Breathe for Me

chapter Eight





This was crazy. She should be working on her project. She should be making calls or hitting the streets to scope out possible venues or drumming up some kind of promo. Instead she was refusing to be intimidated as Xander ignored all ‘elevator etiquette’ and turned his back to the doors sliding shut. As the compartment began its ascent he faced her, intent apparent in every line of his body. A half smile curved his lips, his blue eyes burned.

She stood right at the back of the small space, planting her feet a little apart as if she were bracing for a blow... or something. The atmosphere thickened. Each beat of her heart slammed in her ears. She wanted, but she couldn’t seem to move or speak. She just stared at him until it seemed the rest of the world had disappeared. Stupidly dizzy she leaned back, letting the wall support her. A sweet poison spread along her veins, causing need to uncurl in every cell and heighten her senses. Languorous, yet on edge, she waited, reading the heat in his expression. The dare, the desire. The demand.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open. She peeled away from the wall, dragging her attention from him and making herself move out onto her floor. Reality returned as she walked to her door. She couldn’t do this. A one night stand in the afternoon with a virtual stranger? It was preposterous. It wasn’t the kind of thing she ever did. And she couldn’t do it now.

“You can’t look at me like that and then just walk away.” His low, teasing whisper came from right behind her.

For the merest moment she paused, touched by that smile in his voice.

His arms encircled her. Tightly.

She closed her eyes, stunned at the rush of warmth and need that flooded within her. “This is crazy.”

“That doesn’t make it wrong.”

“I never do this.”

“That still doesn’t make it wrong.”

Slowly, testingly, she tried to move. His grip loosened only enough for her to pivot on the spot. She stared up at him. His intention—his desire—was clear.

“One afternoon. One fantasy. Just one.” His eyes were dominated by the huge dark pupils in the center, drawing her into their velvety temptation—warm, liquid pools. “Chelsea?”

She was as breathless as if she’d been fighting for her freedom. He’d done nothing except say a few things and come after her, yet she was unbearably turned on—aching for a moment of physical intimacy.

Her first time in so long should be good, right? Should be free? She mightn’t be ready for a relationship, but now she was definitely ready for touch. For release. And he was offering. She knew he’d give her better than good.

But she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t say the word she knew he wanted to hear.

He switched his grip, tightening one arm around her waist while lifting the other hand to gently brush through her hair. His smile deepened as his action brought him that little bit closer. Chelsea held her breath as he tugged at the elastic band she’d used to tie it back with.

As her hair fell free he dropped his hand to her waist. Ever so slowly he slid upwards to lightly cup her breast. His eyes never wavered as he watched her reaction to his caress.

There was no hiding her reaction. She pressed her lips tight but her slight moan still sounded. She clamped her muscles yet they still shuddered with that simplest of intimate touches. She’d been burning since before lunch, it only took this little expression of his desire to ignite her again.

His hand moved, his thumb smoothly rubbing, sliding over her taut nipple. His other arm tightened round her waist, pulling her closer into his heat while at the same time he stepped forward, backing her up against her door, giving her the support her jello-legs needed.

She pressed her palms flat against the wood at her back, struggling to regain her balance and strength. She didn’t want to resist this, but she couldn’t reach out and touch him. She hovered, trapped in a horrible moment of uselessness. It was like she was locked in an invisible cage.

Time slowed as he moved forward, his lips twisted in that dangerously cocky smile. He pressed a tiny teasing kiss on her cheek, very near her sensitive ear. A light brush of lips, then another—only this time there was a hint of a nip of teeth.

A promise of both passion and play.

That was what she wanted. He drew back and looked in her eyes, smiling again at whatever he saw there. Then he bent and pressed another too tiny, too tormenting kiss a mere millimeter from her mouth. And another. And another.

So close, but not quite.

Chelsea licked her lips as he kept teasing. But still he didn’t kiss her full on the mouth, didn’t claim her with his tongue like she was craving him to.

