Page 37 of Love & Rockets

Chapter 8

Oh, God, he was big, and hot, and holy moly, she finally understood what that singer meant about someone’s body being a wonderland. She couldn’t stop touching him. Everywhere.

The second she confirmed his suspicions about her lingerie choices, he kissed her hard and fast and began moving inside of her. Slow at first, but building speed and strength like a hurricane swirling through the warm Gulf waters.

The play of unexpected muscles under taut, smooth skin was nearly sent her sailing, but she wouldn’t let go yet. Couldn’t. Not when his chest hair was rasping against the front of her dress. The sensation of skin hitching on fabric shouldn’t have been so exciting, but it was. All of it was.

She’d never done this before, loosened a few hooks and buttons and gone right to the main event. And damn, if it wasn’t intoxicating to know she could drive this man to the brink without removing a stitch. She even had her shoes on. Too turned on to resist, she let the heel of her trusty black pumps scrape down the leg of his suit pants. A violent shiver raced through him. She squeezed a handful of rounded ass and yanked her panties further aside, feeling the elastic strain and pop as Jake shifted his weight forward and drove into her with unrelenting downward thrusts.

Oh, but payback was delicious.

The change in angle brought the slick length of his cock in contact with her clit with every stroke. The leg of her panties cut into her ass. Time slowed, then sped as she splintered into bits and pieces. Pleasure. Pain. Smooth. Rough. Thrust, retreat. Pant, moan.

His belt buckle embedded itself in her thigh. She’d have to get Connie’s dress dry-cleaned. Better yet, she’d buy it from her so she could have the damn thing framed like a trophy. If a president could do it, so could she. This was America.

“Darla.”

She loved the way he said her name. Even on the most mundane days, his soft slurring of the final vowel made her feel quivery. This day was proving to be extraordinary. And so was the sound of Jake Dalton saying her name as he fucked her like a wild, bucking bronco.

“Oh, yes,” she crooned. “Harder. Oh, yeah. Harder.”

He complied, and she rewarded him by sliding her fingers along the crevice of his ass. The man all but leaped out of his skin. Then he burrowed deeper into her with a guttural growl, deepening his strokes and lowering his mouth to her ear.

“Is this how you like it?”

The clingy knit of her dress gave her no traction. With each short, powerful thrust he inched her across the bed. When they reached the abyss, she hooked her arm under his and gripped his shoulder in a half-hearted attempt to hold him back. But she didn’t want him restrained. She wanted him totally undone.

“Yes, that’s how I like it,” she panted. Abandoning her grip on her panties, she slid her hand over her clit and began to stroke herself in time with him. “I’ve thought about this. All week long, I thought about you.”

His groan sounded like she’d reached into him and pulled it up from the soles of his feet. She had a new favorite sound. His muscles bunched. Muscular arms quivered. He stared down at her, his bottomless eyes fixed on some spot so deep inside her she felt the first pulse of his climax as if it were her own.

Riding high on the spasms racking his powerful body, she stroked her own faster, harder. He dropped onto her, his chest heaving, and he blew like a thoroughbred after a race. Her fingernails bit into his shoulder, clutching him tight to her, unwilling to surrender the weight of him as she drove herself straight up the slick, steep cliff, determined to hurl herself off.

“Jesus, Darla,” he ground out.

“Oh, yeah,” she exhaled.

Her toes curled. She felt her muscles tighten around him. Beyond caring about anything but reaching her own climax, she rode his cock and her own hand until she cracked wide open. Every bit of lust or longing she’d ever felt for him raced through her body like a storm surge, sweeping away any shyness or shame she might have dredged up in her mad rush to completion.

Sliding her hand out from between them, she let it fall limp to the bed. There was only one thing more she needed. Turning her head toward his, she brushed her lips over his ear. “Say it again.”

“Hm?”

“Say my name again.”

He stirred. She blinked and suddenly she was staring into brown eyes alight with satisfaction. “Darla?”

“That’s me,” she retorted, trying to muster a little sass.

“Don’t think I forgot for even one second.” He grimaced as he pushed back to relieve her of some of his weight. Unfortunately, he took his cock with him. “Sorry.” This time, his reflexive apology made her smile. “I, uh, can’t use my hands and didn’t want to risk things getting, um, messy.”

She glanced down at the condom still stretched tight over him. “Need some help?”

He rolled his eyes and rocked back onto his knees, shaking his head. “I can handle the condom, if you could help….” He held his arms out and nodded toward the twisted knot of fabric binding his hands.

Feeling generous, Darla gave in and started to sort through the mass of white on white. “Okay, fine. But, for the record, I think you did fine without the use of your hands.”

“I need to work on my Houdini skills,” he murmured. A now-familiar furrow appeared between his brows as he watched her work. “I hate that I didn’t get you there.”

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