Chapter Eleven
If your life at night is good, you think you have everything.
—Italian proverb
Aristotle might have labeled man a social animal but Tad was feeling far from it tonight, which made it difficult to be charming with his guests and critics.
“Nice turnout,” La Grayson said, her sharp eyes assessing the room before turning sharper still in assessing him. “Very nice.”
“Hopefully they come back when the drinks are no longer free.”
“A good review can do wonders.”
He reached for his good humor, something that seemed to be in short supply these days. “You’ll have to visit us for a full meal. When it’s not so crazy.”
She smiled but it didn’t quite reach her astonishing gray eyes. Little crow’s feet shot out from the corners and it occurred to him that Monica was probably older than he had first thought. Maybe early forties.
“Perhaps we can open a bottle in private?”
“Smacks of bribery.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” She sipped on her Prosecco, letting her eyelashes lift provocatively in a flutter over the rim of the glass. Quite the performance.
“I’d best see to my guests.”
She lifted a slender shoulder in a half shrug, though it was clear his resistance bugged her.
It felt like it was going well, except for the weird Monica situation. Sexy lounge music flowed like mead from the speakers, the crowd was relaxed, the vibe was brimming with potential. Why then did he feel like his internal organs were in a cage match in his chest and his lungs were taking a pounding?
It might have something to do with the fact Jules was catnip and all the big felines were circling her, looking for a rub.
A quick scan of the room revealed Doctor Dreamboat chatting with Cara and no sign of Jules. At least she wasn’t with Conor, who had left on a call to duty. Neither of them were right for her. Sure, he knew dick about the doc and Conor was a decent guy but hell if he was good enough for Jules.
Now he sounded just like Jack, speaking of which.
“Well done,” Jack said, sidling up to him. “You didn’t screw up once.”
“Don’t get all mushy, Jack.”
They shared a knowing stare down. Jack’s crash into their lives a couple of years ago had not exactly been the beginning of a beautiful friendship. While it took Tad less than five minutes to figure out that Jack’s intentions toward Lili were honorable, the street didn’t run both ways. Jack’s protective streak where Jules was concerned was as wide as it was long, with good reason.
Jack watched the bubbling crowd in that lord-of-all-he-surveys way he had. “You seem tense.”
“Critics.”
“F*ck ’em. I learned a long time ago that you can’t please them all so don’t even start trying. Just keep doing what you’re good at—what you should be doing—and the rest will take care of itself.”
Wasn’t that the crux of the problem? He loved wine and yes, he was good at it but he wasn’t sure it was what he should be doing. It certainly wasn’t what Dad wanted and as for Vivi… he had told Jules that his mother was a great admirer of bravery, yet every day he felt like he was stuck on pause. Too much of a coward to grab what he truly wanted. This was supposed to be his dream, the way back to himself, but he still felt as empty as ever.
He needed air.
A few moments of man-to-man trash talk later, he escaped Jack and the hip-as-shit crowd. Heading for the back office, his gaze snagged on the door to the alley, curiously ajar. Just as he was about to curse one of the staff, the heavy door was wrenched open and Jules stumbled inside.
She looked like he felt. Disheveled, brain-tangled, not quite present.
“Jules, what’s wrong?”
Her vacant stare passed right through him. Around her phone, impossibly slender fingers clenched like talons. Something—or someone—had happened to her.
“Is it Evan?” He grasped her shoulders, barely registering the silky slide of her skin above the fact she was cold as ice. A knot of panic unraveled in his chest. “Jules, has something happened to Evan?”
She blinked and came back to him. “No, Evan’s fine.” And then with determination, “He will be fine.”
Whatever that meant. Under his touch she shook, instantly belying those resolute words. Gathering her close was the only course of action open to him. He couldn’t not do it.
“Mio tesoro, I’m here.” He wrapped her in his arms, sheathed in that stiff armor crafted by Armani, and felt his whole body relax as it found its place in the cradle of hers.
She shuddered against him, finally letting go of whatever she had been holding onto.
“Oh, Tad.” Her voice was husky, desperate, and he felt it right in his groin. His body clenched at the possibilities. Frantically, he searched for common sense and a smidgen of whatever decency he might have left. She was upset and she needed him to be her friend, not to paw all over her like some animal.
“Did somebody touch you, Jules? One of those guys in there?”
If Doctor Perfect or that Conor a*shole had so much as laid a finger on her—with or without her permission—he was going to deal a heavy dose of deliverance with his hands.