And then, as he brushed and nibbled, he swept his hands in tandem—from her waist to her hips and back up again to her breasts and back down. Learning her curves. Then the pattern diverged. He lifted one hand back to cup her breast while he slid the other beneath the waistband of her skirt.

He had no hesitation.

She had no resistance.

Her eyes closed. The impact of his sensuality intensified. Over the top of her shirt he stroked her nipple into a stiff, all-but-screaming peak, but he slid his other hand slowly but firmly lower still—into her knickers.

Chelsea shivered as his fingers spread slightly. His middle finger rubbed over the narrow strip of her hair, his other fingers slipped over her smooth bare skin. They converged again right at the top of her thighs, almost touching her already swollen, ready *oris. Her fists clenched, her knuckles pressing into the hard wood as her whole body tensed. But he bypassed that needy spot and worked lower still—fingers following her curves.

Reckless, responsive, her hips rocked the once—pushing her closer to his hand. She needed more. She felt the smile on his lips as he kissed her face yet again. Still not her mouth. Still not enough.

Now his lips trailed south, nibbling at the vulnerable skin of her neck. She tilted her head fractionally, wordlessly letting him access more of her.

All of her.

She was lost in the darkness, in the heat. Her muscles slackened, yet tension coiled deep within—as if all her energy was gathering, preparing for action. Hot, wet, she was ready to writhe on him. She’d hurtled back to this point so quickly, she wanted to leap from it this time. She wanted him to fulfil the promise his teasing touch made. She wanted him to do whatever he wanted. And she could feel what he wanted in the surety of his fingers, in the hardness of the legs pressing against hers.

And yet she couldn’t move. He didn’t either—didn’t take her mouth, didn’t plunge deep, didn’t do anything more.

A woeful whimper escaped her. She wanted him to do everything.

He lifted his lips from her neck at her small sound. Chelsea opened her eyes, holding her breath.

“You want me to take control?” he said, his voice roughened. He kept that intense focus, reading her every damn expression. “You want me to lead?”

Chelsea didn’t care whether he was questioning or commenting—only that he understood something she’d yet to admit to herself. She didn’t stop to think about it. Didn’t care about anything as long as he kept stroking her. He moved his fingers, slipping through her wet heat, so close to sliding right inside her. She sucked in a half breath. Waiting. Wanting.

“Chelsea?” He waited too, not moving that half-millimeter she so badly needed.

Her lungs still rigid, she forced herself to respond. A sharp, jerky nod. She pressed her lips together.

Damn. She didn’t know why she couldn’t get the words out. Why she couldn’t move—to reach out and take. She should be able to do better than this. She was an adult, fully responsible for her own actions.

But action seemed to be impossible. She swallowed back the brick in her throat, struggled to explain. “I’m sorry to be so… selfish and…”

She stopped, her breathing choppy. Why were the words so hard to say? Why was she so choked? Why so tense?

With a single finger, he slowly stroked her again. “And?”

Her hips moved in a slow, small circle. “Lazy,” she whispered.

His smile flashed, lighting his whole face. “Don’t be sorry. I can handle taking control. And I can see how much you want me. From the look in your eyes to the sweetness of your body.”

She blinked, but couldn’t break their eye contact.

“And I’m sure that if I slide inside you now, I’ll feel just how much you want me,” he added.

Her belly quivered. Deeper, where she wanted him to delve and discover the truth he already knew. Her body clenched on unhappily empty space. She wanted him to fill her. To satisfy her.

Now.

He bent his head. “I’m going to take,” he said, low and rough, right into her ear. “And I’m not going to let you be lazy.” His laugh was a shot of warm air. “So you don’t need to worry about that.” He lifted his head to read her response.

Unaware—uncaring—of what her own expression might be revealing, she stared at the implacable determination in his face. She shivered.

Something shifted in his eyes—his sudden smile softened the hungry edge.

“I understand that you can’t tell me exactly what you want yet,” he said quietly. “But if you say ‘no’, I’ll listen.” He angled his head to look even deeper into her eyes. “Do you understand?”

