Taming Tess, page 15
Or angry.
She peered over her shoulder toward the bathroom.
Surprised, angry, or aroused? Which would he be?
Only one way to find out.
She rose, strode down the hall, opened the bathroom door, and tore back the shower curtain.
"Look here, St. John. You want it, and I want it. We're both frustrated."
He gaped at her, steamy water spattering off the side of his head and sluicing down over his shoulder, his chest, his abdomen, his semi-arousal ... and a nice semi-arousal it was, too.
He unfurled the washcloth he held, letting it fall between her gaze and his dangling assets. Oh yeah, they both wanted it.
She brought her gaze back up to his face and looked into his astonished eyes. “The only way we are going to end this frustration is to have sex. When you're ready, you know where to find me."
She then released the edge of the shower curtain and exited the bathroom.
* * * *
The closing door sent a current of cool air through the room, into the shower stall, and over Roman's wet body. It was like a slap to his ego. A wake-up call.
She had said they were both frustrated? Hell, Tess Abbot didn't know jack about frustration. Frustration was sleeping one flight below a temptress who slept in his T-shirt or less. Frustration was having your dick poised on the brink of hot, wet penetration only to be denied for lack of protection. He'd show her frustration.
He caught up to her halfway to the kitchen, grabbed her by the upper arm and swung her against the hall wall. Before she could protest, he covered her mouth with his own, swallowing her surprised “Oh!” and slipping his tongue between her parted teeth. Her body melted against his, and her eyes drifted shut.
"Is this what you had in mind?” he muttered against her lips, pinning her back against the wall with his wet body.
"It's a start,” she purred, her fingers against the nape of his neck like tiny lightning strikes seeking to be grounded on his water-beaded skin.
For a moment, he lost himself to the play of her small, taut tongue across his teeth. He lost himself in the lush curves she arched against his naked body—to the contact of her bare thigh to his naked sex. How easy it would be to strip away her skimpy shorts and whatever silk scrap of panty she wore beneath. How easily he could lift her onto his ready flesh.
But he had something else in mind for Tess Abbot ... if he was going to teach her the meaning of frustration.
He clamped his hands over her hips and held her against the wall. He stroked her bare stomach with his thumbs—nudged the cool ring piercing her warm belly button. He stroked the ring again, circling it with one thumb. Circling it again and again. He wanted to know what that ring would feel like against the tip of his tongue—to taste it and find out if it tasted like her.
He wanted to taste her.
A low, warning growl rumbled in his throat. This wasn't about pleasure. Not his. Not hers. This was supposed to be about teaching the woman who'd brought him to the boiling point one too many times only to deny him what that kind of frustration felt like.
He needed to tease her.
He stroked the bottom tines of her ribs. He stroked higher, beneath the loose lower edge of the crop top.
She squirmed beneath his touch.
He nudged the undersides of her breasts. Her moan buzzed against his lips, vibrated through his mouth, and reverberated straight into his primal core. He twitched against her thigh, belatedly realizing he'd sagged into her.
No good. Not if he was going to make Tess Abbot suffer as he had.
Not when he needed to tame her.
He pulled back and removed his mouth from hers. He feathered kisses along the line of her jaw and nipped at the curve of her neck. She wriggled within the staying grip of his hands on her waist, straining against his restraint—struggling to lift her body against his.
She was close. Very close. Almost to the point where he'd been when she'd stopped them. But not quite close enough.
He moved one hand from her waist, moved it down her hip, across her thigh, and into the heat between her legs. She bucked against his palm, eager. The damp heat permeating the crotch of her shorts told him how close she was to readiness.
With the side of his finger, he creased the fabric cloaking her pubic mound. Her entire body arched, tearing her mouth from his and pushing that lower set of lips against his hand. As responsive as she was, he doubted he'd even need to slip a finger inside her to bring her over the edge.
But his intent wasn't to send her into the abyss of sexual release. If it were, he'd want to be with her ... skin to skin. He'd want to be gripped by her contractions and drenched by her release.
He'd want to be inside her.
Heavy with his blood and his need, his sex throbbed between his legs.
He wanted to be inside her.
But to give in to his need and join her in her release was to lose.
Yet, to resist, to exact his vengeance by denying her, would be to deny himself. Something else niggled at him from deep in his soul. If he did conquer his own needs and extract his revenge, would he be able to look himself in the mirror tomorrow morning?
* * * *
Roman went still, and Tess met his conflicted gaze. There was a war waging inside him. She saw it in his eyes and the pucker of his brow. She heard it in his ragged breaths ... felt it in the tension of his muscles.
Continue or stop. That's what his body battled to decide.
Strangely, she understood his conflict ... though she suspected he struggled to stop for a different reason than she had the night they'd lain naked on the floor at the foot of her bed. She'd stopped them then because reason had prevailed.
But for Roman, the prevailing emotion warring with his passion was vengeance. She'd recognized it in the way he pinned her to the wall and the way he growled at her.
Anger. Vengeance.
He wanted to pay her back for frustrating him. He wanted to stop and leave her hungry for him. She almost welcomed his betrayal. It would make him like every other man in her life. It would kill this desire she felt for him.
