Page 79 of Trapped

He slowly rolled under her, giving her time to adjust to the changed position. And when he came to rest on his back, she realized that she wasn’t the only one who had been turned on by her slippery hands moving over his back.

He was hard as a steel pipe.

She made a strangled sound as she felt him pressing against her. And when he reached up to pull her down to his chest, she came willingly.

She had thought he was trying to stay away from her. Apparently, it hadn’t worked.

Reaching around her, he unhooked her bra, and she pulled it out of the way, tossing it to the other side of the bed. Then he pulled her down again, kneading over her back the way she had done with him before turning her over and sitting her up so he could sway her breasts against his chest.

“Oh!”

Craving more, she wiggled her panties down enough to pull them off one leg, leaving them clinging to the other. Then she did the same with him, pulling down his brief far enough so that she had full access to him.

She was already swollen and slick.

“Lie down,” she murmured urgently.

When he did, she straddled him, rubbing herself against his cock, loving his wonderful hardness and fullness.

He made an appreciative exclamation as she drove them both wild with need. Then she brought him inside her.

Her eyes locked with his, and she stayed where she was without moving for half a minute, teasing them both almost beyond endurance.

He was the one who forced the issue, raising his hips and pressing farther into her.

She cried out, then began to move—because that was her only option.

“I want to see you play with your breasts,” he said, his voice thick.

She did as he asked, boldly lifting her breasts toward him, then plucking and twisting at the tips because it gave them both pleasure.

It was wonderful to move in this dance of sexual fulfilment with him. And wonderful to see his face and so much of his body as she moved above him.

She pulled back as far as she could. Still joined to him, looking down at the place where their bodies merged, marveling at the way that intimate connection looked.

She watched him follow her gaze, his face molten with heat.

With an exclamation of pure joy, she plunged down again, driving them both to the brink.

Her movements became wilder. Less controlled. She pushed them both to a high peak of pleasure, then tumbled over the edge, taking him with her in a rush of deep fulfilment.

Breathing hard, she collapsed on top of him, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tight.

“I love you,” she whispered.

She heard his sharp indrawn breath.

“No.”

“I think a while ago you advised me not to tell you what you feel. Give me the same courtesy.”

“You don’t want to get mixed up with me.”

“Like I said, let me be the judge of that.”

Sitting up was too much work, so she bent forward, clasping his sweat- and lotion-slick body as she stretched out on top of him—keeping him inside her.

She longed to hear him say the same thing she had said. But she knew he wasn’t going to do it. Not until he had dealt with the memory problem.

Or maybe never, if he let his stubborn pride rule his emotions. In the vulnerable recesses of her heart, she understood that she had to be prepared for that, too.

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