Can't Get Enough

  Fire. Yes. She burned. Burned so deliciously. Every cell had erupted in flames. She'd become an inferno.

  Brock nudged her bra aside, the action jerky. The moment her breast popped free of the lace, his mouth descended, closing around the crest. Pleasure shot through her, shoving a moan past her lips.

  As he sucked, he glided his fingers along her stomach, played with the waist of her panties before sliding underneath the fabric. Another moan from her. A gasp as he parted her, slicked through her wetness and then, oh, then, thrust one of those naughty fingers deep inside her.

  Her hips jolted upward, sending him even deeper, and he groaned her name.

  "So tight, so wet," he praised. "Going to give you more, gorgeous. Can you take it?"

  "Yes. Please. Give it to me!" A request and a command all at once.

  On his next thrust, he worked a second finger inside her, stretching her. Her nails sank into his shoulders, perhaps cutting skin. He didn't seem to care. No, as he lifted his head to peer down at her, he seemed...awed.

  As she panted, he lowered his head and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth, then sucked the other straight through her bra. She moaned. She writhed. She combed her fingers through his hair, even tugged the strands. Only when both buds were swollen, puckered and aching in time to her needy core did he return his focus to her mouth.

  "You're going to make me blow." Beads of sweat trickled over his temples as he met her gaze. Strain etched every line of his beautiful face. Fighting for breath, he added, "I'm not ready. Want to savor you."

  Inexperienced Lyndie had made this rough, tough playboy desperate.

  "Come," she said, nodding. "Yes, yes. I want you to come." Wanted this to be as pleasurable for him as it was for her. "Let's come together."

  "Trust me?" he asked now.

  "Yes." Perhaps more than any other man...ever.

  Motions hurried, he dragged her panties and garters down her legs, tossed the garments aside. Then he stopped, just stopped, and drank her in, as if riveted by the sight of her.

  "Strawberry-blond, even here." He reached out to trace a fingertip between her legs. "My wife is exquisite."

  Her pleasure-cry snapped him out of his reverie. Hurried once again, he tore open his slacks. The head of his shaft stretched well above the waist of his boxer briefs, the tip glistening. When he anchored the cotton beneath his testicles, revealing his massive length, she gawked.

  Brock Hudson was loaded for bear.

  "The way you look at me..." He spread her legs and pressed his erection against her throbbing heat.

  Control gone, she thrashed her head.

  Using her wetness as lubrication, he rubbed, and rubbed. Again and again. Faster and faster. Her breasts bobbed. With every upward glide, he exerted more pressure. More pressure, more pleasure. Continuing to build... Her skin seemed to stretch too tight. Her blood turned to fuel, burning. Soon a bomb would detonate inside her, and she would explode.

  Oh, please, please, please.

  "You've enraptured me," he said, his voice nothing more than smoke and gravel. "I would do anything for you."

  Little mewling sounds rose from her as she thrashed atop the mattress. "Brock. Brock, please." Thoughts, derailing. "I need you. Inside. Inside now. Changed my mind. Please. Show me how badly you want me."

  "If I showed you that, I'd break the bed." A bead of sweat trickled from his temple, splashed onto her chest. Tension strained his features. "No sex. Not tonight. Not until you want it before we reach this point."

  Darling man. Frustrating man! Gimme!

  Holding her gaze, he brought his fingers to his mouth. The fingers he'd just had inside her. He licked away every bit of desire and moaned, as if he savored her intimate flavor. The sight of him...the knowledge...

  Lyndie screamed as she climaxed, her back bowing, her muscles clenching and unclenching on bone.

  As she clawed at Brock's back, he sucked on the hammering pulse at the base of her neck. At the same time, he gripped her bottom, lifting her lower body, still rub, rub, rubbing. And oh... Oh! As his muscles seized underneath her nails, his body going rigid, his back bowing, he roared her name--Scottie!--and came on her stomach.

  When she lifted her head to bite his lower lip, Brock claimed her mouth in a brutally sexual kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, prolonging her world-rocking orgasm. And, clearly, his own. With one hand, he anchored her arms above her head, ensuring her breasts smashed into his chest. With the other, he clutched her knee to hold her legs closer, flush against his side. One body shook against the other.

