Текст книги "Last Second Chance"

Автор книги: Caisey Quinn

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“It’s like you’re torturing me on purpose,” she admitted, pointing her pen at him.

His answering grin revealed that he was enjoying every minute of her discomfort.

“Now you know how I feel when you strut around in those fucking heels.”

Crossing her legs, Stella leaned back and focused on the checklist in her lap. “Let’s just get on with it, shall we?”

“By all means.”

Taking a deep breath in hopes of sucking in some courage, she read the first question carefully. “On a scale of one to ten, one being unsatisfactory and ten being ideal, how would you rate the accommodations here at SCR?”

Van glanced over at Dave and then back to her. “Dave says a ten. We rate it a ten.”

Stella circled the number ten and bit the inside of her cheek. He was nothing if not charming. Damn him.

“On a scale of one to ten, one being—”

“I got it, cowgirl. Read the questions and I’ll give you a number. Or better yet, circle all tens and take that fucking dress off.”

“That’s not quite how it works, Mr. Walker.” She gripped the pen tighter so he wouldn’t see her hands shaking.

“Oh, I know exactly how it works,” he said, leaning forward. “I know precisely how you like it, what makes you scream, and how to make you beg.”

Her jaw clenched as her lust-fueled desires sparked to life. Bastard.

“Question number two. How accommodating have you found the staff to be here at SCR?”

His grin turned smug. Irritatingly smug. “Oh, I think I’d say I’ve found the staff to be very accommodating. Definitely a ten.”

She narrowed her eyes. Did he mean her? Or the others? Were there others?

“Question three,” she began through gritted teeth. “Upon arriving, did you feel your privacy needs were adequately met?”

Van rubbed his fingers thoughtfully across the stubble on his chin. The stubble that had nearly rubbed her inner thighs raw.

“Hm. Let’s see. Upon arriving, I bumped into a beautiful woman who has sufficiently invaded my mind every day since. And now she’s sitting here while I’m wearing only a bath towel. So I’m not sure what that says about my privacy being respected.”

“You know what? We can do this another time.” Stella clutched her folder and stood.

“Whoa, cowgirl. Wait a second.” He stood and reached for her, closing the distance between them in a single stride. His arms encircled her waist and pulled her backward to his bare chest.

“Don’t,” she snapped, whirling around to glare at him.

“Easy. What’s wrong, Stella Jo? I didn’t realize you were actually getting pissed or I wouldn’t have kept screwing with you.”

Screwing with her. That’s what he’d been doing since day one. Everything he said poked at her exposed nerves and riled her inner turmoil all over again. The words she wanted to say, the questions she wanted to ask, wouldn’t make their way to her lips.

“You’re mad at me,” he said softly. “Really mad. As in not just messing around mad.”

“Rock star and a genius. Look at you.” She jerked out of his grasp.

“Beautiful and pissed. Look at you.”

She tossed him one last dirty look. She made it to the door before he said the words that stopped her cold.

“You’re mad at me because I made you feel. Because I got to you and you fucking know it. What I don’t get is why. Why is that such a bad thing? Is it because I’m not one of your pretty boys with a Ph.D. and a diamond ring I can’t wait to get on your finger?”

Listening to her own breathing in the silence that followed, she turned and faced him. She was a grown woman, for goodness’ sake. And not one who’d ever had a particular flare for the dramatic. She’d never stormed out on anyone before.

“No. It’s because…because what the hell are we doing?” She huffed out a breath loudly in exasperation. “I’m not mad. And even if I am, it has nothing to do with what you do for a living or jewelry. I’m…confused,” she admitted. Their gazes locked as she exposed her secret truth. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. How I’m supposed to feel now. If I’m just supposed to be grateful for the experience and move on or if there’s more. Am I even allowed to want more? I mean, we’ve risked so much already and—”

“Baby, you are allowed to want whatever the fuck you want.” Van took the folder from her and set it on the counter before bracing his arms against the door on either side of her. “Tell me what you want right now.”

The simplest of words set his lips off in a sensual dance she couldn’t keep her eyes off of.

“You know what I want.”

He’d shown her. He’d known what she’d wanted, known even better than she had.

“You’re going to have to spell it out for me, cowgirl. Women like you confuse the ever-loving fuck out of me.” His forehead rested on hers. “A lot of people want a piece of me. I need to know if you’re one of them and which piece you want. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

His confession filled her with confidence. Letting her hands grab his deliciously defined hipbones, she shoved his towel to the floor.

