She barely unzipped his trousers in the time it took him to shed her jeans and underwear in one mighty tug. He didn’t say anything, but he did let out a groan when he covered her mound with a hot palm and kneaded her once before pushing a finger inside to find her soaked and dripping.
B.J. gasped, clutching his shoulder for support.
Her body quivered with every bone-shivering caress he gave. He barely nudged another finger in, 40
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brushing the inside of her thigh with the back of his rough knuckles, and she almost came.
She dove her hands into the waistband of his underwear and cupped his ass before slipping them and his jeans down. As soon as they dropped to free his penis, he lifted her, spreading her knees to either side of his ribs, and buried himself deep, plunging all the way to her core.
Her head fell back, and she hit her skull against the hard door.
“Mother of God,” she cried, unable to decipher if she was cursing the pleasure of him stretching her sensitive passage, the pain in her head, or both.
They were doing this. They were really doing this. Of all the times she’d dreamed of being with Grady, she’d never imagined this…this all-consuming sensation: the dampness of his skin clinging to hers, the fall of his breath on her neck, the thickness of his hair in her hands. It was more than she could process.
He didn’t slow his pace—not that she wanted
him to. He surged back, harder and faster, pushing them both to the brink.
Her body went taut and hot while he rode her with deep, confident thrusts, only to pull nearly all the way out before surging back in. She clung to him, clawing his back, and fought to keep from coming too soon. It felt like she was being pulled apart by a string. When the wire snapped, the explosion inside her was like lightning, zapping through all four limbs and coming out the ends of her fingers and toes.
“God,” Grady growled and bucked one last time, grabbing her hard as he joined the fireworks. “God.”
Afterward, he stayed motionless for a couple of seconds before easing out and sliding limply to the floor. Still in shock from experiencing such an earth-shattering climax, B.J. collapsed next to him, too 41
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limp to move.
As her breathing slowly settled, she stared wide-eyed into the dark room and listened to Grady suck in air beside her.
Well. She’d done it now.
Wondering what was going to result from her
wild, unplanned seduction, she closed her eyes and set a hand over her heart. If he hated her, she wouldn’t blame him. She’d forced him, pushed him beyond his control. Grady Rawlings was one
controlled individual. He wouldn’t take her
manipulation lightly. Intentional or not.
In memory of his dead wife, he’d kept his body as pure and chaste as a church for the past two and a half years. But it’d only taken a matter of minutes for destructive B.J. to come along and desecrate his saintly temple. Satan was no doubt grinning up at her, giving her a conspiring wink and the thumbs-up as she lay next to Grady.
This was too unreal.
Abruptly realizing her breathing had returned to normal while he still gasped for air, her heart plummeted.
Oh, God. What had she done to him?
“Grady?” she whispered, reaching out. He
jumped when her hand found his arm. Body
shaking, he was cold and clammy to the touch.
“No,” she uttered and crawled closer, “Sweetie, don’t. Please, don’t.” She put her hands on either side of his face, moving her thumbs to the corners of his eyes to make sure he wasn’t crying. When she found the skin dry, she felt like bawling herself because he wouldn’t. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Instinctively, she put her arms around him and laid her cheek against his chest.
Her voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”
She felt terrible. He was probably reeling in guilt because he’d just cheated on his dead wife, and 42
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it was all her fault.
She sniffed like she was going to howl any
second. Then she awkwardly patted his hair and rubbed his back, having no idea how to help him, or comfort him, or stop this pain she’d caused.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, feeling pathetic and useless. For someone who usually choked on
apologies, this one gushed off her tongue like water from Niagara Falls. “Please. I’m so sorry.”
Lifting her face, she leaned in to kiss his cheek but missed and caught the corner his mouth instead.
In response, he turned...and not away from her.
Seeking her, his warm breath fell on her lips a split second before he kissed her hungrily, sucking from her nectar.