  At long last, she floated down from her high, wonder filling her. She--Lyndie Scott-Hudson--had made the playboy roar and come and shudder. Go me!

  I want more.

  When breathing was possible again, Lyndie met Brock's pale green gaze, melted into the mattress, and thought: This isn't going to end well for me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Never, in all Brock's days, had he experienced such explosive pleasure. Despite the fact that he hadn't even gotten inside his partner. For the first time in his life, he'd known the woman in bed with him. He'd known the ins and outs of her violent past, knew how rarely she laughed, how special her smiles were, had known fear was often her default setting, and pleasure had been an afterthought...until recently. Underneath his mouth and hands, she'd blossomed. Arousal had pinked and heated her skin. Her nipples had puckered, ready for his attention. Her belly had quivered, and she'd whimpered with desperation and need. A sex kitten--his sex kitten.

  Now Lyndie curled into his side, drawing lazy circles over his tattoos, thrilling him.

  Though he had a vast amount of experience, the very moment his lips met Lyndie's in a searing kiss, he'd mentally and emotionally reached a point of no return. Like a teenager with his first girlfriend, he'd lost track of everything but the woman beneath him.

  Finally he understood the term "come your brains out." Circuits in his mind were fried beyond repair. The rest of his body hadn't fared much better. His heart still raced, his breathing had yet to calm, and a deep sense of satisfaction had taken up permanent residence inside him.

  No one could ever want me for more than my money, Mother? Wrong! Lyndie Scott-Hudson wants me for my mind and my body. She trusts me in a way she's never trusted another. She smiles when she's with me. She comes apart in my arms. I'm valuable to her.

  What a fool he'd been to ever expect an encounter with his Scottie to be like any other. Fun, enjoyable, even pleasant, but always meaningless and sometimes forgettable. Lyndie wasn't like other girls. Not to him. Over the past week, she'd become more than an acquaintance, more than a treasured friend. She'd become a necessity. Apparently, he had better sex with necessities, even when they didn't actually have sex.

  What he and Lyndie had done? Blow his ever-loving mind.

  His emotions had been involved from the get go, and whether she would admit it or not, her emotions had been involved too. Every minute, second, millisecond had meant something to them both.

  He smiled as he remembered the way Lyndie had reacted to his touch. The more she'd realized how desperately he wanted her, the more turned on she'd been, soon thrashing with abandon. His strawberry-blonde had loved having power over him.

  Shockingly enough, he'd loved conceding that power.

  A startling realization: after tonight, sleeping with a random stranger no longer held any appeal. At the very least, he needed a friend in his bed.

  Now he tensed. Seduce another woman? Here, with Lyndie, he couldn't stomach the idea.

  "My mother would have loved you," she said, her tone soft. Their minds had traveled the same path tonight. To family.

  Jolted to the core, he said, "You think so?" The rawness of his tone hung heavy in the air.

  "She died when I was little, but I remember the times she tickled me, and I laughed, and she told me I had the most magical laugh in all the world, and even though she hadn't yet met the people who would make me laugh in the future,
she loved each and every one for all time."

  "She sounds like an amazing woman." Far different from his own experiences.

  "She was." Lyndie cleared her throat and rolled to her back, severing contact. "Well."

  About to tell him to get lost? Probably, but he wasn't ready to part with her.

  Before she could kick him out, he used his discarded shirt to clean her up, then stood and helped her to her feet. He was pleased to note the weakness of her knees. If he hadn't wound his arm around her waist, she would have fallen.

  "Our bodies are as dirty as our minds," he said, a husky note in his voice. "Let's shower."

  She blinked up at him, as if she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. "You mean...together?"

  "Or I can stand outside the stall and watch you like a creeper. Always lady's choice."

  A startled laugh bubbled from her, entrancing him more than usual--delighting him. I did that. Me. Her mother would love him.

  "Let's face facts, angel cakes," he said. "You breathe, and I want you."

  Her cheeks flushed with...pleasure? "Angel cakes. Red. Scottie. How many nicknames are you going to give me?"

