It was everything she would need, and everything she would probably select for herself, instead of what she suspected he would select for her. But how had he gotten her sizes?
“Bentley, stay,” she said as she headed for her bedroom door, but Bentley gazed impassively at her from the bed, obviously not planning on moving for a while yet.
She had no idea where to look for her host. He wasn’t anywhere downstairs, at least not in the areas he’d shown her, and she wasn’t comfortable venturing into places she hadn’t been yet no matter how much he had assured her she had free rein. But finally she glimpsed him outside near the pond, so she let herself out the back door she found off the mudroom on the other side of the kitchen.
The air outside was warm and fragrant with spring, the deepening evening musical with the sounds of nature. Only once she was outside did she notice there was a pier built out over the water and a large fountain in the center of the pond. Off to the left were what appeared to be stables. Horses?
She could not, in any way, imagine Damien Larson on a horse. But that’s where she found him, feeding an apple to a gorgeous black beauty standing in one of the stalls.
“What’s his name?” she asked, and he glanced at her with a smile. “Or her?”
“His. It’s Shadow.”
“Appropriate. He’s beautiful. Never figured you for a horse owner.”
His grin widened. “And why not?”
“I don’t know, just doesn’t seem very . . . you.” Shadow munched away happily at his treat. “Can I . . . ?”
“Of course.” Damien sheared off another section of apple with the knife he was holding and handed it over to her. “Be careful, he gets excited and might bite your fingers.”
“Typical man,” she commented, placing the apple on the flat of her palm before offering it to the big horse. She giggled as he gobbled it up. Damien had chuckled at her comment, and she watched him as he cut off another piece of apple and moved to the next stall.
“You shouldn’t have bought all that stuff for me,” she said after a deep breath to fortify her nerves. “It makes me feel . . . weird.”
“Emma, it’s a gift. Don’t read anything more than that into it.”
“But—”
“Why don’t we set a ground rule?” he interrupted, and this time a brown beauty bent his head down to receive his apple. Damien scratched his head. “As long as you’re here, don’t question. All right?”
“I didn’t ask for any of that.”
“Why do you have to ask to get? How is it any different from my offer to take you on a getaway, which you didn’t seem to have a problem with? I would be more than happy to do that, by the way.”
“I just don’t understand.”
“There’s nothing to understand. It’s yours to do with as you wish. If you don’t want it, don’t wear it.” He turned that fabulous grin on her again. “I’m not sure what you’ll do for clothes, though.” She must have stood there looking pitifully miserable, because Damien put away his pocket knife, walked over to her, and tipped her chin up in that way he had, making her meet his eyes as he said, “Not everything is a moral dilemma.”
“Seems that way lately.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”
“Maybe you need a new circle of friends. I think most people are like me.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
He leaned down and kissed her, mixing the scent of hay and horses with his own masculine spice as his mouth moved over hers. God, what was it about the taste of this man that was like a shot of fine whiskey, obliterating all inhibitions? Her heart skipped a beat and pounded to catch up. She let her hands roam up his broad chest, feeling taut muscles tense underneath his shirt, and she wanted so badly then to see him. He’d denied her that before, but he couldn’t do it now, right? She’d asked him to make her forget, after all, and all it seemed to take was a look, a touch of his lips, his hands. The latter were tangled up in her hair, holding her to him as he explored her mouth with feverish precision.
She wished she knew what he was thinking, but she would drive herself crazy trying to figure it out. The only way to operate with someone like him was to listen to what he said, feel his intentions in his kiss, his touch, because whatever went on behind his eyes would remain a mystery to her.
He pulled away, licking his lips as if to collect her taste, and her knees weakened at the sight of the dark heat in his eyes. “Let’s go inside.”
Emma could only nod, hoping her heart and her legs were strong enough to make the considerable journey. Damien kept his arm around her shoulders, almost as if he knew she needed his support. She hated how much she needed it.
Chapter Ten
He took her back to her room, when she wanted so badly to see his. But superseding all other desires was the one burning between her thighs. Emma had been dancing on the edge of this madness for so long, it was almost a relief to know she would fall headfirst into it soon. As long as he could catch her, maybe she would be okay.
And at long last she fulfilled one wish: to plunge her hands underneath the black shirt she’d feverishly unbuttoned, to shove it off his shoulders, to feast her eyes on him, all smooth flesh and chiseled abs— When did he have time to go to the gym? When did he sleep? But then his tongue was deep in her mouth again, wet and hot, and she could no longer be bothered to wonder. All mysteries would be solved in the coming weeks. Maybe the thought should’ve filled her with dread, but it filled her with comfort.
She felt small against him, and not only physically. His quick hands divested her of her thin top and suddenly she was revealed to him, too, though her breasts were still encased in her bra, which pushed them up to their full advantage. Damien wasted no time dipping his head to kiss her above the lace, hungry, hot kisses on her upper swells, and she grasped desperately at him to keep from falling backward, her breath coming fast. His hands held her fast to him, and she let herself go limp in the knowledge that he wouldn’t let her go.
