Page 31 of Daring the Bad Boy

After what felt like scaling the North Face of the Eiger, they finally reached the bedroom. He dropped her naked on the bed, and ripped open his fly, to free the pa

inful erection. After tearing off his clothes, he located a condom, and suited up in a few swift strokes. He cupped her sex, traced the plump lips, his whole body rejoicing when he found her wet and ready for him.

“I can’t do foreplay, is that okay?” he asked, to be sure. He wasn’t an animal. Not yet.

She nodded.

Anchoring her hips, he plunged to the hilt. She fisted around him, the muscles massaging his length and the brutal climax gripped the base of his spine.

He held still inside her. And his gaze locked on hers. The sight of his own desperation, his own loneliness stared back at him, terrifying him for a moment and battering the rock wall he’d built around his heart twenty-five years before.

Hold on, hold on. Don’t you dare lose it.

But then he began to move, sure, solid, relentless thrusts. He had to drive her over first, if it was the last thing he ever did. To prove this was all about sex – amazing sex – but only sex. And nothing more. Never anything more. Because he didn’t need more.

She met the carnal assault, undulating her hips, her full breasts bouncing with the force of his thrusts.

Her sob of surrender had the angry shout releasing from his lungs as he thrust one final time.

He lay on top of her, gasping for breath, crushing her into the mattress, his body shaking when trembling fingers stroked his hair. He could hear the thumping beat of her heart loud against his ear, and the angry shout still lodged in his throat broke into a brutal sob.

He shuddered, the hot tears hurting his eyes, tearing at his throat. As he struggled to hold on.

“It’s okay, Cal, I’ve got you,” she whispered.

And the chasm inside him opened up and swallowed him whole.

Chapter Ten

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Rosie stared at the intricate plaster casting on the ceiling, feeling hopelessly inadequate and shocked. Her center still ached from the violent intensity of Cal’s lovemaking. His shoulders shook beneath her hands, the silent sobs crucifying her.

A wave of compassion hit her that was so strong it was overwhelming. He’d looked so tortured in the studio, so angry and yet so alone. She remembered how devastated she’d been after her mother had died, and held him tighter, whispering what she hoped were soothing words. Even though she knew there was nothing she could say to take the pain away. Nothing that she could really do, accept let him know he wasn’t alone.

He stilled, the silence punctuated by the spasms of his breathing.

“Shit.” He stiffened suddenly and drew away, lifting off her to sit upright, his back to her as he perched on the edge of the bed and sank his head into his hands. “I don’t know what the hell just happened.”

His shoulders rigid, he scrubbed at his cheeks with the heel of his palm.

“You’re grieving, Cal. It’s okay.”

She placed her palm on his back, against the smooth dip of his spine, to let him know she was still there for him if he needed her – and that he hadn’t done anything wrong.

He straightened and stood. Then twisted to look at her over his shoulder, his expression blank and unreadable. “Do you think we could call it a night? I’ve got to get up early in the morning.”

She pulled her hand back, as humiliation engulfed her and the choking feeling of regret.

She’d stepped over a line. Triggered something she was not supposed to see. Trespassed on his private grief – and let her foolish heart spin some stupid fantasy about being able to console him, when his life, his loss had nothing whatsoever to do with her.

“Yes, yes of course, I’ll just…” She scrambled out of the bed, rushing to find her clothes. “I should go, it’s been a long day and I have stuff to do tomorrow too.” Like a post-mortem on how she’d managed to make such a catastrophic mistake.

But she already knew the answer to that as they both got dressed, the silence awkward and uncomfortable.

She’d picked at a wound she had no right to pick at, until she’d got the response she’d been looking for. The response he had never wanted to give.

She shimmied into her dress, struggling to bend her arms at the angle required to pull up the zip.

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