“No—nobody touched me.” The words came out wheezy, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen to support them. She was rattled about something but he knew her well enough to know she’d need time to get it out.
His gaze dipped to her breasts, her creamy flesh abundantly spilling over her dress’s neckline like ripe, golden-white peaches. Neckline. A misnomer if ever he’d heard one judging by how distant it was from her actual neck. Up close for the first time this evening, he saw she wasn’t wearing a bra. Generous curves pulled against the folds of her dress, mesmerizing him. Last week’s kiss had allowed him to get up close and personal with the shockingly soft pillows of flesh but tonight, in his arms, she felt more exposed to him than ever before. Just… more.
Stop ogling her, you damn dirty ape.
“I just needed some air,” she said, unaware that he was devouring her like she was his last meal on death row.
The door was still open, the aromatic scent of a Chicago alley stealing into the hallway.
“You’ve picked the right place for it.” He sniffed. “Hints of rotten vegetables and”—he paused, reaching for a word—“eau de pee.”
She wanted to smile. He could see the effort in every muscle on her face, but it wouldn’t come.
“I need to go home but…” Stepping out of his greedy embrace, she cast a wary glance over his shoulder. He took the hint.
“I’ll walk you back.” Closing the door behind him, he moved into the alley, the sounds of the bar now replaced with different sounds. City life. His own breathing. And the cogs of Jules’s brain as she mulled over whatever had bitten her.
He shucked off his jacket and placed it over her shoulders. “It’s gotten cold.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw blatant relief sketched on her face as the jacket caped her body. She eased up the clawed grip on her phone and returned it to her sequined purse, but not before he saw the jagged gash across the screen.
“What happened to your phone?”
“I dropped it,” she mumbled.
She headed toward the street and he lolled beside her. Too close, and not close enough.
“You don’t need to walk me home,” she said, her voice mechanical, distant. “Your guests need you.”
“They can survive,” he said tersely. “You’re more important.”
She stopped and turned to him, a flash of fury in her eyes illuminated by the street lights overhead. “Haven’t you heard the stats? Seventy percent of new restaurants fail in the first year. That probably goes up to ninety where the owner can’t be bothered to actually spend time there.”
Hello, mood swings. He welcomed her pissiness. Better that than what he had encountered back at the bar. That version of Jules with her soft, vulnerable eyes made him want to wrap her in his arms again and never let her go. But if he gave in to that protective wrestle, he was going to indulge in every filthy urge and make her cry for other reasons. Come-so-hard reasons.
Pissy Jules was the best option all round right now.
“You’re not walking home alone,” he ground out.
The words sounded almost possessive, so much so that he felt a stir in his groin. The combination of her bad mood, the urge to keep her safe, and how sexy she looked in that dress was arousing him unbearably. Good job keeping it in check, dickhead. Once he got her home and away from him—because let’s face it, the biggest threat to her right now was his boiling libido—he’d be on his way.
A few pin-drop silent moments later, they came to the front door to her building. She fumbled for her keys, fumbled again with inserting the key into the keyhole, then three-for-three, fumbled with turning the knob.
“Righty-tighty,” she muttered. “No, that’s for light bulbs and screws.” She continued turning it the wrong way, all while spitting expletives under her breath. “Bugger, bugger.”
He splayed his hand over hers and opened it. The touch was enough to make her stumble through the now-open door, and he caught her forearm.
“Careful,” he said, more to himself than to her.
With her eyes averted, she shrugged off his jacket and handed it over. “Thanks.”
“I’ll walk you up,” he said, slipping his jacket on so it was clear to both of them he would be on his way as soon as his chivalrous duty had been performed. Because people put on jackets to, you know, go outside.
“You don’t—”
“I do.” He tucked his hand under her elbow, the touch electrifying his every cell once more. He didn’t let go of her arm as he guided her up to the second flight.
He took the key and opened her door. No problems with the door knob.
“I’ve got it from here,” she said, still avoiding his eyes. Good girl, look away. If she had any sense of self-preservation, she would close the door and send him packing because he was this close to pushing her against the wall and banging her boneless.
“How did your date go tonight?”
F*ck. The self-preservation thing goes both ways, bischero.
There was that flare of anger again. He wished she’d come right out and say what she was mad about.
“I didn’t know Cara was going to bring Darian.”
“So, a pleasant surprise. A doctor.” Merda, that came out sarcastic, which, to be honest, he meant it to be. Judging by the freeze-his-nuts stare she aimed his way, she took it in that same spirit.