It would make him ... safe.
But his eyes changed. The lines pinching around them telegraphed his decision before his ragged voice even spoke the words. “Do you still have those rubbers?"
No. “In the dresser in my room."
He scooped her up and took the stairs two at a time. The thrill of it tickled Tess’ stomach ... and raised a gooseflesh trail of apprehension up her spine. What was wrong with her? This was what she'd intended to happen when she'd set out to seduce Roman.
She buried her face against his shoulder. But what if she was wrong? What if once would not be enough?
He dropped her beside the bed, spun toward the dresser, and began opening drawers, demanding, “Which one?"
Don't tell him. “Top right."
He faced her, condom box in hand. He was magnificent, standing before her, naked, damp, and fully aroused.
Last chance to stop this train wreck of an affair.
In one fluid movement, she peeled the crop top off over her head and skidded the shorts down her legs. Kicking her pants aside, she stepped close to him and reached into the condom box.
"Let me help you,” she said in a voice so husky, so tremulous, she almost didn't recognize it.
His pupils flared, devouring his eyes, turning them a smoky shade of passion.
She tore open the foil wrapper, knelt before Roman, and placed the sheath against the tip of his sex. The condom box crushed in his fist, and foil packets spilled out onto the floor.
"I better do that,” he said in a tight voice, his fingers replacing hers on the condom ... on him.
She rose and stroked his chest, his shoulders, his arms. He trembled with restraint. Against his own passion? Or against her?
"Roman,” she whispered raggedly, “Are you sure..."
He cut her off with a kiss, a kiss that seemed to weld their lips together and sent sparks down her throat, through her stomach, and into her womb. She opened her mouth wider, taking him as deep into her as she could, swallowing every passionate syllable he moaned out and answering him with her own.
Beneath her hands, the muscles bunched across his shoulders, spasmed down his spine, and contracted in his butt cheeks. His groan echoed through her mouth and into her soul. No one should have this much power over another. Not her over him. Not him over her.
But she loved the abrasive stroke of his broad, callused hands down her back. She loved the strength in his arms and the promise in his moans. She loved that he shuddered with need at her touch.
She hitched a leg over his hip, opening herself to him, inviting him closer. He caught her by the back of the knee and nipped her throat.
She threw her head back and thrust her pelvis forward, begging for more. He bent and drew her nipple into his mouth, his suckling sending darts of pain and pleasure through her. So absorbed was she in his artful handling, she didn't notice him lowering her leg, not until her foot touched the floor.
"Please,” she pleaded, trying to raise it again only to find he held her planted as firmly on two feet as a woman could be while a man trailed kisses down her stomach.
The tip of his tongue touched the ring in her belly button, and a jolt as powerful as an electrical charge bolted through her as though searching a route to exit. She knew where she wanted it to exit. She knew which part of Roman needed to connect with her to complete the path.
She struggled against the broad hands that clamped over her hips, holding her in place while a masterful tongue explored the tiny gold ring and the terrain in which it had been planted. She gripped him by the shoulders to steady herself when he trailed feathery kisses across her abdomen, and gasped approval when he hooked her leg over his shoulder.
One darting flick of his tongue and she crumpled against him. He lifted her onto the bed and finished the kiss he'd begun. Then he rose between her legs and planted his cock inside her, at last bringing to ground the lightning bolts of pleasure zigzagging through her body.
* * * *
She was everything he'd dreamed she would be. Hot. Wet. Eager. She arched into his every thrust, throwing her head back, baring her throat to him.
A low, guttural sound rumbled from her. He growled in return and dove into her.
"Yes, yes, yes,” she purred, clutching at his shoulders, his arms, his flanks. Her fingers pressed into his back, urging him on. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
Like he needed any encouragement. She was like a steam bath around his cock, her slick vaginal walls massaging him to the brink. The only way for him to recoup his control was to pull back until only the head of his cock still connected with all that was heaven on earth.
And he wanted that control. He wanted to last for this woman. He wanted to glory in her arousal, in the way her mouth shaped silent ohs, the rising pitch of her tiny gasps as she climbed his cock toward orgasm. He wanted to watch the flush of color blossom between her breasts and climb her chest, and he did.
Her vaginal muscles tightened. He changed his thrusts, made them shorter and faster.
The color climbed her throat. Her muscles rippled, rolling up and down his cock. He groaned in his effort to hold back. Then...
Her vaginal muscles clenched around him. A sound half howl, half moan rose from her throat. He slowed his short hard thrust, prolonging the orgasm. Yelps of pleasure escaped her and she clung to him, spasming and spasming. Only when the yips turned to whimpers did he let himself go. One long plunge, two, three, and he exploded. Even with a condom, the force must have been enough to hit her cervix. She bucked against him and tightened once more around him, moans of contentment underscoring his grunts of release as her muscles milked him for all he was worth.
* * * *
She woke in a tangle of bed covers and Roman's limbs. She was still hungry for him, still needed more of him to take away the edge that had plagued her from the first moment she'd laid eyes on him. Hell, his scent had her damn near swooning these past several weeks. The man reeked of testosterone. And now...
