Page 41 of Edge of Secrets

“Oh really? Do I intimidate you?” I put my hands on my hips, striking a pose.

He blew out a breath, shaking his head. “Some parts of me.” He tossed off his robe, displaying his naked body, his huge erection. “Other parts of me are fucking fearless.”

Oh, he was perfect. I’d spent all that time admiring his face, but there were riches untold underneath all his clothes, with all those lean, defined, capable-looking muscles, just the right amount of hair, beautiful thighs and flanks, long, narrow feet. And his thick, broad cock. I wanted to touch him all over. Squeeze him. Lick him like a lollipop.

He tossed the comforter back and pushed me until I tumbled backward onto the silvery gray sheet. It was cool against my damp skin. I scrambled up, curling my knees beneath me.

He stood there, erection bobbing right before my eyes. I reached for it, but he grabbed my hands, holding them still. He started to speak, then stopped himself.

“What?” I demanded. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

His throat bobbed. “I just don’t want to fuck this up again. I don’t know what I did wrong the last time.”

The raw tone in his voice startled me into a rush of awkward tenderness. I had been so carried away by my own feelings, it never occurred to me that he could feel vulnerable, too. The thought gave me a somewhat unwelcome sense of power.

Elena had wielded power over men whenever she could. And yet, she had died all alone. There had been no one but me at her funeral, besides the funeral home staff.

I pushed that thought away. I would not let it take any more from me than it had already taken. “You won’t fuck up,” I told him. “Your instincts are great. You did fine earlier today, in the conference room. You rocked my world. You almost made my heart stop.”

“As long as I kept my big mouth shut.” He had a rueful tone. “But now things are different now. Those assholes attacked you. I have an adrenaline hard-on. My hands are still shaking. I am not in control. I don’t like not being in control—and I’m afraid you wouldn’t like it either.”

I wanted to smile, but sensed he wouldn’t appreciate it. Instead, I ran my finger around the swollen tip of his cock, swirling the slick drop of pre-come until it gleamed.

“Strange,” I mused. “This ravenous, howling-at-the-moon beast managed to buy me flowers, bring me to his fancy home, cook me a nice dinner, pour me wine, chat about art, express complex self-observation. Brrr. Such savagery really chills the blood. Besides, I thought sex was all about losing control. Isn’t it?”

“Nope,” he said flatly. “Not when you’re as big as I am. Besides, I can’t afford to make more wrong moves with you. You are a goddamn minefield, Nell D’Onofrio.”

I swirled my whole hand around his cock, making the tendons stand out on his throat as he swallowed hard. “I’m sorry I’m so difficult,” I offered. “Maybe I can make it up to you somehow.”

He clambered onto the bed, dragging me close until our bodies touched. His heat was a sweet shock against my skin. The sheer mass of him, the crackling energy, his male scent overlaid with the perfumes of his soap and shampoo—he made my mouth water. I moistened my hand with more of that slick of pre-come and began milking the long, broad stalk slowly, enjoying the hot, pulsing feel of him under my fingers.

“It would be exciting to make you lose control,” I whispered.

“Not happening.” He slid his hand between my legs, teasing my tender folds open, sighing when he found me already wet and slick.

“No?” I caressed him with both hands—long, tight, sliding strokes while his fingers delved. We stared into each other’s eyes. I squirmed around his fingers, my breath catching.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I said breathlessly, for no reason I could understand. That was why the sex was so good—apart from his very considerable talent, of course.

He reached down and trapped my hand at his cock, holding it motionless. “Do not provoke me. I’m walking a knife’s edge as it is.”

I swirled my fingertips teasingly on that thick, pulsing shaft, and with my other hand, I gave his chest a tiny shove.

“What’s that about?” he demanded. “How do I read that? You pushing me away?”

I smiled mysteriously up through my lashes. “That’s just me, pushing you off your knife’s edge.”

He let out a rough laugh and shoved me onto my back. “You asked for it.”

“I sure did.” I wound myself around him. “Don’t make me ask you twice.”

I wiggled beneath his big body while he rolled the latex onto himself, lungs locked with excitement. He settled between my legs, stroking his hands wonderingly over my body, then inside my thighs. Petting and stimulating the sensitive nub of my clit, until I was gasping and lifting against him. I was so primed, I came almost instantly.

As soon as I could breathe again, he nudged his cock inside me. The pressure of that his thick cockhead caressing my sensitive inner flesh was delicious, intense. He hooked my legs up over his elbows and began to move.

I gripped his arms, bracing myself against each deep, jarring thrust. I was melting for him, shimmering, liquid. He took his time, finding every sweet spot, tormenting me by stroking it, stimulating it, until I came, and long, sobbing spasms of delight wracked my body. And then he would start again. Over and over, until he finally let go, in a hard, pounding, thundering finish.

I could barely move. He got up at one point, got rid of the condom. Then he slid back between the sheets and wrapped me in this arms, holding me tight against his big, hot chest. It felt wonderful. I snuggled against him, suspended in a liquid dream.

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