Page 138 of Holding On To Good

Her eyelids were heavy and wanted to close, wanted to shut out the truth of what Urban was doing to her, but she’d told him no more hiding.

More than that, seeing him on his knees before her, imagining how she looked, her arms raised, her body trapped between his and the wall, it was too great a temptation to resist. He was like a supplicant, his only purpose to please her. To bring her whatever pleasure she desired, again and again and again.

But then his hand joined his mouth, his fingers gently spreading her, and he rubbed the tip of his forefinger along her opening.

Then slid inside.

Her world narrowed, became a pinpoint of focus on that finger as he stroked in and out. In and out. In, then all the way out. She whimpered, a sound of pure need and disappointment and he slid inside her again, this time with two fingers, stretching her.

But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. She rolled her hips against his mouth, urging him on. He rubbed his beard against her clit. Sucked on it gently as he worked her with his fingers.

Her orgasm rolled through her suddenly, viciously, ripping a moan from her throat, had her fisted hands knocking back against the wall with each pulsating wave of pleasure. She rocked against Urban, wanting more and more and more, and he gave it to her, gave her everything she wanted, everything she needed, sending her soaring, a ride of pure ecstasy.

He didn’t just help her fly, he was there, right there, as she came down from that high. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her steady. His mouth now soothing her with slow, warm kisses, his fingers caressing her inner thighs.

Her arms fell to hang limply by her sides. And as she stood there, breathless and weightless and boneless, it hit her that she’d had it all wrong.

She hadn’t been some goddess reveling in the worship of one of her admirers.

She’d been his captive.

Still was.

She belonged to Urban—heart, mind, body and soul.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Panic spiked, tried to cool Willow’s blood, to clear her mind, but it was no match for the heat still singeing her veins, the lovely haze clouding her thoughts. Her body trembled with the aftereffects of her orgasm, her limbs heavy and loose. She should be satiated. She shouldn’t want him so badly still. Should be able to think clearly, to compartmentalize her feelings, put them into little boxes with neat labels and go over them rationally. Sensibly.

Without emotion or fear or crazy, useless dreams filling her head.

But it was too late for that. Coming here tonight hadn’t been rational. And sensible had been tossed out the window the moment he’d touched her.

It was stupid. Risky. She was already so far in over her head, the next touch, the next kiss would surely drown her.

And wasn’t that what made Urban so damn dangerous to her?

She’d willingly go under for one more taste, for one, single time with him. Even if it meant never taking a full breath again.

Clawing at his shoulders, she grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and tugged until he slowly straightened, his body brushing hers, the soft cotton of his shirt rubbing against her still pebbled nipples. The denim of his jeans rough against her thighs, skimming the damp curls between her legs.

She bit her lower lip to stop from groaning but she swayed toward him, instinctively seeking the hardness of his body.

He settled his hands on her waist but they didn’t stay there, they smoothed up then down, around to her lower back, then up her spine. As if he couldn’t not touch her. He leaned his forehead against hers, his breathing unsteady, his tension visible in the set of his shoulders, the strong line of his jaw.

“Again,” he murmured, all gruff and demanding and sexy as hell as he slid one hand to her breast, the other between her legs.

She made a soft sound, her legs parting of their own accord.

Again?

Yes, please.

But this time, she wouldn’t be alone.

She pulled his head down and when she tasted herself on his lips, she went wild, her kiss a hot, hungry assault that pushed him back a half step. Had him lifting his hands to her shoulders before sliding them up to hold her head where he tried to deepen the kiss, tried turning it into something less frantic. Something softer. Sweeter.

But she wouldn’t let him. Soft wouldn’t assuage this burning need inside of her. Sweet wouldn’t keep her whole and safe.

---