“I don’t want a piece of you, Van,” she said, pushing him backwards.

His eyes widened as she advanced on him. “You don’t?”

“Nope.” When they reached the couch, she pressed on his chest until he sat. “I want,” she began, lowering so that she could kiss the taut muscles that had been making her mouth water since she walked in, “the whole thing.”

Dropping to her knees before him, she stroked his already fully erect length.

“I’ve got a few more questions for you.”

“Let’s hear ’em,” Van rasped out without taking his eyes from her hand on his shaft.

“How many women have you tied up?”

“You sure that’s on the questionnaire?”

She frowned at him.

He cleared his throat. “Um, ever?”

She nodded.

“A few.”

Stella Jo thrust her bottom lip out in a fake pout. “Well, they do say practice makes perfect.”

“Stella?”

She licked her lips as a bead of moisture formed on the head of his dick. “Yes?”

“If it makes any difference, you’re the first one I’ve done anything with while completely sober in about ten years. And you are hands-down, without a doubt, no fucking contest, the most beautiful woman who has ever whimpered my name and begged me to fuck her.”

She smiled up at him. “Well that was sweet. For you, I guess.”

“You said you wanted romance.”

“Did I say that?” She tightened her grip on him.

“Something like that.” Van shivered lightly beneath her. His cock twitched in her hand.

“You okay, Mr. Walker?”

His eyes burned into hers. “I’m wondering if you’re going to finish that fucking checklist of questions before you do whatever it is you plan to do with my dick.”

“Well that’s not very romantic, now is it?” She slid her hand down, enjoying how smooth the skin encasing his steel erection felt as she stroked him.

“I could recite some poetry.”

“Hm.” Darting her tongue out and licking the underside of him, she moaned at the sweet salty flavor of him. “I do love poetry. Let’s hear some.”

Surprisingly, he groaned out a few lines of a poem she knew. One of her favorites actually.

“If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you. If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, but make allowance for their doubting too. If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies, or, being hated, don’t give way to hating, and yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise.”

While he recited, she swirled her tongue around his tip.

“Fuck,” he groaned out when she finally took him completely into her mouth.

“I don’t recall that being in the poem.” She arched a challenging brow.

He threaded his fingers into her hair and continued. “If you can dream and not make dreams your master. If you can think and not make thoughts your aim. If you can meet with triumph and disaster and treat those two imposters just the same. If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools.” He paused and sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh fuck. Dammit, cowgirl, you’re going to make me come.”

Stella sucked him hard and fast, pumping him with her hand as she did. She ached to make him feel at least half as good as he’d made her feel.

“Do it,” she mumbled onto the head of him before tonguing his opening.

“Fuck, baby. Seriously.” He pulled her hair hard enough to hurt, but the sensation just emboldened her efforts.

She took him as deep as she could handle, pulling him as far into her as her gag reflex would allow. Once and then again. The third time, he lost his battle with holding out. The warm bursts hit the back of her throat and slid down quickly. She’d never done that to anyone before, but it was much less challenging than she’d expected.

Kissing him softly on his shaft, she sat back and finished the verse. “Or watch the things you gave your life to broken, and stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools.”

“There’s more,” he said, staring at her with what looked like wonder in his eyes.

“There is,” she whispered, wondering if they were talking about the poem or something else entirely. “But I should go. I have half a dozen other checklists to complete.”

Van stood and helped her to her feet. “Every other motherfucker’s checklist better be questions and answers only. Or we are going to have a serious problem.”

She snorted out a laugh as she retrieved her previously forgotten folder. “Yeah, well. You know those questions about being accommodating? I need all tens on those.”

Van pulled her to him and kissed her swollen lips. “You better be kidding.”

“Says the guy who has women lined up to blow him. I should know. I wasn’t even first in line.”

The truth in her own words gouged her unexpectedly in the chest.

“Hey.” Tilting her chin up, he kissed her once more. “You might not have been first to offer, but you were the first to be taken up on it.”

“That’s something I guess.”

She stood awkwardly by his front door while he grabbed a pair of snug-fitting black boxer briefs from a drawer and slid them on. His muscular ass was perfectly defined by the material. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. Her imagination ran wild picturing how good it would look flexing as he thrusted himself into her. She made a mental note to request sex near a mirror.

“Need help at the barn tonight?” he asked, interrupting her dirty thoughts as he walked over to the door to stand beside her.

