
over one, she surrendered completely to the pleasure that pulsed through her.

She wanted to grip at something and found her hands closing into fists, her nails
biting into the flesh of her palms. A few high-pitched whimpers left her, and now
she could hear his breath coming more audibly, too. She didn’t know what it was about
this man, but she loved knowing she excited him. Finally, she drew her arms down and
found herself sinking her fingers into his thick, dark hair as he suckled first one
breast, then the other.

Her hips rocked harder against his of their own volition, the response inside her
growing, spreading, like something wild and consuming that swallowed everything it
encountered until it was the only thing she was aware of. She was going to come soon
just from moving that way against his magnificent hardness.

And it was only a few seconds after that realization hit her that it grew closer,
reaching that perilous moment when she knew it lay only a few heartbeats away, making
her whisper, “Oh God.
God
.”

And then the orgasm struck, blossoming inside her like some hothouse flower desperate
to bloom, with thick, waving petals that fluttered through her almost violently. She
cried out the consuming pleasure as it shook her body, over and over, and thought
it was possibly the most satisfying of her life—and he wasn’t even inside her.

She went still when it was done, and it was only then that he released her nipple
from his mouth and rasped quietly near her ear, “You’re so fucking hot, Ginger,” as
the dark stubble on his jaw scraped lightly across the tender flesh of her cheek.

And that was the moment when the war inside her began again, when she remembered she
was doing something unthinkable and didn’t want to accept the fact that she was a
willing participant. It wasn’t thought but impulse that made her struggle anew, her
body twisting and writhing beneath his again.

And when he once more pinned her wrists on either side of her face, it felt good.

Until he said, peering sharply into her eyes, “No—no more. Not now. Now you have to
be a good girl. Be a good girl and let me fuck you—the way you need to be fucked.”

Chapter 6

S
he lay beneath him, bared breasts heaving. The fact that she wanted what he’d said—to
be fucked—both aroused and repulsed her. The urge to continue fighting him, really
fighting him now, trying to get out from under him and race away from this apartment,
rose powerfully within her.

And yet she’d agreed to this. And the intense longing to have him inside her was at
least as powerful as the instinct to run. And she’d come this far.
Correction—you let him bring you this far. You submitted. You gave in. And it felt
good.
The fact was, the struggle and ensuing surrender had felt just as good as the rest
of it; she still didn’t understand it, but it had enhanced every second since the
moment he’d pulled her back down onto the couch.

She’d said nothing in a long while, and she continued to say nothing now—but she quit
wriggling beneath him. And mmm, that simple act let that wonderfully hard part of
him settle back against her mound, her legs still spread for him and her thighs still
held down, locked in place, by his own.

“Gonna be good for me, babe?” he asked.

She nodded. That simple. Because it really did seem the only choice at this point.
Or the only one that made sense anyway. She was under his control now.

“Good girl,” he murmured, then slowly, gingerly released his hold on her wrists. But
he didn’t let his touch leave them completely—instead he ran his fingertips over where
he’d held her, as if to soothe those spots. It sent a shiver through her that she
couldn’t contain. They looked into each other’s eyes the whole time.

After a minute, he leaned back slightly, putting a little more distance between their
upper bodies, and he gently lifted her hands and brought them to rest against his
chest, pressing them there. Through his T-shirt she felt the sinewy muscles; she felt
his heartbeat. And it was strange in that quiet moment how—even amid the stark arousal
still expanding between them—it made him seem more human to her, as if they somehow
had more in common than just lust. And it was an illusion, of course—she shared that
same humanness with Kayla Gonzalez, and with Kayla’s husband for that matter, and
it really gave her nothing in common with them—but in that moment, she clung to the
notion that there might be something more between them than this strange and potent
sexual connection. Maybe she needed that right now; maybe pretending it was more than
purely physical would be the thing that kept her from struggling to break free now.

When he moved his hands, she experimented with touching him, letting her fingers splay
across his chest, letting her palms roam slightly. She’d touched him this way in the
alley, but this was different, more intense. Even if she’d mistakenly thought that
nothing could be more intense than being in the alley with him.

His hands molded to her torso, then moved up to curve around her breasts. “Your tits
are amazing, Ginger.”

“My name’s—”

“April,” he cut her off with a wolfish look. “I know that now, babe. I just like calling
you Ginger. I like that red hair.” His gaze dropped. “I like those hard nipples. I
bet they’re hard a lot, aren’t they?”

She wasn’t sure what hard nipples had to do with calling her Ginger, and she was pretty
sure the answer was nothing, but she heard herself telling him a truth she’d seldom
stopped to consider. “Twenty-four, seven.”