Warmth flooded her. She licked her lips, then swallowed. The action made no difference to how parched she felt—so hot. It was like she’d been struck by a solar flare and was sizzling. There was no shelter, no shade. And he had no mercy.

“Say my name so I know you understand.” His voice hardened.

Another shiver wracked her. His command made her want wetter.

“Say my name.”

She gasped as he repeated his demand—rougher. She swallowed again, trying to loosen her tense vocal cords. But this she could do. This felt right. “Xander.” The tiniest whisper.

His ice-blue gaze was fixed on her, so intense and compelling she couldn’t turn away. His sure hands held her in that firm, intimate hold—one tight against the curve of her sex, one at her breast. “Say it again.”

“Xander.” Stronger that time.

He bent his head. His teeth gently nipped her lower lip.

Another small sound escaped her. A whimper. Couldn’t he kiss her properly?

But he leaned his head back out of reach, a wicked smile on his face. “I like it when you can’t control your reaction to me. To what I do.”

It seemed she couldn’t control herself at all. His fingers worked again—sliding through her heat. Still not penetrating, but so teasingly close. Rhythmically he stroked, back and forth. Not quite swiping over her *, not quick sliding inside—but teasing all the hypersensitive flesh in between. Her arousal heightened, heated. Until she was moving, her hips circling, rocking—back and forth and again. More.

OMG she was going to come—here in the hallway, where anyone could see. With him not even kissing her.

“You’re not breathing,” he said. “Darling, if you don’t take a breath you’re going to pass out.”

Dazed, she dragged her focus onto him. “I can’t.” The words barely sounded, her throat was so tight and dry.

He smiled. And her to immense disappointment he slipped his hand out of her waistband. He lifted both hands to frame her face. Smiling, he bent close and blew the smallest shot of air into her mouth.

She gasped at the intimacy.

“That’s it,” he murmured, sliding a hand down the length of her spine and bringing her in tight again. “Breathe,” he whispered. Bending closer he closed the gap between their mouths and finally kissed her.

She opened instantly—couldn’t not open when facing that kind of insistence from his hungry lips. Both his hands clutched her closer. His tongue swept into her mouth, twirling to learn her, then teased—short strokes, long. Leaving her in no doubt about the degree to which he was going to play with her. He’d play hard and long, take control and make her respond until she had nothing left. Certainty settled within her. She moaned again, deep in her throat as he adjusted the kiss, letting his teeth nip her lower lip before releasing her.

She dragged in a ragged breath. “That your usual mouth to mouth style?” She desperately tried to regain her sass—and her sanity. But it was obliterated in the heat.

“I’m a very, very good lifeguard.” He kept one arm curled around her but to her amazement he somehow he had her key in his hand. He kept her plastered to him as he unlocked her door and pushed her inside.

“Smooth.” She blinked as he shut her door and then walked her backwards down her little corridor.

He’d lifted her key from her pocket that easily? What other James Bond style skills did he have?

He must have read her thoughts because he winked. “Chequered past. Misspent youth.”

“But you crossed to the good side?”

“You got it.”

With the break in the intimate touch she felt bereft. Her bones wobbled as reality and doubt returned. He saw that too. He looked at her, purpose apparent in every line of his body. “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”

Was she really going to let him order her around like she was some brainless sex moppet? She clamped her treacherous upper thighs together and shook her head.

His smile widened.

Truthfully—albeit belatedly—she was embarrassed about how hot she already was. How wet. After just a few kisses? A couple of strokes? She’d nearly come fully clothed and in public. She didn’t do that.

“You know what I think?” He walked her backwards another three steps so she was against the wall again, only this time in the privacy of her apartment. “I think you like a little imagination.” He cupped her breast again, then slid firmly down her stomach, back beneath her waistband. “I think it pushes your button.” He leaned closer, his hand hovering above her mound. “Want me to detonate it?”

He watched her closely as if he was trying to see inside her head. But he so didn’t want to see the mess going on in there. And she didn’t want to think.

His fingers very slowly, carefully resumed the rhythmic, torturing strokes. She quivered, trying to hold back the incredibly intense response of her body. It was too much—so extreme it was embarrassing.