“Think I don’t have it in me to date someone smart like that?”
“Don’t use that card, Jules. You have it in you to get anyone you want. I just don’t think that guy’s right for you.”
“Why?”
Because he’s not me.
None of those idiots understood the first thing about her. Tad did, though. He knew that sometimes she felt dumb because the words on the page refused to cooperate for her. He knew that she had spent her childhood wishing that someone, anyone would see her. He knew she had fought like a tigress to get here so she could provide the best life possible for Evan.
Tad had been there from the beginning, shoulder at the ready for her tears, hand outstretched so she could crush it while delivering Evan. Fancy diplomas, fat bank balances, a McMansion in Schaumburg—none of these things qualified them for shit where this woman was concerned.
“He’s just looking for a housewife to support him and pump out his kids while he does his important job.”
“Wow, you got all this from watching me flirt with him?”
He could feel his teeth mashed together like a trash compactor and he spat out the next words with trouble. “Conor’s no good for you either, so you can forget about that.”
“What’s his problem, then? He owns his own bar, saves people from burning buildings… Oh, is that it?” She kicked off her shoes, an angry smirk crinkling the corner of her mouth as one of the heels hit the leg of her coffee table with a satisfying thud. “You don’t think guys who save lives are good enough for me. You’re not exactly saving any lives when you pair that silky Pinot with the aged manchego.”
As insults go, it was pretty tame, but the sharpness in his chest registered the unintended blow. Saving lives was the last thing he was qualified for.
“I’m just trying to look out for you, Jules.”
“That’s a neat trick. You move your lips and Jack’s words come out. I’ve already told you I don’t need another brother.”
She might not need a brother but she needed a protector. Someone who could be with her through the tough times, who understood the meaning of sacrifice and family. Someone not like him.
But he could be her friend. “What happened to get you so upset tonight?”
Her brows drew together over eyes sparking with determination. “I realized I have to take what I need and fight for what’s mine.”
Whoa, if he wasn’t turned on before, he sure as hell was now. Mine. He loved how that sounded on her lips, even though he had no idea what she was yammering on about. She was grabbing something by the balls—her destiny, perhaps, and he was man enough to say, she had him by the balls as well.
The smoky lines around eyes dark with emotion hit him like a shot of moonshine. Every hair, and more, stood to attention at the sight of her Cabernet-red lips in that beautiful bow shape that would look so perfect trailing scorching kisses across his chest and beyond. Warmth washed through his veins. The edge of desire rose up to meet him and he embraced it fully.
He was only human.
She padded toward him, showcasing the sultry sway of her hips even without the sparkly f*ck-me heels. Her eyes turned to shadowy emeralds like the pupils had swallowed the usual sea-green brightness. He recognized that look. He had seen it the other night in the wake of his kiss. Except for one difference: Juliet Kilroy, his friend, hot MILF, was now seducing him.
She brushed by him and closed her fist over the doorknob. Looked like her difficulties with the open/close thing were a thing of the past. Drawing the door ajar a few inches, she speared him with a look that might have flattened a lesser man.
“I’m giving you a choice. You can walk out this door and pretend there isn’t something happening between us or you can stay and give me what I need.”
His cock thickened and grew achy. “What do you need, Jules?”
“You. Inside me. All night.”
Oh, sweet Jesus.
He held her green tilty gaze, aiming to infuse his next words with cut-the-bull clarity. “I’m not like the others, those men you’ve been dating, the ones who slobbered all over you tonight. I’m not boyfriend material.”
“That’s not what you offered, though, was it?”
Leaning past her shoulder, he pressed the door shut, the snick short and final.
Inevitable.
“That’s not what I offered.”
* * *
That’s not what I offered.
So much to unpack in that. He was making it clear that anything he gave would be on his terms and could not possibly lead to something more permanent between them. She was supposed to be okay with that, but the fact he was so okay with it gave her pause.
But wasn’t this what she wanted from him? One night to lose herself in the pleasure of his kiss, the ecstasy of his touch, the oblivion of his body. Tonight she didn’t want to talk or think or dwell on her problems.
Her world was about to crash and burn in a fiery wreck. All her lies and evasions were coming home to roost because Simon wanted to see Evan. Yet her mind was filled with desperate thoughts of one man’s strong arms, the hair on his body raising every hair on hers, the sensation of him as he buried inside her that hard length she had felt pressed against her belly a week ago. Guiding her through this storm in her head and tumult in her soul. Not just any man but her friend who stood before her like a Roman god of sex, offering the comfort she so urgently needed.
