moved his hand up, skimming her breasts, gratified when she wiggled against him in obvious pleasure.
“I don’t think you are,” she returned.
“TV. What else?”
“Well,” she said slowly. “I cook.”
“Really?” He curled his fingers around the hem of her shirt and tugged it up over her head. “What do you like to cook?”
“I’m very accomplished at making flatbread. By which I mean, I take a tortilla and throw stuff on it and then put it in the oven.”
“Gourmet. Anything else?”
“Burritos. Because that’s basically a tortilla and you put stuff in it, but you roll it up.”
“I can see a common theme.” He moved his hands to the clasp on her bra and undid it with practiced fingers. “Let me guess? You’re also proficient with soft tacos?”
“I have a pretty good handle on them.”
“Where did you learn to cook?”
He kissed her collarbone before she answered, sliding his tongue along the plump curve of her breast, to where her lace bra concealed the rest of her body.
“I used to cook for my brother.”
Those words settled hard in him, like they were a little heavier than the rest. “Did you?”
“Yes. He worked. Long hours. More than one job. So, I always tried to make sure there was food for him. And buying a big thing of tortillas was easy.”
That made him ache. For the girl she had been. Alone, taking care of someone when people should have been taking care of her. After everything she’d been through, she needed to be taken care of.
Where did he get off being pissed about that? He hadn’t been here either.
“It sounds like you have a lot of ideas, Rebecca,” he whispered.
“I’m pretty good at surviving.”
He couldn’t fix the past, God knew it. But there was this. Tonight, there was this. “Well, tonight you’re going to do more than survive.”
He let her bra fall free, pulling it away from her arms and tossing it onto the floor. Then, he undid the snap on her jeans, wiggling the stiff denim down her legs, taking her panties with them. He pressed his palm onto her hip, digging his fingertips into her skin. He loved the feel of her. The softness. She was athletic, no question, but she was also just very soft. Very female. Made completely differently to himself.
It captivated him. It shouldn’t. A woman was a woman, no matter how she was shaped. He’d been with enough to have seen about every variance. Still, she captivated him. Even in the dark.
He slipped his hand between her thighs, sliding a finger through her slick folds, finding her wet and ready for him. He moved the moisture up over the sensitive bundle of nerves there, rubbing her until she gasped.
He couldn’t remember a woman’s pleasure ever feeling so essential before. Yes, he had always wanted to leave his lovers feeling satisfied. But this was different. He had given her so much pain. So many bad feelings. He wanted to make her feel good. Even if it was just for a few minutes, even if there would be nothing but regret later, he wanted her to feel good now.
He pressed the heel of his palm against her clit, pushing his fingers back and slipping two deep inside of her, rocking his hand and establishing a steady, teasing rhythm that made her shake and cry out.
“Oh,” she breathed, grabbing hold of his wrist as if she could possibly take control. This was his game. No way in hell. “If I had known it was this good, I probably wouldn’t have waited.”
He chuckled, but her words made his chest tight. He didn’t like the thought of her being with other men. He liked this. Liked the idea that he was the one commanding the response in her body. The only one. If he hadn’t known he was sick before, this would’ve confirmed it.
He was responsible for her lowest physical lows, and he enjoyed the idea of being responsible for her physical highs.
He was a bastard. Through and through. He didn’t care. Right now he was a hell of a satisfied one.
He leaned forward, capturing her mouth with his, kissing her deep and hard, trying to pour all of the intensity building in his chest into her. Trying to transfer it to pleasure. Trying to make her feel just a bit of what he was feeling now.
He pressed his hand against her shoulder, flattening her onto her back, withdrawing from between her legs. Then he kissed her neck, that smooth, elegant line of her collarbone,