“Don’t hold your breath, darling. Breathe.”

She gulped the smallest bite of air. It wasn’t enough.

He leaned closer. Kissed her.

She couldn’t resist the urge any longer. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth. Desperate for a taste. She didn’t want the kiss to end, only deepen. For his fingers to keep flicking just there so she’d finally, finally come and be freed from this tension.

“That’s it.” Sounding pleased, he broke away. His light blue eyes bored into her. “You know we superheroes like a reward for all the good things we do. But we’re not always perfect. Sometimes we just take what we want even if we know we shouldn’t.” Slowly he teased open her blouse, one small button at a time. He parted the halves and ran his fingers along the lace-tipped edge of her bra. “Sometimes we just can’t resist. It’s the adrenalin. The relief. The rush from winning. We need to burn it off.”

He claimed her mouth again, his tongue plundering until she clung. He massaged the swell of her breasts, then slipped a hand to her back to release the catch of her bra. Thank heavens. She ached to be naked. As if he heard her, he pushed her blouse from her shoulders.

“And our heroine is carried away—literally,” he murmured as he lifted away to look at her reddened, aching nipples as he pulled down the lacy cups. “A guy that strong turns her on. But she wants to know just how strong he really is. Does he have superhuman stamina?” His lips quirked. “She can’t resist testing him. And herself. She wants to know whether she has the strength to take him. Can she cope? Or will he ravish every one of her senses?”

He stripped the bra from her, his fingers grazing down her arms. That slight touch, together with the freedom of her bared breasts, set off a storm of sensation inside.

“Part of her likes not having the choice.” He bent, licking around her areola until she whimpered. “He’s too strong for her. If he wanted, he could take anyway. She likes that edge.”

He put his lips around her taut nipple. Then she felt his teeth. Her lungs froze. In that moment when she was locked in anticipation, he bit down very, very slightly.

She cried out—shock and then pleasure rippling over her as he flicked his tongue over the sensitive nub then sucked her whole nipple into his mouth for a warm, blissful moment. But then cool air hit her breast as he released her.

She wanted him to do it again, to do the same to the other. But instead he spoke—soft and teasing.

“The truth is she can’t say no to him. She doesn’t want to stop him. Because she wants it all. She wants him to take it all.” Xander’s voice lulled her, drawing her deeper into the web of desire. Mesmerizing.

He was spinning a sexual fantasy around her and she leaned into it, embraced it. Escaped into it.

Because it was true.

She wanted him to test her, to totally push her. She wanted to feel all his strength.

“I’m going to take it all,” he promised.

He spread her legs and knelt between them. Firmly he curled a hand around her ankle and lifted her foot, placing it back further apart from the other. He shifted his knees, pressing them against the arches of her feet, ensuring she was kept spread. He skimmed the tips of his fingers up her legs—brushing her scar, her thinner calf muscle as he did. Chelsea tensed. But his fingers kept moving. His eyes were locked on hers, but he said nothing. His hands skimmed up until he grabbed the hem of her skirt, bunching it so he could get to the skin beneath. Then, still holding the fabric, he locked her fists in his big, capable hands. Her lashes lowered as she watched his dark head draw nearer. His hot mouth open, his tongue lashing, he teased her.

She jerked and then leaned back against the wall. She groaned, unable to stop the raw sound of yearning. She wanted her panties off. She wanted his hands back on her bare skin, his mouth too. The heat and wet of his tongue through the thin cotton covering her wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

She rocked against him, wanted to come so badly. Wanted to feel him inside her. Wanted the insane moments of ecstatic relief that only orgasm could bring.

Her legs shook. She couldn’t stay standing. She was going to come—and in doing that she was going to crumple to the floor. She whimpered, sighing again and again with each lash of his tongue across her cotton covered *. She didn’t want it like this, she wanted it bare.

But it hit. Quick, sharp, sweet ecstasy convulsed through her. Her hands twisted, tightening on his—gripping him hard as the waves rippled through her. Joyous, decadent, thrilling waves—that washed through her far too soon.