Take him! Bad Girl Jules screamed, That body is made to love you tonight.
He’s going to break your heart, Good Girl Jules said sadly. That bitch was such a downer.
“What about the bar?” she asked, darting her tongue over parched lips.
“Kennedy can manage. Unless you’ve changed your mind and are trying to get rid of me?” He brushed his knuckles against the swell of her breasts. Greedily, they strained to meet his glancing touch—a clear answer to his question about her supposed turnabout.
His lips twitched in understanding.
“Tell me everything you want,” he said, slow and edgy as if every word took colossal effort.
Surely he knew what she wanted, what a night in his embrace would mean to her. Love me, Tad. Love me like you love all the others.
“For one night, I want you to look at me like I’m your world.”
It was all the invitation he needed. Whip fast, he pushed her back against the door, pinning her completely with all six-feet-two inches of hot Italian male. His unyielding firmness moved against her soft body, no rhythm, no rhyme, just primal got-to-touch you. All she could feel was heat, his breath on her neck, his hot solidity shaping her, his body imprinted on hers.
Feeling bad had never felt so good.
His raw moan in her ear shot straight to the fork of her legs.
“Jules.”
She had heard him say her name so many times—sometimes amused, often times with affection, even in exasperation when she called him to task about how he had treated some poor girl he dated, but never had it sounded like this. Needful, desperate, as if it was the only word in his vocabulary.
As if it meant everything.
Heat roared over her body. Pleasure howled through her. There was a decent chance she was going to explode any minute if he didn’t ki—his mouth found hers and claimed it for his own.
Those sensuous lips should have been familiar to her from chaste pecks and the not-so-chaste kiss a week ago, but tonight everything felt new and fresh. Some kisses needed a build to get to the heat, not this one. It ignited the second they touched, so much so Jules wondered how it could possibly improve. There should have been nowhere to go but down. Instead it spiraled up, plateaued for a moment to catch a breath, and then rose higher still to find new ways to blow her mind. He tasted of wine and male, a combination that all but destroyed her.
Her fingers raking his hair drew him away from her with a subtle pressure. In his hooded eyes, she saw his warm gaze stoke to flame as he admired her cleavage. Her breath caught in her lungs at the intensity in his expression.
“You’re not wearing a bra,” he said.
“Observant,” she said dryly.
“Yes, I am. And so was every other guy tonight.” He brushed his thumb over the stiff nipple that poked through the sensual fabric of her skimpy dress. At the throaty sound she made, he pushed the fabric aside and frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
His eyes flashed in anger. “Anyone could have done that all night. Every guy in my bar was thinking about getting their filthy hands on you and I wanted to punch every last one of them.”
His voice was husky, the beast of a growl straining at the leash. Along with the snarl, she felt his body tense and coil. Against her hip, his curled palm flexed, as if testing his willpower. He was a gleaming, dangerous predator and she was prey.
She wanted to be taken down.
“You’re the only one I want touching me. I need your hands, your mouth, your everything on me.”
“I’m not going to last if you keep talking like that.” Slowly, his fingers moved sensual circles around her exposed breast, ruching her nipples, driving her wild. No one was going to last.
“Così bella,” he whispered, followed by a stream of Italian she didn’t understand and didn’t need to. It sent arrows of want to her sex.
Her fingers got busy with his belt, deftly separating the buckle and pin.
“Not so fast,” he said, pushing her hands away.
“Yes, fast. I want you now.”
Before she could re-apply her avaricious fingers to his zipper, he yanked up her dress, hoisted her up and around his hips, and strode to the bedroom. The sheer manliness of it thrilled and annoyed her equally.
“Against the door was fine,” she said impatiently.
“Nope.”
“Then the kitchen table.”
“Not a chance.”
She bit back a horny girl’s sigh. “Sofa?”
“First time’s in a bed.”
The bed was unmade. “Only time.”
“We’ll see.”
“Stop being so cocky.”
“Stop being so stubborn.” He fitted his mouth over hers and backed her against the wall just outside her bedroom. She felt every inch of his hardness grind into her softness. He wanted her to know how much he wanted her.
She liked that. No mind games, just lust in its most concentrated form.
“Don’t fight me on this,” he said after he let her come up for air. “I’ll always win.”
“God, your lines are terrible.”
“Brat.”