But then one arm banded hard at the small of her back and his other hand was tugging the strap off her shoulders, pulling, baring her nipple to him. He didn’t give her time to be abashed; with a gruff curse, his lips attached to her aching, beaded flesh and she cried out as he sucked, burying her fingers in his unbelievably silky hair. Fire raced in a vicious arc between her breasts and her pussy, lifting her to heights of arousal she’d never known before. And that couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be.
Emma sobbed his name, but he only lifted his head and slanted his mouth over hers again, as if to taste the sound of it there. His hands caught her beneath her ass and the world tilted crazily, coming to a jarring halt when her back hit the mattress. Then he was over her, the full measure of her laid out for him, and his pace slowed as he began to undress her, tossing her bra aside and then unzipping her jeans and shimmying them down her legs, leaving her panties.
“I love how you shake,” he murmured, dropping kisses on the flesh he revealed: belly, thighs, calves. Even her feet once her shoes were gone. “I love how you blush.”
She was beyond the powers of speech, only able to watch him, and shake, and blush. He stood straight then, staring her in the eyes as he dropped his hands to his leather belt and began unfastening it with strong, sure motions. Fuck, oh fuck . . .
“Are you wet?” he demanded, and something about the steel in his voice made her think nothing less than an affirmative response would do.
Emma didn’t know who the woman was who replied, “Why don’t you find out?” Darkness dropped over his expression like a veil, and then he was hovering over her, his hand sliding down her stomach to her panties. She couldn’t lie still, tilting her hips up to receive that exploration, needing it. Instead of slipping his fingers under the silky fabric, though, he felt her over the top, firm caresses that sent a jolt through her as his fingertips slid over her clit, nothing but a thin, soaked panel separating her from his skin. Oh yes, she was wet, and he knew it now
. “God,” she groaned, turning her face away.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and she couldn’t help but obey while his fingers did amazing things between her spread thighs, knowing he took in every physical reaction that crossed her face. Emma rotated her hips against him, trying to get the rhythm she needed, but he kept evading her neediest places. She clenched on emptiness, wordlessly pleading for him to fill it.
After ten eternities, he slipped his fingers in the side, giving her the full devastation of his skin sliding through the wetness collected between her folds. “Damien, please,” she murmured.
“Tell me,” was the response from somewhere above her—her eyes had long since closed and her lids were too heavy to open.
“Inside,” she said breathlessly. Her hips invited him, lifting for him, begging for him. When one long finger slid deep into her, her tight, swollen flesh gripping it, he blessed her with a thrillingly masculine groan, offsetting her desperate mewling.
“Fuck, Emma. I knew you would feel like this. I fucking knew it.” Slowly, he dragged his finger out, thrust it back in. Her head tilted back on the mattress and he attacked her throat with his lips. This time when he pulled his hand back, he slid two fingers inside, twisting them delectably inside her, stretching her, sliding easily against her wetness.
It was too good, and she’d never wanted it to be this good. It was the wrongness, the sin of it, she tried to tell herself, it was the forbidden element, it had to be—Damien’s fingers curled into a place that made her bow off the bed into his hand. His lips moved down to her nipple and attached mercilessly. Hellfires erupted low in her belly, incinerating all need for morals . . . but suddenly he was gone, depriving her completely of all his devilish caresses.
She made a sound that might have been something like a yowling cat, her heavy eyelids flying open. He was standing between her splayed legs, hot gaze on her pussy while he shoved the band of his boxer briefs down and pulled out his hard cock.
He was huge.
Because of course he was. She’d felt him against her once; she’d already suspected. Of course this perfectly gorgeous man had a perfectly gorgeous dick that would wreak all kinds of havoc inside her. Her mouth watered. She was certain other parts of her did, too. But something else had snapped awake, some part of her that knew there was no returning from this, from him. He was going to ruin her. Even knowing that, she couldn’t have stopped if she’d tried. She wanted him as deep inside as she could take him. She craved his possession in a core of herself she hadn’t known existed.
He crawled up the length of her body, kissing a damp, hot path as he went. Her hands roamed his back, caressing, exploring, kneading. She felt the smooth head of him slide over her clit and nearly came apart. God, save me and make this not be so good . . . please . . .
The head of his cock kissed her opening, nestling teasingly in the wetness collected there. Please don’t be good. Please. Please don’t be . . .
Oh God. Oh no. He had pushed, hard and insistent, and she had given, soft and yielding, and her mouth fell open and her head tilted back as pure bliss invaded between her trembling thighs.
“Oh no,” she whimpered.
“What is it?”
“You’re not supposed to feel this good.”
He chuckled darkly. “You are. Just this good.” Emma had to bite down on a moan as he moved a little deeper. Every new inch he gained ignited an explosion of sensation, so much that her body trembled, overwhelmed by his size but desperate for more of it. Clenching rhythmically on it. Pulling him deeper. Awakening for him. She’d never, ever been on the verge of orgasm before the guy even got all the way in before, but she was now. Her own body was betraying her, and she couldn’t, she couldn’t fall now, but if he began to move, she would lose her mind. Sooner or later, he was going to move.
Slowly, he pulled back all the way, until he left her desperate and aching for the fullness he’d just given her. When it didn’t return right away, Emma resisted the urge to lift her hips up, to seek it out.