And as the tension left, her legs slithered. But the ache was still there.

He stood quickly and scooped her into his arms. She looked into his face and saw the satisfied, predatory smile of a man who had a woman exactly where he wanted her. Where she wanted to be. But it wasn’t enough.

He walked quickly. She felt the softness as he placed her on her bed. His hand was firm on her shoulder, pushing her back to lie flat. Her excitement mounted again as she felt his hands feathering light strokes up her shins, to her knees. She arched towards him as his hands came to her waist. He slid the skirt from her, leaving her only in the plain white panties that had only the slightest lace trim along the edge.

“Very sweet.” He gazed over her. “Very hungry.” He ran a hand up her thigh. “And right now, very much mine.”

In a second his tee-shirt was in the far corner of the room.

She raised up onto her elbows to watch as he unbuckled his belt and then unfastened his jeans. He stopped and pulled something from the back pocket.

Any last little concerns had long ago disappeared in the heat. This was an experience she couldn’t deny herself. In fact, it was perfect—a sating of her needs without emotional entanglement. A fantasy with a guy who didn’t want a relationship any more than she did. For wildly different reasons no doubt. But the outcome was the same.

Avidly she watched as he rolled on the condom, lost in the moment now. She was glad she was lying down—her legs quivered. She should have known he’d be hung. With shoulders like that, his height, it made sense every part of him was in proportion. All but giant. Partly wary at his weight and size, the rest of her couldn’t wait to embrace the challenge.

He’d be all challenge.

Lying back on the bed, her legs splayed, she couldn’t help lifting her hips in an uncontrollable dance.

“Now,” he said lightly, watching her every tiny movement. “Where was I?” His gaze zeroed in on her panties again. “Oh yeah.”

The mattress depressed as he crawled onto the bed. This time he straddled her legs—keeping one knee either side of her so her knees were forced together. So not what she wanted.

He chuckled. “If it’s my fantasy, it’s my call how we play.”

Instinctively she squeezed hard inside on the flare of desire his words stoked.

“And you like that idea a lot don’t you.” His eyes kindled.

He’d felt her inner squirming?

He bent and with unerring precision sucked on her * through the cotton again. She nearly burst out of her skin. He chuckled and swept his hands up towards her ribcage and then down again, always stopping just below her breasts. She arched, wanting to drive him faster.

“I like things slow. Fully satisfied,” he muttered. “I’ve been thinking about you too long to race now. I plan to linger.”

He nuzzled her breasts—kissing, licking, sucking every inch of them, then working down her quivering belly. Until finally, finally he peeled her wet panties from her, spreading her legs so he could fit between them. Bracing above her he looked into her eyes—his expression determined and hungry, but also light. He was going to make it good. She understood that.

“Breathe,” he instructed, bending to kiss her at the exact moment he pushed forward.

Chelsea gasped, then groaned. She was wetter than she’d been in her life, lax and warm from the orgasms she’d had already, yet it was still an effort to take him. But the pleasure? Oh, the pleasure was unspeakable. She breathed heavy and quick as she almost sank under the unutterably good sensations. She slid her hands up his back, tracing the strong muscles, feeling the slick, strong breadth of him, shaking her head side to side as he bore down on her, as she struggled to stay sane.

He thrust slow but deep, pivoting his hips to adjust his angle fractionally each time. Easy, sweet circles that caused incredibly hot friction against her *. She stared up at him—overwhelmed by his sheer physicality. His muscles rippled as he worked into her. Watching him, feeling him, hearing him—it led to sensorial overload. She panted, overwhelmed, uncontrollably soaring towards release. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, her body arched.

“That’s it,” he muttered. “I want to feel you come around me.”

She dimly heard his growl as she came. Dazed she saw him arching back, tossing his head as she contracted on him again and again—her body taut and twisting under the relentless pulse of his.

“Feels good,” he said. “Let’s have that again.”

He had to be kidding. There could be no again. She lay exhausted, her arms and legs spread wide and lax.

