Captivated by You (Crossfire 04)

Mine. All mine.

It killed me to sleep away from her. I knew it hurt her, too.

Lifting the edge of the blankets, I slid in beside her. She gave a soft little moan and rolled toward me, her lush warm body wriggling into place against me.

I was instantly hard. Desire simmered in my blood; awareness tingled along my skin. It was combustible sexual chemistry but also something more. Something deeper. A strange, wonderful, frightening recognition.

She filled an emptiness in me I hadn’t known was there.

Eva buried her face in my throat and hummed softly, her legs tangling with mine, her hands gliding over my back. “Hard and yummy all over,” she purred.

“All over,” I agreed, cupping her ass and pulling her tighter against my hard-on.

Her shoulders shook with a silent laugh. “We have to be quiet.”

“I’ll cover your mouth.”

“Me?” She nipped at my throat. “You’re the noisy one.”

She wasn’t wrong. As rough and impatient as I could get when aroused, I’d never been loud … until her. It was a struggle to be discreet when situations called for it. She felt too good, made me feel too much.

“So we’ll take it slow,” I murmured, my hands roaming greedily over her silky skin. “Ireland will be sleeping for hours; there’s no rush.”

“Hours, huh?” Laughing, she pulled back and rolled away from me, reaching for the nightstand drawer. “Overachiever.”

Tension stretched across my shoulders as she dug out the breath mints she kept handy. I was reminded of similar situations, when women had reached into the nightstand drawer for condoms.

Eva and I had used condoms only twice. Before her, I’d never fucked a woman without one. Avoiding pregnancy was something I’d religiously adhered to.

Yet since those first two times with Eva, we’d gone bare, relying on her birth control to prevent conception.

It was a risk. I knew that. And considering how often I had her—at least two, sometimes three or four times a day—the risk was not inconsiderable.

I thought of it sometimes. I questioned my control, my selfishness in putting my own pleasure above the consequences. But the reason for my recklessness wasn’t as simple as pleasure. If it were, I could deal. Be responsible.

No, it was much more complicated.

The need to come inside her was primitive. It was a conquest and surrender in one.

I had wanted to fuck her raw before I’d even had her the first time, before I knew definitively how explosive it would be between us. I’d gone so far as to warn her prior to our first date that I needed it, needed her to give me that, something I’d never wanted with anyone else.

“Don’t move,” I said roughly, sliding over her while she was still stretched out on her stomach. My hand pushed between her hip and the bed, reaching between her legs to cup her cunt in my palm. She was moist and warm. My stroking fingers made her slick and hot.

She muffled a moan.

“I want you just like this,” I told her, brushing my lips across her cheek.

Reaching for my pillow with my free hand, I yanked it over and then shoved it under her, lifting her hips to an angle that would let me sink balls-deep.

“Gideon …” The way she said my name was a plea, as if I wouldn’t get down on my knees and beg for the privilege of having her.

I shifted, urging her legs apart and pinning her wrists beside her head. Holding her down, I thrust into her. She was ready for me, plush and tight and wet. My teeth gritted together to restrain the growl that surged from my throat, a tremor racking my body from head to toe. My chest heaved against her back, my violent exhalations ruffling her hair lying across the pillow.

Just like that, just by taking me, she had me right on the edge.

Sylvia Day's books