  "I'll keep giving you new nicknames until you give me one."

  Clearly trying not to smile while rapidly batting her lashes, she said, "Does Brockie Baby Boo Boo count?"

  "Not even a little."

  She hiked her shoulder in a shrug. "Then I'll keep thinking."

  "You do that...sugar tush."

  Another startled laugh only stoked his need for her higher. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and lay her flat on the mattress, wanted to spread her legs and sink deep inside her, wanted...what he couldn't have.

  Deciding to get serious for a moment, he cupped her cheeks, and said, "Just so we're on the same page. How far do you want to go next time?"

  She chewed on her bottom lip. "I still want to wait for sex because...because I'm afraid you won't want me after we go all the way." She moaned. "And now I sound like I'm fifteen."

  A knife twisted inside him. Talk about a man's past coming back to haunt him. "I will want you after, Scottie. I swear it."

  "But how can you be sure?"

  "Because wanting like ours doesn't go away overnight."

  She gulped. "But how can you be sure?" she repeated softly.

  "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you. Trust me. Please. I know you trust me in part, or I wouldn't be here. But I'm asking you to trust me in all." He was asking for too much, too fast, but not asking wasn't an option.

  "I want to, I do, but the stakes are so high," she said with a tremor.

  Disappointment razed him, but he didn't push. Never ever did he want this woman to feel as if he sought to control her. Mere days ago, he'd told her he would work to earn her trust, and he would.

  "I understand." He brushed the tip of his nose against hers. "In the meantime, we can make these next two weeks of extended foreplay feel like heaven and hell on earth."

  She snorted. Then, oh then, she softened against him, leaning forward to press her chest flush against his. Male to female. Heated skin to heated skin. "Consider this your formal invitation to join me in the shower...pickle."

  Now this was a work-reward program he could get behind. "I prefer precious."

  "How about Hugsy Wugsy? Chippendale? Casanova?"

  "Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner. You will now call me Hugsy Wugsy," he said, knowing she would rather choke.

  She sputtered for a moment, only to burst into a fit of giggles. "Very well. After our bodies and minds are clean, we can cook dinner, my sweet Hugsy Wugsy. I didn't eat at the reception."

  "Nope. Sorry. I agreed never to cook for you, remember? Something about you not wanting to get used to relying on my amazing services."

  "We can make an exception this once," she said and nipped his chin.

  Didn't want to part from him? He grinned. "All right then. I won't just help you cook. I'll cook, and you'll watch. But only this once, and only because I'm a nice hugsy wugsy." He kissed her lips, a quick peck...but a peck would never be enough with Lyndie. He kissed her again, and this time he lingered, tasting, savoring.

  When finally he lifted his head, she gazed up at him with hazy eyes. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips red and slightly bee-stung. Her chest rose and fell in swift succession.

  She'd become the incarnation of desire.

  "I look forward to feeding you...," he began.

  "If you tell me you're going to feed me your penis--" She traced a fingertip down the center of his chest.

  "My penis," he hurried to finish.

  "I...might just take you up on the offer." When she realized what he'd said, she barked out yet another laugh. "Or I might not. Only time will tell."

  Prim and proper Lyndie Scott had a wicked sense of humor, and he loved it.

  Feeling like the king of the world, Brock led her into the bathroom where he stripped her of her last remaining article of clothing--her bra. Freeing her beautiful breasts at last, he cupped and kneaded the plump flesh, then licked and sucked her perfect little cotton candy nipples. All of Lyndie was cotton candy.

  As she moaned and groaned, her fingers combed through his hair with enough force to ensure his head remained where it was.

  She likes what I do to her.

  Slow down. Savor this time.

  He worked the knobs in the shower until hot water sprayed from the spout. Soon steam thickened the air. Facing his wife, he noticed how beautifully her nipples glistened from the moisture left behind by his mouth, how his beard stubble had etched little pink scratches on the sides of her breasts. How the tiny bruise he'd sucked at the base of her neck stood out against the paleness of her skin.

  Marked her as mine.

  One day he would mark her another way. Her body might grow to accommodate his child.

