Jill Shalvis - The Harder They Fall

She lowered her hands to explore his warm, hard chest. He reached for her, and again encountered the barrier of the cuffs. With a muttered oath, he arched his hips against her. “Let me go,” he demanded. “I want to touch you.”

“Not yet.” Hardly able to breathe, she straddled him, tore frantically at the fastening of his trousers. “First this,” she said as his free hand lifted up to cup a breast, his long, sure fingers brushing over the tip.

With him touching her like that, her fingers, still struggling to undress him, stumbled, and refused to function.

He had to help her, and between his one hand and her badly shaking ones, she finally managed to free him and slide his pants off. Standing, she stripped off the rest of her clothes, vibrantly aware of his watching her every movement.

“First I show you how much more than lust this is.”

She moved close again, greedily touching his shoulders, his chest, down his tensed belly, her hair sweeping in her fingers’ path as she bent low to her task, dabbling tiny, nipping kisses as she went.

He murmured her name on a ragged breath.

“I love you,” she said, her heart breaking a little over the strained torment on his handsome face. “Let yourself love me back, Hunter.”

“No,” he whispered roughly, shaking his head back and forth. “Not love – God! ” He let out on an explosive sigh and bucked when her lips slid over his belly to a lean hip. “Definitely n- not love,” he managed tightly, arching his back with a strangled sound when she kissed her way across the top of his thigh. “Just… lust,” he gasped.

“No.” She continued her exquisite torturing of his damp, sleek skin with her mouth.

With his limited mobility, he caressed her breasts, molded their shape, alternately worshiping and teasing until her hips rocked against the bedding. He had no idea how much more of this he could stand. Her body seemed to be made for him, the creamy texture, the incredible shape, the sweet taste… he’d never wanted anyone so much. The force of his need scared the hell out of him, but what terrified him even more was the thought of stopping.

Yet stop he must, before he caved in completely. He was only a breath away from begging. “Lust,” he whispered one more time, but she just shook her head and continued her trek over his body with her mouth. He was losing it, completely losing it. Her wild hair caressed his chest, his belly, his thighs, and his every muscle tensed. “Trisha,” he whispered desperately, his willpower starting to break.

Gripping her head, he started to pull her up, desperate to taste her again, to kiss that full, sexy mouth, but she resisted, dragging her lips down his taut thighs. Then back up again, pausing at their apex. He felt her warm breath on him and he knew he’d die if she left him now.

“Oh, please,” he groaned, his fingers entwining in her hair.

Her mouth, hot and wet, had him writhing against the constraint of the handcuffs. He’d never felt like this, never. Torment. Exhilaration. Control was out of the question. Tugging her up, he looked deep into her eyes, dizzy with arousal and confusion. “God, Trisha, what are you doing to me?”

Her smile was watery, and filled with such heart-wrenching love and warmth, his own eyes stung. “I’m making love to you,” she whispered. “Do you like it?”

“No,” he lied, his voice as harsh as his breathing. Closing his eyes so he couldn’t see her delectable body didn’t help. He could still feel her. “Uncuff me.”

“I love you,” she whispered again. “I’ll never stop, you know. You can trust me.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll just have to keep telling you,” she said gently. “And showing you.” Forcing the issue, she rose up and sank onto him with tantalizing slowness, taking him into her, one glorious inch at a time. “And showing, and showing…”

He moaned, grabbed her hip with his hand, but instead of pushing her away, he drove into her again, hard and deep.

Her cry of triumph washed over him. “I love you,” she gasped, gripping his shoulders. “So much.”

“Just don’t stop,” he entreated, then moaned low in his throat when she rocked her hips. His fingers touched her intimately, desperate to bring her to the same pitch of arousal he was at. Almost immediately her muscles clenched around him and she cried out, lost in her release. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen, he thought, dazed, staring up at her. He’d never experienced anything like this. Blood pounded through his body, claimed his senses.

Her fingers dug into his chest as she braced herself on shaking arms and looked down at him, eyes glazed. “Your turn,” she whispered.

No, he tried to say. No . “Yes,” he said thickly, plunging into her once, twice, a third time. And despite his intentions, his body rejoiced. His emotions shattered. His heart opened, his wounded soul stirred, and as he burst into oblivion he heard himself call out her name, heard her own helpless response as she shuddered and came again.

When he could open his eyes, he realized Trisha lay collapsed in a damp heap on top of him, trembling. He shook, too, though the slight weight of her soothed him beyond belief. He went to wrap his arms around her.

And came up against the steel handcuffs.

At the clank of steel, Trisha stiffened, then rose off him, studiously avoiding his gaze. Without a word, she reached up and pressed the lever on the cuff. They snapped open.

He’d never been locked in.

Before he could reach for her, she’d scooped up her clothes and left the room.

“So much for your promise to never leave me,” Hunter said lightly a minute later, when he found her sitting in a tight ball on the porch bench.

She didn’t answer.

It started low in his belly, the first stirring of an anger he rarely acknowledged. To calm himself, he looked around.

Night had fallen, the full moon allowing him a good view of her drawn face. But she didn’t move, didn’t look at him, and he found himself simmering. “Do I need to handcuff and seduce you to get you to talk?”

Her eyes closed. “I’m sorry.”

The way she’d withdrawn into herself, when he wanted – no, needed – answers only further angered him. “Trisha, what the hell just happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” he asked, amazed. “You -” The air whooshed out of his lungs. “You don’t know.”

She shook her head miserably, and though it rarely happened, he did indeed lose his calm. “Dammit, you sure as hell do! I’m beginning to see that you always know exactly what you’re doing, no matter how it looks. Beneath that flighty, lackadaisical exterior lives a woman who knows exactly what she wants.”

She flinched. “I deserved that.”

Hunter, still stunned by what had been the most sensuous, erotic experience of his life, sank to the bench beside her. He felt so many things, he didn’t know where to start, but his anger seemed as good a place as any. “You tied me to your bed to get your way,” he said, still disbelieving.

“Not tied, exactly.”

In spite of himself, he flushed. To be so caught up in the passion she had engendered in him… so enslaved to feelings that he never realized he could have freed himself – it mortified him. “I think I should be furious.”

“Yes,” she said dully. “You should.”

Oh, he was angry, all right, but so much more as well. “Strange as this is to say since it’s the least of my worries right now, all I can think is: How many men have you done that to?”

Her head jerked up in surprise as she at last looked at him. “Not that I expect you to believe me, but you’re the first, Hunter.”