If it was possible, his gaze filled with even more heat. “Really? Even when you sleep?”

Her breasts began heaving again, slightly. “As far as I know. When I go to bed and
when I wake up anyway. They just always . . . are.”

“God, that’s hot.” And then he dropped to scrape his teeth ever so lightly up one
of the beaded peaks, as if in praise, and it made her gasp as the sensation echoed
through her.

Their eyes met for a minute more, a minute that felt wholly intimate—as if they’d
just shared secrets with each other—and then Rogan’s mouth came back down on hers,
insistent with passion, and she’d seldom felt as purely, simply desired by a man as
she did in that moment, because she could tell the kiss wasn’t calculated or planned
but that he simply hadn’t been able to help himself.

And so now she was unable to help
herself
either, and she kissed him back with utter abandon, forgetting all about struggle
or timidity and throwing herself into the kisses for all she was worth, wanting to
soak up every second.

As they made out, his hands drifted south, onto her skirt, and hers circled his neck
and she fairly clung to him, never wanting the kisses to end. And when his touch moved
to her thighs, she knew things were amplifying again, and a tiny part of her suffered
the compulsion to struggle, to run. But then she remembered that she’d told him she’d
be a good girl, and so she was.

Pleasure and need climbed her inner thighs as his hands moved under her skirt, rising
slowly toward her hips. His erection still pressed between her legs. And she knew
her parted thighs had probably caused her skirt to lift long ago, but now she felt
the fabric skimming higher still until his fingers met with her panties.

Yet then his touch was gone suddenly, even as they continued kissing, and she wondered
why, because she’d had the sensation that they were getting closer and closer to actually
doing it—and then that magnificent pressure between her legs lifted away, too, making
the loss even worse.

She heard herself whimper her frustration against his mouth even as she let her fingernails
dig into his shoulders—a silent plea of
Bring it
back
. But he was still breathing just as hard as they exchanged still more hot kisses,
and finally she somehow realized that he had only been reaching between them to undo
his jeans.

She shuddered with need and eagerness, both of them panting now, and she thought,
Please, please!
But she didn’t let the desperate words sneak out because her behavior here was already
insane enough without giving any more of herself away than she already had.

Kissing ceased at some point and when he rose slightly, she glanced down between their
bodies to glimpse a large, rigid staff of flesh that made her gasp. And then his hand
was under her skirt again, this time roughly pulling the fabric between her legs aside,
and then came the firm, smooth thrust.

She cried out at the penetration, somehow forceful and gentle at the same time. And
she clung to his shoulders anew. Oh Lord. He was in her. So big. So filling. It was
as if she’d forgotten. What this felt like. How consuming. How it became almost the
biggest part of her, feeling so infinitely larger than its true size. And even though
they both lay perfectly still at the moment, she’d never felt more powerfully taken
by a man.

Both of them breathed raggedly, audibly. Her lips trembled.

“You’re so tight.” The words came in nearly a growl. “And wet, babe. You’re fucking
drenched.”

Neither observation surprised her. The first the result of not having had sex in a
while, the second the result of . . . him.

“Please,” she whispered. Oh God. It had come out completely unbidden. It was because
she wanted—needed—more now, needed him to move in her.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me,” she whispered. Words she’d never said before. Because she just didn’t talk
that way. But that was what he’d called it a little while ago. And that was what she
needed now—as badly as she needed air to breathe.

“Aw, babe,” he rasped hotly, and she still couldn’t quite believe she’d said it, but
she liked that it turned him on.

And she also liked that it made him begin to move. Inside her. The first slow, deep,
potent drive felt almost like being entered all over again. “Unh . . .” she moaned
in response as it echoed through her body. And as he proceeded to deliver hard, smooth
strokes that seemed to reach her very core, she began to meet them, the rough friction
creating still deeper sensation that washed all through her, filling her more and
more.

And he continued to look at her, through each and every powerful thrust, his eyes
like hot, dark embers. She couldn’t quite meet them now, though—she wasn’t sure why—so
she studied his mouth instead. The strong mouth that had kissed her for so long and
so well. The mouth that had sucked her breasts. The mouth that had commanded, no less
powerful even when speaking quietly, that she be a good girl for him.

Because her lips were trembling and she was so distressed by how very much she liked
being his good girl, she lifted to kiss him some more. And mmm, it was a good distraction
from both.

