Лиза Джонс - Dangerous Secrets

He wanted Julie like nothing else in this world, in a way he couldn’t continue to ignore. He itched to peel off her dress, to once again touch that silky skin of hers. Patience, he reminded himself. Good things come to those who wait.

Slowly he walked into the living room, closing the distance between them, feeling like an animal stalking his prey, never taking his eyes off her. She picked up a picture of him and his brothers from the mantel. She stared at it a moment, and then looked up at him.

They stood a mere foot apart as their eyes locked. “I never knew you were so sentimental,” she said in a soft voice.

He took the picture from her hands, setting it back on the mantel. “Runs in the family,” he said as his hand settled on her hip. The air in the room seemed to crackle. “Sentimental and protective. You bring out those things and more in me. For instance, I remember every second of the weeks we spent together years ago, even when I tried to forget.”

Her hand went to his jaw, tenderly, a soft look in her eyes. He pulled her close, tangling their legs together, melding his hips to hers, his thick erection to her stomach where she’d know just how hot he was for her.

Her teeth scraped her full bottom lip and his cock jerked. Damn, every time she did that he felt it in every inch of his body.

“How do I feel about it?” she asked softly.

“Mmmm,” he said staring down at her, fighting the desire to just kiss her and ask questions later, when he knew it would be a fatal mistake.

Her dark lashes fluttered to her pale cheeks as if she was surrendering to some feeling. Her lips parted before she looked back up at him. “At this very moment, I’d say I feel pretty good about it.”

She barely had the words out before his mouth was on hers, his tongue parting her lips, teasing and tasting, and God , she tasted good. Like chocolate and champagne, and temptation. The flavor sent a rush of blood through his veins that settled heavily, thickly in his groin.

His hands caressed a path down her waist, to cup her full, high, perfect ass. “I want to see you. All of you.”

One side of her mouth lifted in a sultry little smile that played with his cock even as her fingers played with the buttons on his shirt. “And I want to see you.”

He gently shackled her wrists with his hands, making her gaze lock with his. “You first. I want you way too much to be naked just yet, and way too much for you not to be.”

Her eyes narrowed and he drew her wrist to his lips, feeling the thrum of her rapid pulse against his mouth before he moved to kiss her palm. “I’m, hmmmm, all for getting out of this dress.”

His hands traveled down her neck, over her shoulders, and then gently over her breasts. She pressed his hands against her, molding them to her chest. “I need help with my zipper,” she said. Slowly, she turned and gave him her back.

He brushed her hair over one of her delicate shoulders and tugged the metal clasp downward, each newly revealed inch of skin setting his pulse to a quicker pace. No woman had ever affected him with nothing but a slash of ivory skin. He kissed the sensitive spot at her nape and then slowly skimmed the material off her shoulders, then followed the dress down to her waist. She shimmied her hips, helping him pull it down until it pooled at her feet. His hands settled at her waist as she stepped aside and kicked away the garment.

She tried to rotate but he held her there. “Let me look at you,” he said, sounding gruff, his voice thick with arousal. And look he did. Damn, the woman had a fine backside, that the ivory thigh highs and strip of silk did everything to accent.

He popped the hook to her bra, and she shrugged it forward and tossed it to the floor. He stroked one lush butt cheek, and turned her to the fireplace. “Put your hands on the mantel,” he ordered.

“Luke–”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed his lips to her ear. “Tonight I’m in charge. Let me be in charge of your pleasure. You trust me enough to do what I say.”

She rolled her head forward a moment, and while he could feel her resistance, he could also smell her arousal. He ran his hand over her breasts and then caressed one, teasing her nipple.

She moaned, and her head lifted and fell against his shoulder. “Put your hands on the mantel, sweetheart.” He turned her toward the fireplace and held onto her while her hands curled around the ledge. Her silent submission, her willingness to trust him, held meaning he didn’t miss, that he’d craved for far too long.

He didn’t immediately let her go, sensing that she needed him to hold her, that she needed to go slow. He knew the implications of her letting go of her control. He knew how hard she clung to it. He even thought he was beginning to understand why. That she felt it made her stronger, that it kept her in control of life. Kept her from getting hurt.

He kissed her shoulder, trailing love bites, licks, and caresses down her arm, over her back, until he was on his knees, palms sliding down her thighs, then back up. His lips found the delicate skin of her backside, his hands pressed her legs apart, settling her the way he wanted her. The sight of her in panties, thigh highs and heels, and absolutely nothing else, was just a little piece of heaven.

He stroked between her thighs, beneath her panties, finding her slick and hot, the sounds of her moans making him hot. Yeah. Keeping his clothes on was smart, otherwise he might just stand up and bury himself exactly where he wanted to be – deep in the tight recesses of her perfect body. And she was perfect to him, the perfect woman in ways no other had ever been.

“Fuck me, Luke. Now,” she murmured. “I want you.”

He stilled.

Her words were like a slap. Reason told him it was just sex talk, but it wasn’t enough. It pissed him off. He wanted ‘make love to me.’ She gave him ‘fuck me’. Ironic really, since as a SEAL he’d always kept his relationships on the short term, no strings, no future ‘fuck me’ variety.

A surge of something he was pretty sure was anger blistered through him. He ripped her panties from her, then slid between her legs and rotated so that she stood in front of him, so that his mouth could come down on her clit with punishing pleasure. He lapped at her clit, the gasp she rewarded him with only driving that boiling feeling inside him. She wanted to be fucked, he’d fuck her all right. He’d fuck her like she’d never been fucked in her life.

He suckled her, drawing deeply on the swollen nub, delving two fingers inside her, caressing her. The taste of her arousal, the salty sweet flavor of woman, his woman who didn’t know she was his, but he intended to show her, filled him. He intended to convince her. He felt it, them , their bond, and he wasn’t going to let her run away.

Her fingers brushed through his hair, threaded through the strands and tugged almost roughly. His balls tightened and his dick stood at attention, stretching against his zipper. Still, he licked and teased and tested his own willpower until she gasped and her knees went weak. He wrapped his arm around her thighs, holding her up as he felt the ripples of release tighten on his fingers, reminding him of just how good it would be to bury himself inside the hot, tight enclave of her body. But there was still anger inside him, frustration and boiling hot emotion. Fuck me, she’d said.

Fuck me, he thought.

He eased her into a complete sated meltdown and picked her up, carrying her to an oversize leather lounge chair. He could feel her stare, but he didn’t make eye contact. Not now, not this upset. But when he set her down, she pressed her lips to his and he found himself locked in a drugging kiss he didn’t want. They’d kiss at the same time they went to his bedroom. When they made love.