She shrugged. “Sadly, no. Jesse has things pretty much caught up. I don’t even have any reason to go down there except I have to say goodnight to Shadowdancer.”

“You ever think the others get jealous of how much special attention he gets? I mean, he’s kind of the asshole of the bunch. Yet you seem to love him the most.”

She smiled at his crinkled brow. And at the fact that he was completely serious.

“I don’t know. I guess I have a special place in my heart for assholes.”

At that, Van grinned, lighting her up from the inside out. “Oh yeah? Got room for one more?”

Her breath caught. “Do you want to be in my…heart?”

His mouth gaped open slightly. Clearly he hadn’t read into the significance of his own words.

“Relax, rock star. I’m teasing.” Letting him off the hook seemed the best way to go. Heavy conversation just seemed out of place after oral sex.

But then his eyes darkened. “I want to be wherever you’ll let me, Stella Jo.”

Startled by his honesty, she smiled up at him. “Well, I can think of a few places.” Stella wrapped her arms around his neck and placed her lips on his until he kissed her back.

“Do you have a problem kissing me after I had your cock in my mouth?”

Van’s hands tightened their grip on her waist. “Absolutely not. I was trying to ignore how delectably swollen your lips were from sucking me off so that I could let you leave instead of bending your sexy ass over my kitchen table and fucking you blind. Since you still have work to do and all.”

Her entire body responded to his words. “Can we pretend I need help at the barn tonight?”

“Yes. Yes we can,” he mumbled against her mouth.

“Good. And don’t bother wearing a shirt. I have vital research to complete involving your tattoos. See you around seven?”

His lips curved into a smile as he pressed them against hers once more. “Seven it is.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this nervous. Or if he ever had. Taking a deep breath, he glanced behind him to make sure no one was around. He’d taken the long route around the barn, walked decidedly slowly—especially for a man who couldn’t wait to get where he was going.

But now he stood at her door. Picturing her smile, her eyes burning into his as she kneeled before him, wondering what she’d be wearing for their date—or whatever the hell it was—tonight.

Knocking gently, he contemplated kicking his own ass for getting so worked up. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t like him. And yet, he’d freeze fucking time if it meant he could keep her. Could keep seeing her. Could somehow keep being the version of himself she apparently wanted to spend time with.

The door opened, pulling him from his thoughts and effectively evaporating the air in his lungs.

“Jesus.”

“I’m sorry. Were you praying? Did I interrupt?” She tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth, barely managing to hide a smile from him as she stepped aside to let him in. The jeans she wore must have been made specifically for her body. The thin sweater was a gentle shade of pink. Or maybe peach. He wasn’t sure. But it matched the blush that crept high up on her cheekbones perfectly.

“You look…” He shook his head. “Beautiful is an insult compared to what you are.” He’d never had a woman take his breath away before. Until now. “If this were real life, I would’ve brought flowers. No florists currently in rehab I guess.”

“There’s lavender and hyacinth by the barn,” she informed him. “Just sayin’.”

Van grinned. He loved her smart mouth, loved the way she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, to be honest about the way she saw him. The real him. Somehow she saw through the bullshit. It seemed to be all anyone else could see. And she cut right through it completely.

“I’ll make a note of that for future reference.”

She smiled. “So we have two options.”

“Only two?” He could think of a lot more.

She rolled her eyes as they stepped into the small area where an overstuffed white couch with about half a dozen more throw pillows than were necessary sat across from a television.

“I can make pasta or we can order pizza.”

“I eat so much pizza on the road. I’ve kind of enjoyed the break.”

“Pasta it is.” She turned toward a kitchenette that wasn’t much larger than his. “Make yourself at home. Remote’s on the coffee table.”

“If I could stand being that far from you right now, I would happily sit my ass over there and pretend to watch television. But since I can’t, give me an easy job like throwing lettuce in a bowl or spreading butter on garlic bread. Something.”

Her answering smile was brighter than any of the lights in her cozy living space. And it damn near knocked him on his ass.

“Okay,” she answered softly, giving him a demure smile as she led him into the kitchen. “Here. Chop these.”

He ached to touch her, but he settled for the tomatoes she was handing him instead.

A few minutes into his task, he felt her move in close behind him. “You don’t have to be so careful. They can take it.”

His knees took the brunt of her words. “Oh yeah? They like it rough then?”

Her musical laughter floated into the air. “Yeah, they do.”