Above her, he blew out a long breath, seeming to grapple with himself for a moment. But then he came back. Pushing and pushing and pushing and holy fuck, he was going to reach her heart and stop it. It was already beating so erratically she feared it might burst inside her chest, and then her naughty secret would be out. No, she couldn’t die now.
“Fuck,” he groaned, rough gravel in the voice that was usually so smooth and emotionless. She liked that she might unravel him a little. She wanted to hold his control in the palm of her hand, then blow it out into the night on a kiss, send it on its way. “You take me like you were made for me.”
He didn’t need to say things like that right now. She was trying not to come after two of his deep, measured thrusts, but it had been so long and he was so thick and moved his hips with such smooth, rolling perfection . . .
A fierce release ripped through her, and she grabbed him tight and called his name helplessly, the pleasure too intense for her to even be embarrassed about being so fast for him. His laugh was a hot rush in her ear as she came shamelessly on his cock, meeting his leisurely thrusts with frenzied little ones of her own in wanton fucking abandon.
“Oh, Emma,” Damien said chidingly when the last of her cries had been wrung from her and she collapsed panting. Fragmented thoughts swirled through her mind, but one of them took root and grew: Was he scolding her? She considered and decided she couldn’t be bothered to give a fuck; she felt too good. That had been a breakthrough.
It was the situation, surely. As debauched as she professed to find it, it made her hot as hell. It was her body’s way of contradicting her brain’s denial of how much she really did need this . . . and needed it to be good. But it wasn’t him.
It couldn’t be him.
“Are you always that fast?” he asked. She wanted to lie. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. But his dark eyes had a way of pulling the truth from her. Hell, he deserved this truth.
She shook her head, cheeks flaming.
“Imagine how much better it would’ve been if I’d spent hours denying you. Imagine how much better it would’ve been if you hadn’t come three times last night.”
Any better and it would’ve killed her. But deep inside where he was still buried, tight and hot, she felt a renewed spark at the idea. “I don’t see how you could. When I’m ready to go, I go.”
“I’ll learn your cues.” He trailed his mouth down her throat, leaving tingling flesh in his wake. “And it won’t take me long. Reactions you can’t control. A certain tensing of your muscles. An intake of your breath. A flutter deep in you. I’ll feel it, and I’ll know, and I’ll stop, and you’ll only come when I’m ready for you to.”
“You’re so mean,” she protested, even as she tightened around him. Just his talking about it was going to get her off. It was the exact same way he knew when to go in for the kill at the poker tables, wasn’t it? Cues. Tells. Reading involuntary reactions.
“It’s like savoring a fine wine.” He pulled from her wetness as he traveled down the length of her body to draw her nipple into his mouth, and she gasped, her hand going to his dark head as he licked and sucked her there.
Wine was all well and good, but sometimes she was partial to hard, fast shots of tequila. “I’m sure I . . . I can sneak one by you,” she informed him around a sigh as he performed a particularly skillful tongue maneuver.
He glanced up at her. “Do I sense a bet coming on?”
“No. Unlike some people, I don’t bet. I would just enjoy proving you wrong.”
For that, he gave her a little bite, squeezing her nipple to just the point of pain between his teeth as she gasped and writhed. When he released, he said, “To your own detriment. By the time we go to Vegas, I’ll be able to keep you on the edge all night long, without letting you fall.” That cocky grin was her undoing.
“Oh, if only I were a gambling woman.”
“But you are.”
That was true, she supposed.
The one time she’d gambled, and she’d technically lost . . . except for one of the best orgasms of her life. Her heart melted a little when he moved back up her body and lifted a hand to her face, stroking a strand of hair away from her forehead. He seemed to drink her in, memorizing everything about her face. But his words were heavy and hot with passion. “Put me back inside you.”
While he braced himself over her, she slipped a hand between their damp bodies to take hold of him, giving him a stroke from base to tip and back again, a substantial distance. Her own wetness still coated him. His eyes closed as she teased her clit with his broad head, the smooth caress drawing a whimper from her own throat. Her climax, as fast and powerful as it had been, had barely knocked a dent in her need for him. No sooner had she lined him up with her entrance than he pushed, a long deep slide that made every muscle in her body seem to dissolve in utter rapture.
This time he didn’t spare her, didn’t give her time to gather her fractured senses, didn’t show her mercy. She was a helpless puddle of desperate lust, completely detached from herself as he took her hard, every thrust seeming to ignite new centers of pleasure, reach new depths. Heavy and unrelenting and powerful. All she could do was wrap her legs around his hips, latch her nails into his back, and hang on for dear life.
Vaguely she was aware that he took one of her legs and threw it over his shoulder to open her wider, let him deeper. She was beyond caring what he did, as long as he didn’t stop. His fingers bit into her thigh, gripping it with bruising force. It didn’t matter. Everything had contracted to where he claimed her, friction building and building and aching and—
It all left her at once and she panicked, babbling maniacally while the devil only grinned down at her. “Damien! Give it back give it back give—”
“Shh.” He stroked her sweaty hair back again, dropped his head to kiss her gently, all at odds with the lust raging through her veins, the inferno between her legs.