That drew her smile. She loved how he took everything she gave him without taking offense. Tad was comfortable enough in his own skin to recognize that a woman with desires and needs was not a threat to his masculinity.
No wonder he was popular.
“Grab the light,” he muttered between brain-melting kisses as they crashed into her bedroom.
She reached for it, glad that it turned on the more atmospheric lamps rather than the garish overhead. He placed her on the floor near the end of the bed, which had not magically made itself in the last two minutes. What must he think of her?
He’s about to get lucky. He’s not worried about the slatternly bed linens.
With a practiced motion, he unzipped, and her dress fell away in one fluid drop. It puddled at her feet, and she stepped out of it, feeling like Venus emerging from the shell. She would let him take care of her already soaked panties.
Now for the dreaded appraisal. She wasn’t the kind of woman who was overly conscious of her body but dinosaurs had been roaming the earth the last time a man had seen her naked. Her hands went instantly to her stomach, over those last few pounds of pregnancy weight clinging like accordion folds to her bones. She could probably fit a baby joey in there but at least she had the girls to compensate. Since breastfeeding, she had gone up a full cup size; they weren’t so pert anymore but the way that muscle at the corner of Tad’s mouth twitched told her that wouldn’t be a problem.
From under her lashes, she assessed him as he undressed. Was there anything sexier than a guy pulling off his tie?
Slowly—so bloody slowly—he slipped off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal that dark pelt of hair. Gimme, gimme, gimme. She clamped her lips shut. There would be no begging words coming from the mouth that was suddenly as dry as the Sahara.
“You need help?” Not begging, just moving things along.
“Just stay right where you are, baby.” He said it low, but with an unmistakable edge. It surprised her. It also surprised her how much it turned her on.
She squirmed on the bed, sending her breasts into a jiggle. His reaction? Slow his fingers to a snail’s pace. Add a smirk for good measure. She was probably going to kill him before the night was through.
“You’re absolutely gorgeous, you know that?” he whispered as he undid the last button on the shirt placket.
Feeling skittish, she moved her hands over her stomach. “You don’t have to give me compliments, Tad. I’m a sure thing.”
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Turn this into a transaction. It’s not. There is nowhere I would rather be and no one I would rather be with right now.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat as big as hope. Those words touched a pristine part of her, vibrating through to start a web of cracks across the surface of her heart. He really shouldn’t talk like that.
He shucked his shirt, still slow as cold honey, still never taking his eyes off her. “I’ve thought about you, Jules. About how it would feel to fill you with my cock. How good your sweet lips would look wrapped around me while I hold your head just right. What kind of sounds you’d make while I take you slow and hard. I’ve used it to bring me home more times than I care to admit.”
She let out a gasp. It was one thing to be caught up in the moment but surely he couldn’t mean…
“You could say that my spank bank contains only one kind of currency. Minted in the treasury of one Juliet Kilroy.”
Not a gasp this time, more like a raspy moan of want. He had thought about her, probably not as much as she had thought about him, but still. Maybe she wasn’t such a horny-deviled freakazoid after all.
She launched herself at him, immediately proving that conclusion wrong.
“Jules, I told you to wait,” he said indulgently.
“And I need to touch you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and rubbed her sensitive breasts against all that soft chest hair and steely flesh. So, so good. “I can’t help it, I’m excited. You know, long time. Itch to scratch.”
He sighed. “You’re going to be difficult, aren’t you?”
“Would you have me any other way?”
He filled his big, wide palm with her arse cheek and pulled her flush to his erection.
Best. Meet. Ever.
“I wouldn’t change a thing about you. You’re perfect in every way, even when you get all mouthy. I love how you talk back to me and never let me get away with anything.”
She loved that, too, but right now she wanted to know more about what he had been thinking, and if it bore any similarities to what she had been thinking.
“Tell me about these fantasies of yours. I need details. The dirtier the better.”
He tipped her chin up, his eyes midnight blue magnets. “I’ve imagined burying my nose in your neck, getting that first hint of the pleasure to come. I’ve imagined taking your nipple in my mouth, my tongue coating your skin, my throat tasting the wine between your thighs. I’ve imagined experiencing something so good there might be no coming back from it. I’ve imagined my ruin.”
Oxygen was suddenly at a premium, and she felt light-headed with relief and desire. Those things he said, they battered her breathless.
“Now I know you’re impatient for me to get you off, but as this is going to be the culmination of my fantasies, I’d like to take a few moments delaying the gratification. You got a problem with that?”