Taking a deep breath, he finished chopping—slightly rougher than before. “Okay, now what?”

“Half in here.” She gestured to a pot on the stove. “And the other half in here,” she said, handing him a bowl of lettuce.

“You make your own sauce?”

“I do. Canned stuff just doesn’t have that same sweet, savory flavor. I prefer the real thing.”

His fingers fisted closed at his sides. They’d had to or his hands would’ve grabbed that sweater she wore to see if it was as soft as it looked and he would’ve pulled her to him and told her how badly he needed a taste of something sweet and savory. Something that didn’t have a damn thing to do with food.

“Ah,” was all he could get out. He watched as she skillfully sautéed onions and garlic in some oil on one burner while boiling pasta on another. She moved as if she could’ve cooked the entire meal blindfolded. He knew it was probably going to be amazing.

Which was why it was such a damn shame they weren’t going to eat it.

“Close your eyes,” she said, turning on him suddenly.

“What?”

She pointed a wooden spoon at him. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

Her mouth quirked up. “It’s secret ingredient time. So close ’em.”

He stared at her for a full minute before he realized she was completely serious. “Okay.” He closed his eyes.

But he couldn’t resist. And he couldn’t stand not being able to see her. Her shirt lifted above her waist as she reached into a cabinet, revealing a mouthwatering strip of skin he wanted to lick more than he wanted his next breath. His hands gave up being good and pulled her to him.

“You peeked! Who does that?” Her mouth opened in surprise as he yanked her to him.

“I won’t tell a soul,” he whispered before lowering his mouth to hers.

The wooden spoon dropped to the counter as he licked her soft lips. She opened for him and he dipped his tongue inside. All the talk about sweet and savory and tasting had pushed him to his breaking point already.

“Did you see them?” Her breathy voice pulled at his dick, giving him the last shove over the no-going-back line.

“See what, baby?” His fingers acted of their own accord, dragging her shirt slowly over her head.

“I’m going to burn the sauce,” she mumbled against his mouth, making no effort to stop his pursuit.

“Here.” He reached around and turned the burner off. “And I promise not to tell anyone you put sugar and crushed red pepper in your spaghetti sauce.”

“Ugh. I so don’t trust you!”

He gripped her tightly under the ass and sat her on the counter. “Yes you do. You let me tie you up. If that’s not trust, I don’t know what is.”

Her entire body seemed to flush at his words.

“I know you can’t stop thinking about it,” he whispered into her ear.

Before she either confirmed or denied it, a loud splashing sound followed by a hiss alerted them that the pasta was boiling over.

Stella let out a small sound of alarm and hopped quickly off the counter. Clad in jeans and a bra, she did some magical maneuver to drain it over the sink before combining it with the sauce.

When she turned back to face him, he raised a questioning brow. “So dinner’s ready?”

Her breasts rose and fell, capturing his full attention. “It is. You hungry, Van?”

“Fucking starving.” Clutching her to him once more, he ran his tongue from the valley of her breasts up her throat.

Her legs buckled beneath her and she wrapped her arms around him for support. “I was really excited to cook for you.”

Her words stopped his assault on the sensitive spot beneath her earlobe. No one had ever cooked for him. Other than Val. And she’d done it for their survival, not because she’d especially wanted to.

“Oh yeah? Well, in that case, feed me, cowgirl.”

A pleased smirk brightened her beautiful face. Van lifted her back onto the counter beside the stove.

Stella removed a fork from the drawer below her and proceeded to twirl spaghetti straight out of the pot.

He opened his mouth and let her feed him a giant bite. It was damn good. Not as good as what he planned to put in his mouth as soon as she’d satisfied her desire to feed him, but damn good nonetheless.

He moaned his appreciation at both the food and the beautiful expression on her face. Her legs came up around his waist and pulled him closer.

“My turn.” He didn’t use a fork. He just pulled a few strands of spaghetti out of the pot with his fingers and dangled them in front of her mouth.

She opened for him. He tossed the noodles into his own mouth instead.

“That was just mean.” She narrowed her eyes before pulling pasta out of the pot just as he had done.

Van wasn’t the type of man who was usually surprised. But when she flung the sauce-covered noodles onto his shirt, he jumped back. “Oh, now you’ve done it.”

She lifted her eyebrows suggestively. “I distinctly remember telling you not to wear a shirt.”

Granting her wish, he reached down and pulled his shirt over his head. “Better?”

“Much.”