Unprepared for the hot torrent of his mouth, B.J. gasped; her body responded immediately. She forgot her worry and regret, and gurgled out an unexpected cry when his hands came up to feast on her breasts. Obviously irritated with her damp, tangled shirt in his way, he stripped it off and went about shedding her bra. All the while, he continued to kiss her, the contact morphing from greedy to curious and then to explorative.
Once she was entirely naked, he cupped her
bare breasts she’d unknowingly been pressing against him. A sob rose in his throat. He nudged her down onto to the floor right there by the door, kicking his pants and underwear off his ankles and keeping his mouth against hers the entire time.
Their lips became permanently fused as he finished unbuttoning his own shirt and shrugged it off.
He broke from her mouth to dip his face and kiss his way down the center of her body, starting in the hollow at the base of her throat and working his way south, not even pausing between her breasts or navel. But he did falter when his lips lowered to about four inches below her belly button. She tensed 43
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in expectation, waiting for him to move lower. But that was as far as he went, making her body burn for more.
Oh, God. Who would’ve known Grady Rawlings
would be such a tease?
His fingers followed the torture next, as he skimmed them over her clavicle and around her breasts, caressing close to her most sensitive points, but never providing direct contact. It had to be the most sensual moment of her life, and yet he seemed perfectly content to turn a little PG, driving her insane by exploring safe zones.
Pausing at her old snakebite a few inches under her arm, he bent and kissed the healed wound. It felt very intimate to reveal such a scar to Grady. He didn’t ask about it, only lavished it with loving attention and then moved to the next scar he found on her knee.
Then, damn it, the man turned cuddly. He
shuddered out a breath and lay on top of her, making sure every inch of his skin pressed against hers from their ankles to their necks. Sighing, he relaxed against her. His arms came around her as he rested his face by her shoulder, lying there quietly like he was soaking in the sensation.
He was...he was hugging her, she realized, and burying his face in her hair like he was hiding from the fact he needed such contact...such comfort. But this was definitely an embrace. She swallowed; tears pricked her eyes at the sweetness of the moment.
“Touch me back,” he whispered. Manually
taking her hand, he pressed her palm against the side of his ribcage. “Please.”
She did, uncertain at first while she ran her fingers up the back of his shoulders. Shuddering out his pleasure, he closed his eyes and let his head roll back, allowing her to explore him as he had her. She traced the sculpted plane of his stomach and abs, 44
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and he investigated the curve of her hip before trailing his short nails up her spine.
The pace slowed to a drowsy tempo, neither
rushing as they learned the contours and curves of their partner. When Grady finally abandoned her mouth, he only moved his lips to other body parts.
His tongue and teeth lavished her. She sighed and threaded her fingers through his damp hair.
He kissed and touched like he was making love.
There was no humping or screwing or any kind of degrading term like that with this man. Once he was in control of himself, he was all about gentle and soft. It was so damn precious she mimicked his kindness, touching him tenderly, rubbing her fingers up his arms and over his elbows, investigating places she’d never gone on a man, simple places like his wrists and earlobes, but places that suddenly seemed incredibly sensual.
This was how a married couple made love, she thought. But then, he
was
a married man, wasn’t he? He wouldn’t know any other way. Jesus, he was probably thinking of his wife as he nuzzled her neck with his nose, trying to forget he was with—
“B.J.,” he groaned, barely lifting his voice, a low rumble that vibrated through her and made her shiver.
So, okay, maybe he wasn’t thinking about Amy, which only made this better...and so much worse.
“Can I…” he started to ask and then hesitated.
“Yes,” she answered with no pause whatsoever.
Yes, he could do anything he wanted.
He lifted her leg, wrapping her thigh around his hip, and sunk himself inside her with an achingly slow plunge that had her gasping and bowing
against him.
Slipping her hands ever so softly over his back and gracefully lifting her hips to meet this thrust, B.J. closed her eyes and pretended this was exactly 45
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what it felt like: making love.
