Holding Strong
Page 15
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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.
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.
