Grabbing her hair. Pulling it. Keeping her immobile.
He thrust into her, sending shock waves of pleasure from her center all the way through her body.
“Please what?”
“Please let me come.”
He lowered his mouth to her shoulder, kissing her so hard he’d leave marks. When he let go, he whispered, “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Give yourself to me,” he said and she knew what he wanted. All of her body. All of her pleasure. Nothing for her to do but be consumed by him. He wanted to give her everything, and to take nothing from her as he fucked her relentlessly.
She let her head fall forward, her shoulders go slack. She held onto the railing, but the rest was up to him. He dropped his hands to her hips, gripping her tightly, and so fucking possessively that if he didn’t let her come right now she was sure she would die from wanting to climax.
“Don’t hold back anymore,” he commanded, and his tone made it clear—he owned this orgasm. He controlled her body. He was driving this train and she was not only along for the ride. She was the ride.
“Oh, God,” she shouted.
“Tell me you’re coming,” he growled. “Say it.”
She shuddered as the world around her shattered. “I’m coming, Jack. I’m coming now,” she cried out, as her orgasm crashed through her body like a goddamn force of nature. It was better, stronger, more powerful than the last one.
“Yes, you are,” he said, his voice rough and dirty as he fucked her hard and ferociously, giving her everything as he took her. His fingers dug into her flesh, gripping her, driving into her with a fierceness that felt like ownership as he came inside her with a loud, deep groan. As he began to slow his pace, he bent over her back, his chest on her, one hand gently looping around her belly, sensing she needed him to keep her from falling. He held her close as he slowed to a leisurely pace, rocking inside her, like a wave rolling back out to sea.
But even as her orgasm ebbed, she was marked. By his teeth, by his fingers, by his beautiful cock still deep and hard inside her.
By his voice.
And by his control.
He was right about everything. He wanted her badly. He’d shown her how much.
“Michelle,” he whispered, in a voice that was both savage and tender. And she understood then completely what he’d done. He hadn’t merely won her over. He’d claimed her as his own.
CHAPTER SIX
Addictive
When she hung up the phone after taking a quick call from her brother, Jack pulled the beautiful woman who’d spent Friday and Saturday night with him back onto the couch.
“Why is ‘Ode to Joy’ your ringtone?” he asked, as he tugged her against him. She’d come home with him on Friday, but then left after midnight. She’d returned on Saturday, but left late that night too. Maybe it was self-protection; maybe his mattress wasn’t her favorite. But he hoped to convince her soon enough to stay the night. He liked having access to her. Being near her eased the ache of guilt that surrounded him. Hell, it did more than ease it. It erased it. It blotted it out. With Michelle, he felt strangely free of that clawing sense of self-condemnation that surrounded him like a bad cologne. The scent of regret.
“Because it’s a happy piece of music,” she answered as he ran his fingertips along her waist. It was Sunday evening now, and he planned to have her one more time before she left. But for now, he wanted to talk.
“So’s Jack Johnson. But he’s not your ringtone,” he countered.
“Are you saying this cigar isn’t just a cigar?”
He laughed. “Shrink humor?”
“Of course.”
“And yes, what I’m saying is most people don’t pick something like Beethoven’s Ninth unless it means something to them. I want to know what it means to you,” he said, running his hand along the fabric of her skirt as it fell on her hip. She’d worn nothing but skirts whenever he’d seen her, and he was ready to build an altar to the absence of those pesky wardrobe items like pants and jeans. Never had he been more grateful to be with a woman in a skirt.
She pressed a hand against his chest. “I thought this was just sex,” she said, and her tone was playful, but he sensed she was covering something up.
He brought her hand to his lip and pressed a soft kiss. “Forgive me for asking a question that doesn’t involve your magnificent ability to climax multiple times with me.”
She swatted him playfully. “You are a cocky bastard. Trying to use all those orgasms against me.”
“I would never use an orgasm against you. I only use orgasms for good. In fact, I think more orgasms could bring about world peace.”
“The more you come, the less you fight.”
He nodded knowingly. “Exactly. Anyway,” he said, returning undeterred to the topic, “your ringtone. What’s the story? Is it because of that guy you liked? Is that why you’re avoiding answering the question?”
Her eyes widened. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was still in love with him. A kernel of jealousy rooted into his chest. He hadn’t expected to feel that so soon. He’d have to fuck the in-love-with-another-man problem right out of her too.
“No.” She shook her head. “I swear, it’s not because of him.” She sighed, and ran her hand through her hair, still messy from sex. “My parents liked classical music.”
Just like that, he felt like a heel. Jealousy, guilt, putting his foot in his mouth—they’d become too familiar to him. He’d like to rid them all from his repertoire of emotions, limited though that repertoire was.
“Ah. I’m sorry I suggested it was something else,” he said softly, brushing his fingertips gently across her cheek. “I didn’t mean to bring up something that might be hard for you.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t know. We don’t know each other, so we’re just guessing at things. It’s better to ask. And it’s not that hard anymore. It was thirteen years ago.”
“Was ‘Ode to Joy’ special to them?”
“That was the song they got married to,” she said softly. But her voice wasn’t sad. Maybe wistful. Or perhaps it was the tone of someone who was simply used to missing. Used to longing.
“That’s beautiful. Was it their favorite song?” he asked, and he was enjoying getting to know her better, liking that she shared some things so easily. So many women he’d dated had played coy, had been flirty all the time. There was something refreshing about her frankness. Maybe it was refreshing too because he’d kept so much of the truth about his last relationship bottled up. Even Nate didn’t know the full truth. Sure, his friend knew he hadn’t been in love with Aubrey, and he and Nate had even talked about the possibility of calling off the wedding, but Nate was traveling for business a lot that fateful year, so he didn’t know the finer details of that weekend in Colorado beyond what everyone else knew.