Their bodies pooling in the aromas of mingled sex, her mouth watered. His neck was so near. She tasted him with her tongue and was awarded with a salty musk flavor. She nibbled and nipped. He stirred.
"What ya doin'?” he murmured sleepily.
"What do you think I'm doing?” she said, nipping at the corner of his mouth, his chin, and down his throat.
"Whatever it is,” he growled, “I like it."
She employed her lips and tongue as well as teeth as she traveled a path down his chest. She lingered at his nipples to gently nip them into tight peaks and at his navel until he squirmed beneath the circling of her tongue.
"You're torturing me, woman."
"Mmm, and you're loving every moment of it."
She nipped his abdomen, and he groaned. She closed her thumb and fingers around the base of his cock, and his groan deepened. His cock bobbed against her cheek. She licked a path up the thick ridge running its underside. He was hot and hard and tasted of their combined sex. She couldn't wait to take him into her mouth.
She traced her tongue along the ridge of his bulbous head.
"What are you doing to me, woman?” But this time his words came out strangled, more statement than question.
She smiled and rolled her tongue around his hot, hard head. He shuddered.
She took him into her mouth. He moaned.
She swallowed him down her throat and an animalistic groan rumbled from him, followed by a throaty, “You're going to ruin me, woman."
Yeah, exactly. She would ruin him for any other woman. Something in that thought made her pause. But before she could explore what that troublesome notion was, Roman's guttural, “I need to be inside you, woman,” had them both reaching for the condoms that had earlier been spilled across the floor.
Bedclothes and bodies tumbled to the floor. Roman ended up on his back and Tess atop him—astride him. Roman grumbled something about hard landings. Tess backed her butt up to his cock and laughed. “I almost got a hard landing myself."
"You're a tease, Tess Abbot."
"Not nearly as much as you might think,” she simpered back at him and plucked one of the condoms off the floor.
She knelt between his legs, making a show of opening the foil-wrapped packet. Then, fitting it into her mouth, bent and rolled the condom down his cock.
"Jeez,” he moaned. “Seeing that would make most men come."
"But you're not most men, are you, St. John?"
His eyes narrowed, all smoldering steel, and he curled toward her, reaching to roll her onto her back. She pressed his shoulders to the floor.
"Not this time, St. John. This time I'm in charge.” And she mounted him, taking him to the hilt in one, slick move.
He felt like velvet-sheathed steel. She moved over him, feeling every bump, lump and ridge of his thick cock. Yet, she wanted more.
She pulled back, making him moan, making him slide over the hungry mouth of her vagina. He was long, and the journey to the head of his cock was delicious. She circled, there on the tip of his rod, scratching her itch. Then she took him inside her. Back and forth. Up and down.
He lifted his hips to meet her movements. But mostly he moaned and groaned and teased her nipples with fingers and palms until they were tight, aching buds. Still, she wanted more.
"I want you deeper,” she panted.
He sat up and hauled her leg over his hips. The head of his cock hit her cervix and she jumped from the tiny pain of it and adjusted her rhythm. And she rode him like the stud he was. The friction was magic, the itch being scratched ... at the mouth of her vagina and deeper where her G-spot puckered and swelled and reached for him.
He closed his hands over her hips. But he did not hurry her, did not guide. He just held her loosely, his thumbs tracing circles on her skin, his lips finding their way to her nipples, suckling one then the other. The pull of his mouth and sweet nips of his teeth shot darts of ecstasy straight to her vagina.
She threw her head back as her body built toward its climax and he entwined his finger at the small of her back, cradling her. She braced her hands on the floor behind her, thrusting faster now, taking him hard across her G-spot. Nothing existed except the place where their bodies joined.
And she was close, so close. There. There. Theeerrrre.
A scream echoed in the distance. Hers. He brought his knees up behind her and rocked her, prolonging the orgasm, letting her bring herself down at her own pace. And then, when she was nearly still, his hips made two quick jabs and he released, his hot cum pelting her cervix. She shuddered and melted into his arms.
* * * *
The third time she woke, she was on the floor ... in a tangle of bedclothes and limbs. The fourth time, they were back in bed.
Roman had proved to be a thorough lover not once, not twice, but three times. She purred with satisfaction and snuggled into the sturdy cradle of his body. God, he felt good pressed along the length of her back. All that hot, naked flesh.
He stirred against her, making her body twitch in the most distracting of places. She wasn't going to let him keep sleeping if he kept moving against her like that.
But four times in one night? What could they possibly do that was more sating than their third lovemaking session, the one that had been tender and sweet? More cuddling than fireworks. In some ways, the most satisfying of all.
And the most unsettling, now that she thought about it. Why?
One of Roman's work-hardened hands slid from her hip and splayed across her belly possessively. She squeezed her eyes shut. Hadn't she known she couldn't make love—make love—with Roman and expect to walk away unscathed?
She knew now.
So, what to do?
Roman's breath stirred through the short hairs at the back of her neck. She wasn't going to figure this out as long as she stayed in his arms, relishing his breath on her neck and tingling at his touch.
She eased out from under his arm and off the bed where they'd made love through the night.
Made love. She stifled a groan. Why couldn't it have been just great sex?