His pace filled her with agonizing frustration. It didn’t take long for her to crave the speed again. She yearned to drown in the sensations, dive into the storm. But he took his ever-loving time like he relished discovering each inch of her with his mouth and hands, like each instance he moved within her, he needed to savor the feeling with concentrated deliberation.
B.J. squeezed him tight with her thighs, digging her heels into his ass and holding him deeper, urging him on and trying to coax him into
cooperating and going faster.
“Hurry,” she rasped.
He looked down at her with sweat beading his brow and his lips tight with focus. “I want slow,” was his steady command.
She shook her head...or more like thrashed it from side to side. “I can’t—” Oh, God, she was going to die—or go insane—if he didn’t hurry. “Grady, I can’t.”
“You will,” he said, and, damn it, she did.
She came slowly, feeling it methodically work its way up her toes and the insides of her thighs, until it hit her g-spot. Then she came and came and
came...and came. Above her, Grady gasped and tensed. Picking up his pace and pounding into her, he released himself, joining her orgasm. He gritted his teeth, telling her just how hard he strained as he gave that last plunge. Then he groaned deep and long, holding his large, quivering body taut as he closed his eyes.
The silence that followed was deafening.
B.J. didn’t think she was ever going to stop shuddering from the aftershocks, not even when he collapsed heavily on top of her, his limp deadweight making her wonder if he’d physically passed out.
Just when she decided she liked the warm,
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blanketing load, he picked himself up and rolled off her. She instantly chilled, missing his heat. Closing her eyes, she wished him back, and then jumped when he actually curled his arm around her waist and tugged her against him.
They held each other close, like a pair a
frightened children huddling in the dark and worrying about the scary monster coming for them.
And, damn, she did feel terrified out of her mind.
Reality could be one mean bogeyman.
Not sure what had just happened between the
lines of all that moaning and orgasming, she clutched him for dear life, thinking he was the only thing solid and real in this crazy, mixed-up situation.
He kissed her hair and stroked her arm, settling her nerves. She wasn’t sure if he knew she needed his tender touch after that explosion of raw feelings and need, but he provided exactly the kind of tranquil comfort that eased her. Relaxing and closing her eyes, she inhaled the smell of his sweat that oozed what could only be called a Grady pheromone.
Lounging against him so peacefully, she
imagined a husband and wife this way, all happy and satisfied after making a baby together.
She paused.
Baby?
Her eyes jerked open; she stared up at the
ceiling, feeling frozen.
“Did you wear a condom?”
What kind of stupid question was that? Of
course he hadn’t...in either round. She’d been there the entire time. She knew perfectly well there’d been no pausing for prophylactic safely.
Grady went tense. He sat up and looked down at her with wide eyes.
“Shit,” she said and sat up as well. “I...I should 47
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clean this off...or something.”
She couldn’t see him clearly in the dim light, but she could tell he wasn’t moving.
“Not that it would make much difference,” she added as she pushed to her feet. “But washing’s better than nothing...don’t you think?”
He didn’t respond.
She felt stupid, explaining herself and asking his advice. But what the hell was she supposed to say? She’d never had unprotected sex before. She’d never completely forgotten about safety. She’d never coerced a man into deserting his vow of chastity and, damn it, she’d certainly never experienced two orgasms right in a row like that.
She was completely at loose ends over how to handle any of this.
Feeling stiff and suddenly sore, she moved
toward the bathroom and hobbled inside, quietly shutting the door behind her. Once alone in the brightly lit chamber, she let out a breath and pressed a hand to her quaking stomach. She met her own gaze in the mirror. Large, dazed brown doe eyes stared back. She looked like a woman who’d just taken a long, hard tumble with a very potent lover.
Her naked skin was red and chafed from his five-o’clock shadow while her hair, which had come free from its ponytail holder, was mussed in a ratted, mangled mess. Her lips were swollen and bright rose in color.