Page 25 of Dangerous Secrets

“No, you’re not,” she whispered back. “You’re not sorry at all.”

His eyes opened. He’d kept his eyes screwed shut because what was happening inside him was overwhelming, but also because what he had left of his brains told him she’d be furious. You don’t jump a woman, strip her and shove your dick in without even a second’s foreplay. He was half expecting her to tell him to fuck off.

But no—wow—against all the odds, she wasn’t angry. How did that happen? When his eyes opened, they were an inch from hers. He stared into those eyes, mesmerized. That clear, crystal gray, like an early morning sky. There were slight crinkles around her eyes as if she were smiling. Yes, thank you God. Nick’s gaze dropped to her mouth, slightly uptilted. That was definitely a smile. Oh, yeah.

He kissed her, a long, deep plunge into that smile. When his tongue stroked hers, she clenched around him, gasping into his mouth.

She wasn’t furious at being manhandled, at the suddenness with which he’d grabbed her, at being held ferociously tight.

“No, you’re right, I’m not,” he croaked back when he came up for air. Hell no, he wasn’t sorry. He’d kill to remain right where he was, naked on a wooden chair with his dick buried in the most delightful woman he’d ever met.

Nick smiled back. Or tried to. His mouth couldn’t make the right moves. How could he smile when every atom in his body was concentrated on her, the feel of her against him and above all, the tight, warm feel of her sex around his dick?

There was something about that thought that rang a warning bell somewhere far away in his head. Something about the feel of her . . . tight and just a little wetter now and warm . . .

Something about that didn’t feel right. Or rather, felt all too good. Better than anything he had ever felt before . . .

Fuck.

He wasn’t wearing a rubber.

His head nearly exploded.

This was impossible. Nick never fucked without a rubber, never. Never everever. He knew exactly what was out there and though he expected to die young, he wanted to go out like a man from a bullet or a knife to the heart and not hooked up to machines in a hospital. Gah. Better a bullet than disease. No question.

Suiting up was second-nature, simply part of the sexual act. As natural as brushing his teeth. He never went anywhere without rubbers and had even brought them with him to Afghanistan, not that there’d been any chance of using them in that hell-hole. They’d expired in his pocket and were probably dust now in his flak jacket in the basement of his condo.

But right now, in his pants pocket on the floor of her bedroom were several packets of brand-new, top-of-the-line rubbers, just waiting for him.

They might has well have been on Mars for all the good they were doing him there. The normal way to go get them would be to withdraw from Charity, get up and walk over there, but every cell in his body rejected the notion. He couldn’t pull out of her if they put a gun to his head.

Not to mention the biggie—he was on a hair trigger here. Yep. Nick Ireland, Mr. Cool, Iceman himself, who had fucked Consuelo for hours while calculating probabilities that her dickwad brother was changing lieutenants, was about ready to blow.

He could feel it, a volcanic pressure rising from his loins, the little electric tingle along his spine, all telltales he was familiar with. Just Charity breathing caused a little rustle in his system, bringing him that closer to shooting his wad. Any movement, any at all, would just push him over the edge.

Pulling out would mean friction, sliding out of those smooth, soft, warm walls . . .

Oh, God. He had to tighten his groin to keep from coming at the thought. If he pulled out, he’d embarrass himself by spurting into the air. Or worse—into her.

He stared into her eyes, shaking slightly from the effort of not coming.

“I’m not wearing a ru—a condom.” His voice was hoarse, as if he’d spent hours screaming. His throat was tight. Huge steel bands were gripping his chest. “I’m really sorry about that.”

If she wanted to haul off and hit him, she’d have every right. He couldn’t even flinch because any movement was a no-no. All he could do was stare her in the eyes and take it like a man.

Charity was silent.

“Sorry,” he said again. It came out a wheeze. With every second that passed everything in him wound tighter. His dick in her lengthened, thickened and then—whoa—she clenched around him. He responded immediately with a strong ripple. He bit his back teeth together so hard it was a surprise he didn’t crack a tooth. His head was going to explode. And right after that, his dick. He was shaking, trying to rein himself in. “God, Charity, I’m going to?—”

“It’s all right.” Charity’s face was an inch from his. She was somber but her body was trembling. All on its own, her little sex clenched again and they both moaned. “It’s not the right time of the month, so there shouldn’t be any prob?—”

Whatever else she was going to say was lost in his mouth. He closed the little distance between them, holding on to her tightly, ravishing her mouth, thrusting hard up inside her while coming in long, almost violent spurts that shook him from his toes to his head. He ate at her mouth, as if his life depended on it. Maybe it did. He felt one long hot liquid pull through his body, from his mouth to his dick, drowning inside her.

He shook and groaned throughout the climax, grinding himself into her, totally out of control. He left her mouth because he was afraid he’d bite her in his excitement, and buried his face in her hair, hanging on to her as if he were drowning and she was his lifeline to shore.

His skin prickled, his chest felt tight, he was burning up. He felt especially hot in his groin, right where he was joined to her. Hot and wet. He’d spurted so much come into her, they were wet to their thighs. It should have been a turn-off, but actually it was a huge turn-on. Huge. Knowing his seed was inside her. And in particular, knowing she was now wet.

Not wet because he’d managed to get in a little foreplay, no, not that kind of wet. But still. Wet is wet. Wet meant he could move in her without hurting her.

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