Using her legs, she drew him back to her. He gasped as her warm, wet tongue teased his chest.

“You’re approaching dangerous territory, cowgirl. Consider this a final warning.”

“I’m not scared,” she whispered, grabbing a handful of spaghetti and lobbing it at him.

He watched the noodles slide down his chest. “Oh, that’s it. No mercy.” He slung a glob of noodles right back at her, taking extra care to smear them against the swells of her breasts. The sauce swirled a pattern above the delicate edge of lacy material on her bra.

Her giggling stopped when he began licking the sauce from her chest.

“Time to clean up.” Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her past the bed—the same one he’d tied her to only a few days ago—and into the bathroom.

Her squeals of surprise bounced off the bathroom walls around them. Van chuckled as he set her on her feet on the floor before reaching over and turning the faucet in the tub on.

“What are you doing?”

“Bathing you. You’re all dirty.”

She looked him up and down with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You’re dirty too. Get in with me?”

Van glanced at the filling tub. “I was hoping to watch.”

Stella pursed her lips. “Wouldn’t you prefer to watch from up close?”

Before he could answer, she unfastened her bra and let it drop to the floor. She peeled her jeans off slowly, inch by inch as he admired her enticing movements. When her panties followed her pants to the floor, he didn’t have words to articulate his gratitude for the perfection that was her body.

Van’s eyes clung to her naked form as she lowered herself into the tub. When it had filled nearly to overflowing, he shut the water off.

Grabbing the bottle of vanilla body wash that sat on the side, he squeezed some into his hands. Once they were nice and foamy, he turned to her. “May I?”

The warm water had clearly relaxed her. Her eyes had taken on a dreamy haze. “Well, I don’t usually let someone bathe me on the first date, but since we’ve broken all my other rules, no reason to stop now.”

“Rules?” Van lathered her neck, shoulders, and back, massaging her thoroughly as he went.

“You know,” she answered slowly. “No kissing on the first date. No sex for at least a month—and only when you know it’s monogamous.”

“And how long do you usually wait before you let a man tie you to the bed and spank you with a horse training implement?”

Her mouth curved in a way that made him want to kiss the sins right into it. “Oh, you know. A few weeks at least.”

“I see.” Van’s hands made their way down her arms. He kneaded the tensest areas until she moaned.

“I know my mom must’ve done this when I was little, but I honestly can’t remember anyone ever giving me a bath.”

Her wistful tone sounded partly sad and partly grateful. His chest tightened. This was part of what he found so gratifying about taking care of her. It seemed that no one ever had before.

“Happy to be of service, ma’am.”

After he’d washed every visible inch of her skin, he washed and rinsed her hair. The little sighs and moans of pleasure she let out were rough on the constant erection he seemed to hold around her. But it was worth it. She looked so…content. Happy, even, when she met his open stare. Barely resisting the urge to tear off his clothes and get in with her, he pulled the plug and began to drain the water.

“Stand up, cowgirl.”

She dutifully did as she was told and he reveled in her gloriously wet body before him. Relathering his hands, he slid them between her thighs and up the seam of her ass.

“Easy,” she commanded, giving his wrist a little smack.

“You love it.”

“I love everything you do to me.”

Her confession caught them both off guard, and for a minute, neither of them spoke.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Time to rinse.”

Grabbing a blue washcloth, he ran it under the faucet before using it to rinse the soap from between her legs. Her eyes threatened to roll back in her head and he was vaguely worried her knees were going to give out when he ran the cloth through her center.

“My turn,” Stella whispered. Before he had time to wrap a towel around her, she stepped out of the tub and lowered herself onto his lap, facing him. He watched as she snatched the washcloth and began cleaning the dried sauce from his bare chest with it. Once she’d removed the remnants of the spaghetti standoff, she tossed the rag aside and looked up at him. “All finished.”

“Hardly,” he practically growled at her.

Lifting her as he stood, he carried her to the living room. Her bed called out an invitation to him as they passed, but he knew he’d be tempted to tie her to it again. And if he tied her up, he’d fuck her. Furiously. Until one or both of them lost consciousness.

Something inside him had shifted when she’d opened the door to him looking so sweet and soft in that damn sweater. She’d cooked for him. Hand fed him.

It was time for making love to her. Time for slow and sensual. Time for giving her everything he had to give. She already had parts of him he’d never given anyone else. Might as well finish it off, carve out his heart and soul and hand them over.

