It's in His Kiss
Page 22
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“Anything,” he murmured and kept kissing her, his hot mouth robbing her of cognitive thought.
“I—” She blinked. “Anything? You can’t offer me anything.”
“Why not?”
She paused and appeared to process this question very seriously. “Well. . .I could take advantage for one.”
“Go for it,” he said hotly, letting out a slow, absolutely wicked bad-boy smile. “Just remember, paybacks are a bitch.”
She shivered, not in fear but in arousal. Good Lord, he was potent. “I’m trying to tell you something.”
“Okay, babe,” he murmured, and kissed his way along her jaw toward her mouth. “You tell me whatever you want while I—”
“Sam!”
At the seriousness in her voice, he again lifted his head, giving her his full attention. Which she’d totally and completely underestimated, because Sam’s full attention made it difficult if not impossible to think. “I don’t want to disappoint you, but—”
“Becca.” His features immediately softened. “You won’t. You couldn’t—”
“I won’t come with you inside me,” she blurted out.
He went still for a beat. “No?”
“I. . .can’t.” Oh, God, this was embarrassing. Why had she thought this a good idea? She should have faked it. But she wasn’t good at faking it. “I want to, I try to, but it just doesn’t happen for me. And sometimes that can be . . . upsetting for a guy, I know, and I just really don’t want you to be upset.”
Something passed across his eyes, and it wasn’t pity or she’d have shriveled into a tiny ball and died. She couldn’t put her finger on it because he kissed her, softly at first, then not so softly, and before she knew it she was panting for air and whimpering with need, gripping him like he was her lifeline.
“Becca.”
“Huh?” she asked dimly.
“Open your eyes.”
She did with difficulty and met his very intense gaze.
“You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried,” he said, and with that, he turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and dried her.
She was so lost in the pleasure of him running the towel over her body, and the way he then tossed aside the towel to use his hands—and mouth—deliciously rough, demanding, and thorough, that she didn’t even realize they were moving until they fell together on her bed.
There he began all over again from the beginning, with long drugging kisses and teasing touches that had her rocking into him, desperate for release. He made her come twice like that, once with his fingers, and then again with his mouth, so that she was still thrumming with adrenaline and shuddering with it when he finally rolled on the blue condom and pushed inside her. His hands slid beneath her bottom and pulled her into him, grinding the two of them together with every stroke. Her eyes drifted shut but he nipped at her lower lip until she opened them again.
His gaze was intently fierce, so much so that she quivered. “Stay with me,” he said. He had one arm wrapped around her; the other slid down the back of her thigh, further opening her up for him as he thrust long and hard and deep, holding her gaze captive in his the entire time. The muscles in his arms and shoulders strained with the effort of holding himself back, keeping the pace slow.
Heaven.
She was close, so shockingly, desperately close, her nerves were screaming. “Please,” she gasped, unable to say more. Luckily for her Sam didn’t need additional instruction. It took only a few more of those hard, masterful strokes for him to bring her to the very edge of sanity, and then his arms pulled her in even closer, so that they touched in every way possible, skin on skin, and the exquisite slow sliding of friction sending her flying. As the surprise orgasm rippled through her, she clenched tight around him, absorbing his low, rough groan. With one more thrust, he came right along with her.
It was a long few moments before she regained control of her limbs and could loosen the arms she had in a death grip around his neck. “Sorry,” she murmured and tried to pull back.
But Sam was having none of it. “Stay with me,” he said again, and then brushed a kiss over her damp temple. Lifting his head, he studied her. “You okay?”
“I— You—” Words failed.
He huffed a soft laugh and kissed her. “Yeah, you’re okay,” he said, and slid out of her. She made a sound of helpless regret at the loss, and he kissed her again. “Don’t move,” he commanded, and vanished into her bathroom.
He was back in less than two minutes, sliding beneath her covers and hauling her in tight against him. He’d made good on his promises, proving that when he warned her about something, it was best to listen. It’d been good, and he’d indeed made her forget about the pizza.
He held her for a while, certainly long beyond what she’d have deemed the polite amount of cuddle time, his cheek resting lightly on top of her head, his arms around her. She had her face plastered to his bare chest and was listening to his steady heartbeat beneath her, waiting for him to extract himself.
He never did.
Finally, exhausted, she fell into a coma-like sleep and woke with a smile on her face to the sun streaming in her windows.
And an empty bed.
Chapter 8
Sam might have left Becca’s bed as surprisingly as he’d arrived in it, but the bigger surprise had been what had happened in it.
She smiled every time she thought about it, which was often enough to prompt Olivia to stop in the hallway the next day and ask Becca what was so damn wonderful.
