Monica Murphy - Torn

“I’m not one hundred percent Italian, you know. My dad is what he calls a mutt,” she says, her voice light. She seems to like talking about her family, and I like it too. Any tidbit I can get on Scott Knight, I can turn around and use later.

But I also like learning more about her. I’m curious. I want to know. Usually I run the other direction when a woman wants to tell me her life story. So many of them do, going on and on about their past, their family, their friends. It all starts to sound like monotonous noise after a while.

Not with this woman. She offers these glimpses of her personal life so rarely, I cherish every tidbit I learn. Which is fucking crazy, truly. I shouldn’t be that wrapped up in her, wanting to learn more, everything about her, wanting to kiss her . . .

“A mutt, huh?” I don’t even know what to say to that for fear I’ll mistakenly insult her father and piss her off.

She offers me a secretive smile, the sight of it sending a zing straight to my heart—and my cock. This woman twists me up into such complete knots, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to unwind myself from them—or her. “My mother is Sicilian. There are a lot of blonde, blue- and green-eyed Sicilians out there. I happen to be one of them.”

A beautiful one, too. She’s so beautiful just looking at her hurts.

Not having her in front of me to look at hurts too.

Which means at the mere age of twenty-eight, I am completely ruined for any other woman. And I don’t even care. I want to revel in the ruin.

My brain on overload, I drive the rest of the way to the restaurant in silence, taking the curves at high speed, enjoying the way the tires stick to the road, the squeal of rubber on asphalt making me smile. I downshift, the whine of the engine like music to my ears, and the faster I drive, the more I get into it.

“You’re crazy,” she whispers as I gain speed, going close to one hundred on a straightaway a few miles from the restaurant.

I roll down the windows, let the cool night air wash over my heated skin. Her hair blows everywhere, even restrained by the ponytail, and a long blonde strand hits me in the face, causing me to push it away. I chance a look at her, see that she’s gripping the edge of her seat, her body on edge, her expression full of . . . excitement?

Really?

“You like it,” I say, my tone practically a dare. “You’re literally sitting on the edge of your seat.”

“I do like it,” she quietly admits, her wild eyes meeting mine. A shaky exhalation leaves her, and she nods toward me. “Go faster.”

My foot presses on the gas pedal, picking up speed. She’s watching me; I can feel her gaze on me, and I reach toward her, pushing all that sexy, wind-blown hair away from her face. Before I can drop my hand, she leans her cheek into my palm, then turns and presses a hot, wet kiss to my flesh, her tongue darting out for a quick lick.

I swear.

Ah, hell. I grow instantly hard, letting my hand fall from her cheek, but she wraps her fingers around my wrist, bringing my hand to her mouth and drawing my index finger deep inside her mouth, dragging her wet, lush lips along the length before she releases it, her eyes never leaving mine.

Easing my foot off the gas, I swallow hard. She’s going to kill me. I tear my gaze from hers, keeping my attention on the road. It’s dark, it feels like we’re virtually alone, and I’m tempted. So tempted to pull over, kiss her until she’s gasping my name, and then fuck her in the back seat just like I first envisioned.

I chance a glance at her, see the flushed cheeks, the parted lips. I recognize that look from last night. She’s aroused.

Hell, yeah. So am I.

Downshifting, I pull over. I throw the car into park and lean over the center console at the exact time she moves toward me. We attack each other, lips searching, hands wandering, clinging, fighting to draw our bodies closer, but the awkward space makes it difficult.

“I want you,” she whispers against my mouth before she sucks my lower lip between hers. “Please.”

“Seriously?” I’m in absolute shock. She acted like having sex with me was the biggest mistake of her life. But here she is leaning into my hands as I curve them around her breasts, her breaths coming out in sharp pants as she rests her hands over mine, making me squeeze her breasts together.

Damn, she’s hot.

“Seriously.” Her voice tinged with amusement, she withdraws from my touch, moving closer to the passenger side door. Slowly she reaches for the hem of her shirt and tugs it up, then off, tossing it onto the back seat. Her bra is black, smooth satin and my mouth waters as she reaches behind her, unclasping it and tearing it off so it falls from her fingertips onto the floorboard.

I can’t form words. She strips off each article of clothing until she’s completely naked, coming at me like a woman possessed. I feel like a man possessed, obsessed with the feel of her soft skin beneath my palms, the taste of her. She climbs on top of me, pressing all that hot, wet deliciousness against my denim-covered cock, grinding against me like she’s trying to get off.

Shit. Maybe she is trying to get off.

But no. She wants to involve me in the action too. Her nimble fingers undo my button fly and she’s reaching inside my boxer briefs, sure fingers curling around the length of my cock. Knowing I’m about to blow, I lightly slap her hand away, reaching behind me to pull out my wallet and the condom nestled within.

I packed extra in the glove compartment earlier. I’m not an idiot.

“You make me crazy,” she whispers, snatching it out of my fingers. She tears into it, rolling the condom onto my cock and then she’s on top of me, slowly sinking until I’m completely imbedded inside her.

A car drives by, the bright white lights flashing across her, offering me a glimpse of her swaying breasts, her hips as they slowly move up and down. I grasp her there, steadying her, keeping her slow, afraid I’ll ruin it by coming too fast.

Because holy shit, I’m ready to explode. I’m still fully clothed save for my open jeans and she’s deliciously naked. All that fragrant, soft skin is wrapped around me, her breasts in my face, nipples teasing my lips. I draw one in deep, sucking, tonguing, teasing her until she’s tossing her head back, riding me relentlessly. I shift away from her, wanting to watch. She’s beautiful in her abandon, so lost as she races toward that delicious moment, and I want to mark this moment permanently in my brain.

“So good,” she breathes, tipping her head back down so she can press her forehead to mine. I tip my chin up, brush her mouth with mine and she devours me. The kiss hot, wet. Deep. I grip the end of her ponytail, tugging hard and she gasps.

Damn. She likes that too. If we didn’t hate each other so much, I’d believe she was made just for me.

“Harder, Gage,” she encourages, her hands gripping my shoulders. “Make me come.”

Ah, fuck. I can’t resist that. I increase my pace, thrusting hard, filling her again and again until she’s crying out my name, her body quivering, sobs falling from her lips as she collapses against me.

I hold her close, tracing circles on her back with my fingertips, making her shiver. Her grip around my neck is like a vice, her face buried into my neck. I feel her warm lips press sweet kisses to my flesh, and I squeeze her closer, our racing hearts in complete and total sync.

“You haven’t come yet,” she whispers against my throat, her tongue licking.

My cock twitches. It’s more than aware of that. “I know.”

She lifts her head up, her arms loosely resting around my neck, her expression slumberous and full of satisfaction. “Let me make that up to you,” she murmurs as she slowly starts to grind against me.