Page 34 of Back in the Texan's Bed
He grasped her wrist and drew her hand forward, slowly enough that she had more than enough time to glean his intention. And that same amount of time to yank her arm back. But she didn’t stop him as he pressed her palm to his cock. Didn’t hiss an objection when he instinctively ground against it.
No, it was his curse that assaulted the air, his hand that threw hers off.
He who wheeled around and stalked across the room.
“Go to bed, Charlotte,” he ordered, voice shredded, control not too far behind. “It’s been a long day for both of us.”
He needed her gone, preferably tucked away behind a locked door. With the imprint of her palm branded on his dick, he couldn’t guarantee he could keep his hands off her. And nothing good would come of that. Not with desire and anger roiling inside him, urging him to wreck the tentative truce they’d forged with hot, filthy sex. Because there would be nothing cleansing about what he’d do to her.Take her. Conquer her. Corrupt her.That was the kind of fucking he’d indulge in and demand from her to sublimate this rage, this pain.
“Not until you talk to me.”
He snarled, sharply pivoting and charging back across the room.Calm.Keep your distance. The judicious warnings whispered through his mind, but they were reduced to ash underneath the burning riot of emotions. He didn’t stop when he approached her. Didn’t halt until her back pressed against the window and his palms slapped on either side of her head, caging her between glass and his body.
“Why are you pushing this?” he growled, lowering his head until his lips grazed the curve of her ear. “What do you want to hear from me? That my father is a bastard? That he evicted me like some random tenant? That he cut me off, and I’m angry as hell? Yes, dammit. Are you happy? I’m shocked, furious and even a little scared. All of that. But he isn’t the first person to walk away from me, Charlotte. I’m a fucking pro at this. So save the sympathy, the pity. I don’t need them. What Idoneed is for you to take your sweet ass into that bedroom, lie down next to our son and leave me alone. For both our sakes.”
He shoved off the window, air plowing out of his lungs. Dammit. He hadn’t meant to say any of that. But her nearness, this unrelenting need and his hurt had propelled the words off his tongue, and not even God could turn back time to erase the too-revealing confession. Slowly he backed away from her, his narrowed gaze fixed on her face. A face that betrayed her surprise and, heaven help him, resolve.
He walked away. Again. Hell, if she wouldn’t leave, he would. His pride had disintegrated and littered the floor around his feet. What was one more retreat?
Her hand circled his wrist.
And the last, tattered scraps of his control crumbled.
Turning, he simultaneously lunged for her, cupping her face between his hands, tilting her head back. Her fingers curled into his shirt, holding on. Probably to maintain her balance, since he leaned over her so far that her back arched, her full breasts pressing to his chest.
He shuddered.
“Goddammit, Charlotte,” he bit out, lips moving over hers. “Leave now or stay and let me use you to pound out this...thing inside me. I won’t be gentle—I can’t be. I’ll take from you, and I can’t promise to give anything back. I want to feast on you and not stop until we’re too broken to even breathe.” He crushed a hard kiss to her mouth, thrusting between her lips in a quick taste-and-tangle that did nothing to satisfy the craving for her. “This is your chance to walk away now, baby. Because I can’t.”
Harsh puffs of air bathed his lips as her fingers encircled his wrists. But not to haul them away from her face. This brave, beautiful andfoolishwoman rose on her toes and took the next kiss. Opened wide for him. Allowed him entrance. Invited him to devour.
And on a groan heavy with desire, with demand—with gratitude—he accepted.
From the onset, the kiss consumed. Raw. Carnal. Ravenous. He went wild at her taste, diving back for more, always for more. Each lick, each slide of tongues, each rub of lips and bite of teeth ratcheted the desire consuming him to combustible levels. What was it about her that could transform him into this insatiable animal that was ready to snarl, claw and maul to keep her for himself?
Tonight, the last shred of reason interjected. This was just about here and now. Getting through the night. The only “forever” between him and Charlotte was Ben.
On the tail end of that thought, Ross sidestepped, maneuvering her so she backpedaled toward the couch. Without breaking the mating of their mouths, he guided her down to the cushion. As soon as she sat, he pushed between her legs, cupping her knees and spreading her wider to accommodate his torso.
He broke off the kiss, leaned back and watched his hands stroke up her toned, sexy legs, his fingertips skirting the crease where her thigh and upper body met. Didn’t matter that she still wore her clothes. Her warmth seeped past the material to his skin, and he swore her rich fig-and-sugar scent was deeper, denser...headier. His gaze shifted higher, focusing on the cloth-covered flesh between her legs, and he slicked the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. The source of that scent, that flavor emanated from right there.
And he wanted to gorge on it.
“If you really care about this shirt, you need to take it off now. I won’t be as careful with it,” he advised, raising his gaze from her sex to her face.
Her lips, swollen and damp from his kiss, parted, and a soft gust of breath eased past them. He almost leaned forward to feel that puff of air on his mouth, but he didn’t. Couldn’t risk missing her unveil herself for him.
Silence pulsed in the room, a thunderous heartbeat that nearly drowned out his own as he studied those elegant fingers move to the hidden buttons behind the ruffle that stretched from her throat to her waist. Quickly, she undid her shirt and peeled the two sides apart, revealing another of those sexy-as-hell confections others would call a bra. Pale green this time. Silk and lace molded to her luscious breasts. His mouth watered for a taste. And he didn’t wait for her to shrug completely free of it before bowing over her and sucking a nipple deep into his mouth.
With a hushed curse, she battled the cuffs of her shirt, and he took advantage of her bound hands, cupping one breast, pinching the tip, rolling it while tonguing the other. Her tortured whimper mingled with his groan, and then her fingernails were scraping across his scalp, and he was popping the bra’s front closure and freeing her.
Jesus. She was too fucking beautiful for words.
Switching breasts, he nuzzled the other mound, licking a path toward the peak. She arched into him, urging him on with whispered chants of his name, pressing his head to her, lowering a hand and closing it over his, so they squeezed and caressed together.
“Damn, I can’t get enough of you,” he muttered, brushing his lips over her wet nipple, then trailing a path punctuated by stinging kisses down her softly rounded stomach, pausing to trace the faint stretch marks over her skin. Marks that gave testimony to the precious life she’d brought into this world.
“Ross,” she breathed, her fingers massaging his scalp, tugging at his hair. Trying to get him to look at her.