He thrust inside her to the hilt but then rested on his elbows for a moment, his smile pleased and teasing. “You can do it. You’re incredible.”

Not as incredible as him. Why the hell hadn’t he come yet? What was the man made of? How could he not have lost control just then? It had felt amazing. He was so hot and strong and big and relentless and—

Suddenly she knew she didn’t want to let him go just yet. She wanted it again—wanted more.

He smiled, seeming to know the exact moment when she somehow found some strength. Some attitude roared back despite the sensual exhaustion. She gripped one of his butt cheeks, curling her fingers into the rock hard muscle. His grin quirked. She didn’t release him, but tried to hold him in place—locked deep within her—as she rocked her hips up, clenching her inner muscles at the same time. It was beyond time that the man came. He drew in a deep breath through his nose and released it carefully in a controlled sigh.

“See,” he breathed in again. “You’re amazing.” He paused as she clenched down on him again. “You’re ready.”

He moved. A couple of slow, testing thrusts. But then he stopped. She frowned, but he reached to grab her ankle in his big hand. He lifted her leg. On auto she bent her knee to aid him. He hooked her leg over his shoulder, then reached to do the same to her other one. Excitement flared in her belly.

He laughed, then slid his forearms beneath her back, curling his hands round the top of her shoulders. She was utterly trapped—opened up as wide as possible to him, his pillow, his prisoner. And he had a tight grasp on her so he didn’t push her away from him with the force of his thrusts.

Because he was going to slam into her. She could see the promise in his eyes, the determination in his jaw. He was going to f*ck her over the edge.

She panted, excitement making the blood roar in her ears. She wanted this with a passion she’d never believed she could feel. Not again. Not so soon.

But then he gave it to her. One slam, closely followed by another. Deep, hard, fast. Her throaty moans matched his rhythm. Good thing his ass was for grabbing because she could do nothing but hang on as he pounded into her. Each thrust so powerful, he pushed the sensations through her entire body again and again until she could no longer think or speak or even see. She could only feel. She was on fire yet she shivered uncontrollably until more, even deeper, pleasure rippled out from her sex consuming her whole body and mind in a tension so extreme she wasn’t sure she’d survive it.

He bent. Kissed her. Crushed her lips so fiercely she couldn’t break free even as she came. So she screamed in his mouth, harsh and wild. Her teeth scraped his lips. Her nails scratched his lower back. Her legs locked around him—clamping. And at last she felt the uncontrolled tightening of his fingers—his whole body. And she heard the series of feral shouts as he spurted into her.

She gasped as she took it from him, shocked at the force of him, and with the depth of her own pleasure at finally fulfilling his desire—the flood of raw satisfaction and pride at making this fiercely strong man fall over her in relief.

Sweat slickened, she closed her eyes, not minding the weight of him or the way he rested with his face pressing into her shoulder.

But aftershocks made her tremble and twitch uncontrollably. Inside and out she felt too sensitive. Now tears were embarrassingly close.

He carefully lifted her legs down, stretching her out and then turning her away from him with firm but gentle hands.

“We’ll shower in a minute,” he murmured in her ear, cuddling up close to her from behind. “Right now you need me.”

She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone. That was the way she intended to roll. But he didn’t give her a choice. Without saying another word, he locked her into his embrace, his strong body spooning hers.

She was grateful. Looking into his eyes at this moment would have her horribly vulnerable. But he was a pro, wasn’t he? Offering the security of strong arms while her emotions levelled off after that intense experience, yet not risking the false intimacy of loving looks and deep kisses. He knew exactly what he was doing. This was all it was. Good sex with a generous stranger.

It sure as hell had been good.

He kissed her shoulder briefly but still said nothing. Instead he rhythmically swept a light hand down her arm, seeming to know just how much she needed a touch to ground her and ease her over-sensitive nerve endings down.

He’d pushed her over the edge again and again, pounding the adrenalin out of her, wringing all her emotion out in that storm of sensuality. Now she was worn out, limp and in the end, asleep.