Page 19 of Naughty Secrets

Chapter Twelve

NATALIE

“Nat,” he pulls me to stand, confusing me with the sudden shift from heavy-lidded passion to cool, detached control. “I need to see you. All of you.”

Biting back my frustration, I reach behind and unhook my bra, letting it slide down my arms to pool on the floor between us.

Sam hisses in a noise, his eyes pinned to me as if he is seeing me for the first time. I suppose in a way he is. I never let him see me naked anymore, and at night we have sex partially clothed or in the semi-darkness, under the covers, and always with one of the condoms I keep in my bedside table, because I’m not prepared to take the risk of getting pregnant ever again.

Emboldened by the lust in his eyes and the ache in my core, I hook my fingers into my panties and shimmy them over my hips.

“Jesus Christ. You’re killing me.”

Under the heat of his gaze, I don’t feel self-conscious that my body has been changed by pregnancy and the hard labor I do on the farm. I am no longer slim and soft. Instead, my hips are wider, my muscles firm and strong, my skin a deeper olive from the outdoors and freckled from all the sun.

“Come here.” He stands and shoves down his clothing, making quick work of his jeans and boxers before kicking them away.

I drink him in, taking in the hard planes of his chest, the grooves between his abs that weren’t there when he was a young, aspiring rock star. Farm labor has chiselled a god out of his lean ropey muscles, added bulk to his slim frame. Even his cock, jutting out from its nest of curls, seems bigger, thicker, the crown wide and inviting.

Swallowing hard in anticipation, I walk into his strong arms.

“Now, can I—”

He cuts me off with a kiss. “We have all night, and all day tomorrow if we want.”

“What about the farm? The calves? It’s harvest—”

Another kiss, lighter this time, a brush of his lips over mine until my body softens, and I am leaning, reaching, seeking more pressure, more intensity, more Sam.

“Everything’s taken care of except you.” He holds me tight against him, our bodies slick and hot, his thick erection pressed firmly against my tummy. “I want to make love to you, Natalie. I want you to understand what you mean to me. That’s not going to happen in an hour or even two, and it’s especially not going to happen if you wrap those sweet lips around my cock like you were going to do before.”

His fingers trail down my face, along my jaw, tracing the curve of my lips. Then he is kissing me again, his hands in my hair, holding me as if he can’t get enough of my mouth.

We stopped kissing after losing Ethan. Even when we had sex, we didn’t kiss. I’ve forgotten the intimacy of a kiss, the different emotions that can be conveyed with the slightest change of pressure, the slide of a tongue, the surrender of the body.

Sam’s hands are everywhere, insatiable. He touches me covetously, as if his purpose is not to arouse my already heated body, but to sate himself on the feel of my skin. He kisses me so gently, so long and completely, that I can’t remember why I was afraid to love him again, and I can’t believe that for a few brief moments at the bar I contemplated a life without him.

“Please.” I grind my hips against him. I am wet, aching to be as close to my Sam again as two people can be.

“Shower.”

Puzzled, I frown. “Shower? Now?”

“I don’t want to love you with this blood on me.” He leads me to the vast marble bathroom, decorated with soft gray tile, chrome accents, and fluffy white towels. “And I need something to help me stay in control.”

“Water?”

“Cold water. But I’ll warm you up first.” He wraps his arms around me, and his mouth sinks into mine

I surrender to his slow, heated kisses on my neck, the hollow of my throat, and his reverent worship of my breasts. Emotion swells inside me. I am loved. Wanted. Forgiven. And I am not alone.

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