He returned the kisses with vigor, long and passionate at first but then ebbing into
shorter, harder meetings of their mouths. All the while he plunged into her slow and
thorough, each stroke making her feel utterly . . . dominated. And . . . tame. Like
some well-behaved pet. What a foreign feeling. And yet . . . somehow it felt . . .
safe. Even as he pounded into her so commandingly. She couldn’t understand that part.
But she couldn’t understand
most
of this and, at the moment, had better things to focus on anyway.

She drank it in, soaked it up. There was nothing else to do now. The fighting was
over, both inside her and out. All that remained was pleasure. And, of course, thoughts.
About how strange and shocking this was. But soon enough even those dissipated. Especially
when he pounded into her harder, harder, harder. Each impact jolted her whole body,
consuming her, and all she could do was cling to him, her arms wrapped tight around
his neck, as jagged cries of passion sprang from her throat.

She listened to the low moans that left him, enjoyed the feel of his hands on her
flesh as he plunged into her moisture below, realized at some point that she’d hooked
her legs around his thighs and hoped the heels of her shoes weren’t digging in to
him too much. She began to relax into where she was, what she was doing. She let herself
sink into it deeper, let it hold her, rock her, like a baby. No thought, no decisions,
no responsibility. That was nice. It surprised her, because she’d never imagined a
world where, even briefly, she’d be willing to surrender her very thoughts, her brainpower,
in exchange for pleasure. But that was what happened the longer she lay beneath him,
lifting her hips against his to take his wonderfully rigid shaft that much deeper.

When his moans grew shorter, sharper, almost like hot little growls coming through
clenched teeth, she braced herself and welcomed still rougher thrusts into the softness
between her legs. She held him tighter. And she no longer had trouble meeting his
gaze.

“Aw, babe,” he said on a hot breath, “I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come fucking hard
deep inside your hot, tight, little pussy.”

Fresh, unexpected arousal flared within her—it was as if the part of her body he’d
just referred to actually gripped him tighter. And the groan he emitted at that moment
almost made her wonder if he’d felt it, too, if it wasn’t just a thing she imagined
but in fact a physical thing that had really happened.

“Aw, fuck, now,” he murmured—and then his drives came even harder, harder, harder,
making her feel nailed to the couch, thoroughly taken, thoroughly used, thoroughly
fucked. Both of them cried out as he emptied himself inside her, and her eyes fell
shut as she took her own joy in his release—there was something inexorably pleasing
about knowing she’d delivered him to ecstasy, even if she’d done so in surprising
ways.

By fighting him.

And then surrendering. Being a docile little pet.

Unfortunately, now that he’d gone still inside her, his muscular body softly collapsing
on hers, the acceptance she’d felt for a little while ebbed. Because it was over.
And thought had returned. And that meant facing all this. Sex with a brusque cop she
didn’t know. Pleasure from being subdued by him. Further pleasure from submission.

Who am I? Who have I just become?

And how will I ever get myself back? How will I ever be the same again?

The questions—the return to reality—nearly overwhelmed her.

The person she was and the person lying sprawled so inelegantly beneath this man,
clothing askew, were two different people. With two different mind-sets. Two entirely
different ways of approaching life. And at the moment, as Rogan Wolfe rose up, pulled
out of her, and reached for a box of tissues on the coffee table, she couldn’t believe
who she’d become for him tonight. And she didn’t know how to deal with it.

She lay there, stunned, trying to pull her bra back into place, instinctively pressing
her bent knees together at the earliest opportunity, wondering what on earth a woman
was supposed to do or say after an experience like that—the experience of letting
herself be his good girl. Then he said, “Aw shit.”

He had regrets, too? Given that he didn’t exactly seem like a regretful sort of guy,
this surprised her. She shifted her gaze from her skirt to his face.

“I’ve never done that before,” he said.

She drew in her breath and, even though part of her just wanted to disappear now,
found the will to speak. “Done what?”

“Forgot to use a condom.”

Oh God.
Shit
was right. She hadn’t even realized.
How could you not realize?
But she hadn’t. The heat, the power of seduction and giving in, had been that intense.
It had overshadowed everything else. Even protection.

It was indeed the first time she’d ever seen remorse on the big bad wolf’s face. “But
I’ve always been careful,” he told her. “Only girl I haven’t used one with since I
was young and stupid is safe—I’m sure of that.”

She nodded numbly against the couch pillow. And when she realized he seemed to be
waiting for her to say something, she told him, “I’m safe, too. And I’m on birth control.”
Though she didn’t mention that the birth control was mostly just to keep her periods
regular; he didn’t need to know how long it had been since she’d had sex.