“I—” She blinked. “Anything? You can’t offer me anything.”
“Why not?”
She paused and appeared to process this question very seriously. “Well. . .I could take advantage for one.”
“Go for it,” he said hotly, letting out a slow, absolutely wicked bad-boy smile. “Just remember, paybacks are a bitch.”
She shivered, not in fear but in arousal. Good Lord, he was potent. “I’m trying to tell you something.”
“Okay, babe,” he murmured, and kissed his way along her jaw toward her mouth. “You tell me whatever you want while I—”
“Sam!”
At the seriousness in her voice, he again lifted his head, giving her his full attention. Which she’d totally and completely underestimated, because Sam’s full attention made it difficult if not impossible to think. “I don’t want to disappoint you, but—”
“Becca.” His features immediately softened. “You won’t. You couldn’t—”
“I won’t come with you inside me,” she blurted out.
He went still for a beat. “No?”
“I. . .can’t.” Oh, God, this was embarrassing. Why had she thought this a good idea? She should have faked it. But she wasn’t good at faking it. “I want to, I try to, but it just doesn’t happen for me. And sometimes that can be . . . upsetting for a guy, I know, and I just really don’t want you to be upset.”
Something passed across his eyes, and it wasn’t pity or she’d have shriveled into a tiny ball and died. She couldn’t put her finger on it because he kissed her, softly at first, then not so softly, and before she knew it she was panting for air and whimpering with need, gripping him like he was her lifeline.
“Becca.”
“Huh?” she asked dimly.
“Open your eyes.”
She did with difficulty and met his very intense gaze.
“You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried,” he said, and with that, he turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and dried her.
She was so lost in the pleasure of him running the towel over her body, and the way he then tossed aside the towel to use his hands—and mouth—deliciously rough, demanding, and thorough, that she didn’t even realize they were moving until they fell together on her bed.
There he began all over again from the beginning, with long drugging kisses and teasing touches that had her rocking into him, desperate for release. He made her come twice like that, once with his fingers, and then again with his mouth, so that she was still thrumming with adrenaline and shuddering with it when he finally rolled on the blue condom and pushed inside her. His hands slid beneath her bottom and pulled her into him, grinding the two of them together with every stroke. Her eyes drifted shut but he nipped at her lower lip until she opened them again.
His gaze was intently fierce, so much so that she quivered. “Stay with me,” he said. He had one arm wrapped around her; the other slid down the back of her thigh, further opening her up for him as he thrust long and hard and deep, holding her gaze captive in his the entire time. The muscles in his arms and shoulders strained with the effort of holding himself back, keeping the pace slow.
Heaven.
She was close, so shockingly, desperately close, her nerves were screaming. “Please,” she gasped, unable to say more. Luckily for her Sam didn’t need additional instruction. It took only a few more of those hard, masterful strokes for him to bring her to the very edge of sanity, and then his arms pulled her in even closer, so that they touched in every way possible, skin on skin, and the exquisite slow sliding of friction sending her flying. As the surprise orgasm rippled through her, she clenched tight around him, absorbing his low, rough groan. With one more thrust, he came right along with her.
It was a long few moments before she regained control of her limbs and could loosen the arms she had in a death grip around his neck. “Sorry,” she murmured and tried to pull back.
But Sam was having none of it. “Stay with me,” he said again, and then brushed a kiss over her damp temple. Lifting his head, he studied her. “You okay?”
“I— You—” Words failed.
He huffed a soft laugh and kissed her. “Yeah, you’re okay,” he said, and slid out of her. She made a sound of helpless regret at the loss, and he kissed her again. “Don’t move,” he commanded, and vanished into her bathroom.
He was back in less than two minutes, sliding beneath her covers and hauling her in tight against him. He’d made good on his promises, proving that when he warned her about something, it was best to listen. It’d been good, and he’d indeed made her forget about the pizza.
He held her for a while, certainly long beyond what she’d have deemed the polite amount of cuddle time, his cheek resting lightly on top of her head, his arms around her. She had her face plastered to his bare chest and was listening to his steady heartbeat beneath her, waiting for him to extract himself.
He never did.
Finally, exhausted, she fell into a coma-like sleep and woke with a smile on her face to the sun streaming in her windows.
And an empty bed.
Chapter 8
Sam might have left Becca’s bed as surprisingly as he’d arrived in it, but the bigger surprise had been what had happened in it.
She smiled every time she thought about it, which was often enough to prompt Olivia to stop in the hallway the next day and ask Becca what was so damn wonderful.
