He pressed against me. “Don’t bite. Don’t let me bite you.” As he started to push inside, his eyes locked on my face. I stared at him. This was happening. Had it just been a week ago that this guy had strolled into my office and I’d kicked myself for not staying at home to work on my taxes?
And now…
Held up by his forearm under my hips, locked in place by his hand tangled in my hair, I shuddered as he slowly, oh, so damned slowly sank inside me. I arched against him and twisted, trying to work him deeper, but he growled. “Be still. Just be still.”
Be still—how in the hell could I be still? I raked my nails down his shoulders and twisted again, tightening my legs around his hips. He snarled again and the sound of it arrowed straight through me, centering low in my core. “Damn it, baby girl…” He did that odd little thing where he snapped at the air with his teeth.
I smiled at him and moved just the same way. Again. Again—
He slammed into me and I screamed.
Hot, blinding pleasure shattered me as I clung to him, scrambling, trying to get closer, but that iron fist in my hair wouldn’t let me. He surged inside me and the pleasure, so harsh and deep, washed over me. It exploded and left me empty and still he moved.
Suddenly he tensed. And then, he let go of my hair. I felt him swell inside me and he started to lower his head. Then he stopped. “No…” he muttered. “No.” He growled and then lifted his hand. The scent of fresh blood tinged the air and he sank his teeth into his own wrist as he climaxed.
“Are you okay?”
He stroked a sponge over my back.
Drowsily, I muttered, “Thoughtlessness achieved. You’re a good thought destroyer.”
He chuckled. “I’ll put that down on my resume when I’m out looking for work.”
“Uh-huh.”
The hot water still beat down on us. “We’re not being very conscientious. We’re using up all her hot water.”
“We’ll be out in a minute,” he murmured. He slicked some shampoo through my hair.
“You can also put down excels at washing hair.”
He tugged on my short, soapy hair. “Ha, ha. You should know this is a singular honor. Other than mine, I don’t think I’ve ever washed anybody’s hair.”
“You must just be a natural.” The heat had worked its magic. Although it was possible it was the sex. I couldn’t think worth anything. When Damon turned off the water, I shivered a little, crowding against him. His arms came around me, easing me close for a minute as he brushed his lips across my neck.
“Let’s dry you off,” he whispered.
I nodded and climbed out, but when I went to grab a towel, he beat me to the task, stroking me down with a fat, fluffy one that felt warm and soft against my skin. Dazed, I stood there as he finished the job and wrapped me in yet another towel, a dry one. “Wait.”
Wait, the man says, I thought. All I wanted to do was sleep. Absently, I scratched at my arm. Needed lotion—
He appeared back in the door and I frowned when I saw my bottle of lotion in his hand. “You’re always slicking this on after a shower,” he said, his eyes lingering on my hand for a minute, watching where I’d been scratching. There were questions in the backs of his eyes. I could all but see them, if I’d just let myself look.
But I’d had enough. Seen enough. Handled enough. I just couldn’t take any more.
How in the world would I explain the neurosis, anyway? After years of being filthy and grubby and dirty, I had an almost obsessive need to be clean? The first few years, once I’d finally stopped running, I’d sometimes showered three or four times a day. When I had money, I’d glutted on things like nice soaps and lotions or shampoos, all because it was exactly what I’d never had.
And still, I couldn’t forget the awful, terrible way I’d always felt when my grandmother stared at me. Dirty. Useless. Skin crawling with vermin because she wouldn’t even let me clean myself decently.
No. I wasn’t going to try to explain any of that.
Much easier just to stand there and let him slick the lotion on me…what woman wouldn’t enjoy that?
“You going to add masseuse to your list of skills?” I teased him, swallowing around