he pressed deeper, surging forward. No, it was he who closed his eyes as the wet, tight heat of her parted for him, embraced him. Broke him.
He shuddered, fighting not to plunge inside her, to rut over her like a beast concerned with only his own gratification. Jesus, he wasn’t even all the way inside her, and he shook with the need to come.
“Ross.” Charlotte slid a hand over his tense shoulder, up the side of his neck and cradled his jaw. “Look at me.” He lifted his lashes, and the sight of her damp lips, flushed cheeks and glazed eyes worsened the struggle for control. “I’m not fragile. Take what you need from me. I can handle it.”
He blew out a hard, ragged breath, buried his face in the crook of her neck—and slammed inside her.
Twin moans filled the room, his dark rumble and her lighter whimper. Fuck, she... A tremble worked over him. She was so damn perfect. Strong. Delicate. Wet. Hot. She was everything.
With a growl he couldn’t contain, he drew his hips back and thrust forward, powering into her in a greedy stroke. She rose to meet him, her legs wrapping around his hips, and he burrowed impossibly deeper. Palming her ass, he lifted her into him, riding her, grinding into her, burying himself over and over because he couldn’t bear not being balls deep inside the heart of her.
She chanted his name, her nails digging into his back, scratching him. Marking him. Yes. God, yes. He wanted that physical claim of ownership—
He shook his head, his mind rebelling at the thought even as he owned her body. Not ownership. Pleasure. He wanted the physical evidence that he could render her mindless with his touch, his cock. Nothing else mattered.
Gritting his teeth, he levered off her, sliding his arms underneath her thighs and hiking them higher, spreading her wider. He pistoned into her, the sound of damp skin slapping together, of his grunts and her moans littering the air. Electric currents sizzled and snapped up and down his spine, even the soles of his feet. But he held on, fought the surge of ecstasy that heralded an orgasm that might take him out of here. Not without her, though.
Reaching between them, he swept his thumb over the top of her sex, circling the little nub of flesh. Circling, then pressing. Hard.
Charlotte stiffened, her back arching hard, her beautiful breasts pointed toward the ceiling. Unable to resist the lure of them, he bowed over her, sucking a nipple deep, thrusting and riding out the orgasm that clutched her in its powerful grasp. A strangled cry escaped her, and she shook, her sex clamping down on him in a bruising grip. Yes, dammit. He wanted to be bruised, to still feel that steel-and-silk clasp tomorrow.
As her tremors started to subside, he gave his own needs free rein. Releasing her breast with a soft pop, he reared back and let go. Each thrust shoved him closer to that crumbling, death-defying edge. Until he just leaped. Bone-cracking pleasure punched into him, and as the orgasm barreled over him, he didn’t fight it.
Didn’t fight the rapture.
Didn’t fight her.
Didn’t fight himself.
He surrendered, and for tonight—for this moment—it was all right.
Ten
Ross stood at the window of the Texas Cattleman’s Club meeting room, and a sense of déjà vu whispered over him. Hell, had it only been a few weeks since he’d stood here with his father, siblings and Billy, signing the contract for Soiree on the Bay? So much had happened since then. He’d bumped into the woman who’d haunted him for three years, had discovered he was a father and had been disinherited. He shook his head. And to think, when he’d been finalizing those documents, all he’d seen ahead of him was money, success and partying.
Scoffing lightly, he turned and headed to the serving set the club staff had laid out on the small conference table. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sipped, glancing down at his watch. A couple of minutes before one. His stomach twisted, and he clenched his jaw. Another thing that had changed. Never had nerves attacked him at the thought of seeing his sister and brother. They were his best friends—no, more than that. When people survived wars together, that made them closer than blood because their relationship was forged in conflict, battle and grief. Rusty’s marriages and divorces had been combat they’d endured, their childhood the battlefield where the three of them had