  A child he might or might not claim.

  His hands fisted as a sharp lance of devastation cut through his chest.

  She reached up to toy with the ends of his hair, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside him. Or maybe not so oblivious. Maybe she sought to distract him. "What did you say to me, there at the end of our make-out session?"

  Get control of your thoughts. Now. "I said, Je bande pour toi. French for I'm hard for you." True then...true now. Despite coming only minutes ago, he wanted Lyndie all over again.

  "How'd you learn all these languages?"

  "Army sent me all over the world, but I only learned come-ons."

  Her eyes glittered with amusement, but her tone was dry as she said, "Of course you did. My playboy likes his pleasure."

  "Playman, Scottie. Playman. Now, less talking and more showering."

  "Sir, yes, sir."

  Brock removed what remained of his clothing, entered the stall, and held out his hand. Lyndie accepted, and he tugged her close...closer still. They stood face-to-face, the hot cascade of water raining over them, the steam turning the stall into a true midnight fantasy.

  "Want to know another secret?" Lyndie asked.

  "I want to know all your secrets. FYI you have the best secrets."

  She beamed at him, even petted his chest. "I don't know how I resisted this"--delicate feminine fingers wrapped around his shaft--"for so long."

  Air hissed between his teeth as pleasure stampeded him. "Scottie, sweetheart, I hate to point out the obvious, but you're still resisting it."

  If she'd given him the go-ahead--while still in her right mind and not moaning in pleasure, begging him to take what she hadn't wanted to offer only minutes before--he would have already lifted her up, pressed her against the tiles, and slammed deep inside her. Her inner walls would have closed around his length, gloving him, and he would--

  Stop! Focus on the moment. Focus on what is, not on what could be.

  He hadn't yet earned the full breadth of her trust, but he would.

  "Oh, that's right. How almost cruel of me." With a coquettish smile, she released him and reached for a bar of soap. Then she turn
ed, presenting him with her back. "Wash me?"

  His gaze traveled down the elegant ridges of her spine only to jerk back up. A sharp lance of fury pierced him straight through the heart. Between her shoulder blades and just over the curve of her ass, scars formed crisscross patterns. Scars of the same size and shape marred her abdomen as well, just as she'd said, most likely caused by multiple strikes of a belt buckle. If her father and ex weren't already dead, Brock might have killed them both.

  She went rigid, as if she'd discerned the direction of his thoughts.

  He kissed her shoulder. Forcing a light, airy tone, he said, "You are definitely cruel, a straight-up femme fatale, but don't you dare stop. I love every second of it."

  The tension left her, and she melted against him. He knew she reveled in her feminine power over him, and that was okay. He reveled in her.

  Brock took the offered soap, wrapped his arms around her, and worked his hands into a lather. As she rested her head on his shoulder, he massaged the soap into her breasts...along her stomach...between her legs... Her little panting breaths drove him wild.

  His erection fit between the cheeks of her ass as he rinsed her off.

  "My turn to wash you?" she ask, sounding hopeful.

  "Not yet. I'm loath to give up my position."

  "And I'm the cruel one? You're stopping me from putting my hands on you."

  "Yes, Red, you are still the cruel one. I'm not going to seek revenge though. No, I'm going to reward you instead and take you on a honeymoon. I know you said you want to stay home, and we will...but how about staying in one of my homes? I have three. Or rather, we have three--a penthouse in Manhattan, a Bel Air spec house in LA, and a private island off Florida."

  She glanced at him over her shoulder, her amber eyes wide. Water droplets caught in the tantalizingly long length of her lashes. "You own all that?"

  "We do. For now." They were family. What belonged to him belonged to her. "But I'm thinking about selling."

  "Why?" A second later, she stiffened and shook her head. "Never mind. Not my business."

  He wanted to assure her that she could ask him anything she wanted, whenever she wanted, but they were venturing into dangerous territory.

  Earlier she'd claimed learning about him turned her on, but how long would her fascination last? His own mother hadn't liked him, much less loved him. And okay, yes, logically he knew the blame for that rested on Miranda's shoulders. He knew Lyndie valued him.