“I’m still all wet,” Stella said as he lowered her onto the couch.

“That’s the idea, cowgirl.”

“You’re crazy.”

“So I’ve heard.”

His mouth met hers and he didn’t know which of them held the other tighter. Their kisses quickly turned desperate, but he forced himself to pull back. “If you want to stop, or if you’re just not sure you’re ready to see this all the way through, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“I told you,” she panted as her fingers worked deftly to undo the button on his jeans. “The only thing I’ll ever ask for is more.”

“Then more it is.” Van retrieved the condom from his back pocket. She was naked and wet and so ready for him that he was throbbing in anticipation. She slid his zipper down, and he couldn’t roll the latex over himself fast enough. Her eyes reflected the same ravenous urgency he felt.

But as her legs fell open to allow him between them, Van froze above her.

This would change everything. Him. Her. Them. They’d be a them. A messy mural of the future appeared in his mind. He felt like a snake slithering into the garden of Eden.

Would he still go on tour? Leave her here with all these cowboys and doctors waiting to swoop in and steal her the minute he was gone? Or would she go on tour with them? Damien, his bass player, had gotten married last year. His wife, Angie, pretty much went everywhere with the band. But could his sweet Stella handle that kind of life? Would she even want to try?

“Van?” Her voice pulled him back into the moment. “You okay?”

He clenched his jaw, determined not to let his head mindfuck him out of the actual fucking he’d been waiting over a month for.

“Yeah, baby. All good. Hands up.”

She followed orders and raised her hands above her head. Van gripped her wrists, careful to avoid the still red skin the rope had chafed. Despite the twinge of guilt for hurting her, seeing it made him even harder than he’d thought possible.

“Good girl.” He kissed her softly since she’d complied so readily. “I’ll go slow until you come, cowgirl. But after that, I’m fucking you fast and hard. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Stella answered with a twitch of her lips.

Using his free hand, Van gently kneaded her right breast before working his way down. When he reached her slick folds, he nearly cried out with joyous relief. She was already wet. Soaking wet, actually, and not from bathwater. His cowgirl was ready for him.

Lowering his mouth to hers, he parted her with his fingers and inched his cock inside of her.

“Oh,” she breathed out as he proceeded to sink in deeper. He had to bite back a sound of his own. Her walls clenched so tightly around him he could hardly breathe. His dick felt each pulsing throb as he parted her walls.

“You okay, baby?”

“Yeah,” she rasped, nodding. “No turning back. No safe word, right?”

Van jerked his head back. “That was said in the heat of the moment, cowgirl. If you need me to stop, if it hurts too much, you tell me, okay?”

“It hurts so good, Van,” she whispered. “You feel so fucking good inside me.”

Her pussy gripped him tightly as she spoke, demanding that he thrust into her harder than he’d planned.

“Yes. Oh God, Van. Please. Make me feel. Make it hurt.”

He grabbed the back of her couch into his hand, twisting a handful of the fabric. It was the “make it hurt” that sent him over the edge. He’d been trying to be gentle. But if she wanted to walk fucked up for the next few days, well, he was okay with that.

Releasing her wrists, he sat up and used his hands to yank her legs roughly to him. He pulled and pushed her body on and off of his dick. He didn’t ease in and out like he had at first. He plunged into the depths of her scorching heat and tore out repeatedly.

Her breathing was so rapid he was almost concerned. But she’d said the words. And he was powerless when it came to giving her what she asked for.

Reaching between their damp bodies, he circled her clit with his thumb. She cried out in what he hoped was ecstasy.

“Feel good, baby?”

“Better than good,” she breathed out. “More, please.”

A guttural sound rumbled out of his chest. “Yes, ma’am.” Grabbing her delicate body entirely too hard, he flipped her onto her stomach. “Get on your knees. Ass up, cowgirl.”

She complied quickly, and he dug his fingers into her hips.

“Fucking hell, you have tiny ass back dimples made for my thumbs.” He pressed into the sexy as hell indentations and slid his cock back into her opening. She rocked against him.

“Awesome. Please proceed with the fucking, Van.”

He let out a dark chuckle. “Easy, cowgirl. I still know where the riding crop is.”

She peeked over her shoulder, tossing him a sinful stare. “You think you do. Maybe I hid them all.”

Van gripped her wrists together behind her back and pulled her upright so that her ear was level with his mouth. “If that’s true, and I have to search, you’re going to be in big trouble.”

“I’m not scared,” she whispered.