Lori Foster - Holding Strong

She looked from his eyes to his chest, his shoulders. Letting out a sigh, she gently pawed him, as if testing his strength. “You are so hard.”

If she’d reach a little lower he could show her just how hard. “Comes with the territory.”

“Being a fighter?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Nonstop training.”

“Will you stay the night with me?”

After throwing that out there, she defiantly met his gaze—and bit her lip again.

“Yeah.” He bent to her mouth to do a little biting of his own. When she groaned, he tangled his hand in her messy hair to keep her still. In so many ways he wanted to crush her to him and work off the raging lust until he could get her out of his system.

Then again, he hated the idea of not wanting her.

He kissed from her mouth to her downy cheek, her warm neck, her silky shoulder, and down to one plump nipple. “I’m not going anywhere unless you boot me out.”

Her arms came around him. “Never.” And now it was her kissing him and he felt scorched not just by her sexual need, but her unguarded caring.

She seemed to think he didn’t like her, that he didn’t want her, and still she left herself open. It made him feel ultraprotective—and even more possessive.

Her heated skin repeatedly drew his hands, his mouth. Over and over he breathed in her scent until it filled his lungs, his head and his heart. He’d never known a woman who smelled so good, her hair, her skin, the fragrant, moist heat between her thighs.

She’d tasted good, too, and thinking that, he worked his way down her body again.

“Denver,” she moaned in protest. “No.”

“Yes.” Her belly sucked in as he licked her skin, and she squirmed when he teased over her hipbone.

Trying to draw him back up to her, she tunneled her fingers into his hair, but it didn’t slow him down. She’d be more sensitive now, every touch and lick more acute, and they both knew it.

It left her trembling, and him determined.

As soon as he parted her soft thighs, she dropped to her back again, then arched up as he explored her with fingers and tongue.

“I can’t,” she moaned.

He took a lot of satisfaction in telling her, “You already are.”

Refusing to be rushed, Denver took his time, and even after she came again, this time with high, weak, broken cries, he didn’t move over her. He’d been wanting her long enough that savoring her was more his speed.

He got her right to the edge a third time, loving the way she quivered all over, her hoarse moans and dewy skin. With two fingers pressed deep in her, he moved up her body to kiss her parted lips. Damp hair clung to her temples and her lungs labored.

“God,” she rasped, sliding one leg up and over his. “No more.”

“I’m nowhere near done,” he told her.

Her hand clenched in his hair, drawing him back so she could see his face. “Then please, at least stop playing.”

“But playing with you is so much fun,” he whispered, adding a third finger to ensure she was ready for him.

She gasped, and as her eyes closed she bowed her body, her head twisting on the pillow.

He kissed her hard as he moved over her, kneeing her thighs wider and slowly, very slowly, taking his fingers from her.

She tensed, but he murmured to her, calming her. “Shush. Just relax for me.”

Breathless, she half laughed. “You’re nuts.”

“And you’re ready.”

“More than ready. It’s just—” Her explanation ended on a sharp inhalation as he barely entered her.

Immediately she tensed up too much, forcing him to pause with his muscles locked, nowhere near buried the way he wanted to be. All that teasing left him with dwindling control.

Three deep breaths later, she whispered, “I’m okay.”

He nibbled on her bottom lip. “I know.” Now he needed her to believe it. He was hung, no two ways about it. But he’d never in his life hurt a woman and he sure as hell wouldn’t start with Cherry.

On straightened arms, he watched her, eased out a little—and pressed in more.

She held on to his arms just above his elbows, her fingers gripping tight, her nails stinging as if she thought she could hold him back if she decided to.

“Tell me you want me.” Again he withdrew, only to rock in farther.

“I do,” she gasped. Her legs strained against him. “I have for a long time.”

“Then stop fighting me.”

“I’m not.”

Wasn’t easy, but he smiled. “You’re tense from head to toes, girl. Take a deep breath.”

She did, urgently, turning it into a pant.

“Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head. “It’s just...I can feel you.”

“Damn, I hope so.”

Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back. “You know what I mean.”

“Know what I feel?” He didn’t wait for her to reply. “I feel you squeezing my cock like you want it there.” Saying it only turned him on more, and he clenched his jaw. “I feel you getting wetter. And hotter.”

Another squeeze—this one of excitement, he was sure.

He kissed her jaw. His voice rough as gravel, he said, “You want more, don’t you?” Please say yes. His restraint was about to unravel.

She shifted against him, and moaned, “Yesss...”

Coming down to an elbow, he scooped one arm under her hips for a better hold, and thrust in a little harder, a little deeper.

Almost there .

As he filled her up and then some, her heels dug into his thighs, maybe in protest, but he was lost. He felt the giving of her body as she accepted him, knew she squirmed to adjust, and it destroyed him.

He watched the movement of her breasts as he rocked them both, saw her face as, amazingly, she neared yet another release. Wanting that a lot, he kept up a steady rhythm, each stroke harder, taking him deeper, and when he knew she was ready to come he encouraged her, doing his best to hang on, determined to feel the grip of her body as she climaxed, this time with him buried deep.

Legs wrapped around him and eyes squeezed tight, she bowed her body hard. “Denver.”

Fuck yeah. “That’s it, baby. That’s it.” As soon as he felt her winding down, he gave up the fight. Driving into her one last time, he held himself deep, groaning harshly as the pumping release drained away his tension.

By small degrees, he sank down onto Cherry’s soft, giving body.

He knew he should move off her, but he couldn’t. Not yet.

She had both hands knotted in his hair.

From the inside out, he felt like smiling.

Her fingers loosening, she kissed his chest and went limp.

Lifting his head, he looked at her—and the smile turned into a grin. Ms. Cherry Peyton was dead to the world.

Carefully, Denver turned to the side of her and sprawled out, welcoming the cool air that washed over his damp, heated skin.

Lord have mercy, she was incredible, even hotter than he’d hoped for. His heartbeat still rocked him and getting enough air into his lungs wasn’t easy, but he had to touch her.

He rested a palm on her silky upper thigh, amazed to find her skin still so warm.

She didn’t stir.

Because lethargy pulled at him, too, he forced himself from the bed. Give him an hour and he’d be ready to go again, so he needed to run to his room to get his stuff, which included more condoms. As he stepped into his jeans commando, he glanced around her room, looking for the key card, but didn’t see it anywhere. Not on the desk, the dresser, the nightstand. He eyed her purse on the desk chair, then her utterly relaxed body.

No reason to wake her, he decided, and he opened her purse, rummaging around a wallet, comb, cell phone, phone book and a few makeup items. No key card. He peeked in the wallet. She carried only forty bucks on her, a few credit cards and ID. Flipping open the small phone book, he finally found the key card jammed inside between the pages—and a listing of phone numbers for all the fighters.