“No, no, please carry on.” She backed up until her legs hit the messy bed. Laid out, she stretched her body like a satisfied cat and lay there, waiting. She could hear her chest rising and falling, her pulse quickening, life charging through her.
Life changing with every beat of her heart.
He pulled down his pants’ zipper about halfway, then gave a short tug. It got stuck and he made a face.
“Taaaad…”
“Just foolin’.” There it was, that devilish smile that had been rocking her pulse for the last two years. How he could move from that take-charge guy to the insouciant charmer astonished her. Playing parts, that’s what he was doing, and it struck her that in giving her the full Tad DeLuca experience, he might be playing her. Fulfilling that special request to make her the center of his world for this one special night.
You know what else struck her? She didn’t care.
He removed his pants and well, that was worth the wait. Black, silky boxers above marvelously sturdy and erotically hairy thighs. She’d had glimpses of his calves when he wore board shorts during the summer but the thighs au naturel were something else. Tree trunks to match his matted arms, thick as oak branches. An impressively weighty erection strained the dark fabric.
Yum.
She crooked her finger. Come and get me, babe. His eyes darkened to night, consuming all that soft blue. The predator was back; her heart thudded at an alarming rate.
He leaned over her, his hand cupping her jaw. The spread of his fingers against her neck felt gentle, possessive, and unbelievably sensual. The moment held, suspended on a taut string between them. He drew back, sending the pulse at the base of her throat into a fluttering panic against his thumb pad.
“It’s okay, honey,” he soothed, like he had done so a million times before. “Just let me look at you.”
She thought he meant her body, so when he maintained his single-minded focus on her eyes, she almost turned away. That familiar gaze seared her soul and reached into a private place.
He shuttered his eyes, and her imagination strayed to the fanciful notion he might be committing this moment to memory for unpacking later during long, lonely nights.
She closed her eyes and did the same.
“Last chance,” he whispered.
Did he think she could back out now while she was this close to heaven? A cavalcade of clowns rolling through the bedroom wouldn’t be able to stop this. She was too far gone and from the dark, smoky lust in his eyes, so was he, but they needed to tick the boxes. Agree to the terms and conditions.
Only one requirement for this job.
“If you’re not inside me in the next ten seconds, Tad DeLuca, we’ll have words.”
“Right answer.” That dangerous grin, the one she might never recover from, lit up his handsome face. With an abundance of care, he peeled down her panties, his eyes still focused on her with an intensity she would never have expected.
“So do you typically orgasm more than once per session? Or is one your limit?”
“Wh-what?”
“I need to know how far I can push you, baby. If you can handle what I can give you.”
“You arrogant piece of sh—oh!”
He slipped two fingers inside her and she groaned at the pleasurable invasion. This. This. This. Slowly he pumped through her warm, slick heat. With his free hand, he cupped her bum and pulled her roughly to the edge of the bed, then pushed her to the erotic edge with a brush of his thumb over her throbbing *.
“Show me how you like it, mia bella.” He grasped her hand and placed it over his. She guided his fingers to the tempo she needed. A little faster, a little rougher. Inexorable spirals of pleasure uncoiled throughout her belly while his dynamic digits worked wonders.
“Open your eyes, Jules. I want to see those beautiful eyes of yours when you come for me.”
The eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed fluttered open and met his too-intimate gaze. Its intense focus thrummed through her. The pleasure was already too much. Too, too much.
“Kiss me,” she begged.
He did, slowly, his tongue exploring her mouth with the same rhythm as his fingers. Those electric blue eyes never wavered from hers. Hold on, she thought, make it last, just as her orgasm crashed through her so hard she saw tweety-bird stars.
“Oh my God,” she muttered against the sensual curve of his lips.
“Just Tad, babe.” And then he added the so-help-her-Tad smile, melting her bones and heart and soul into soup.
“You need some time?”
She blinked a few times to focus on what he was saying. Coming back to herself after an orgasm had never been this labored before. That was… she had no words for what that was.
“Time for what?”
He rubbed his sandpapery jaw against her cheek. “Time until your next orgasm.”
Blimey, were they on a schedule here?
It took a moment but she reached for a calm she never knew she possessed. “I think I can handle whatever you can give me… baby.”
His eyebrow scooted up in challenge as only Tad’s eyebrow could, before he lowered his head to her breast and suckled her expertly with an unbearably arousing suction that drove her senseless with pleasure. Then the other got his expert ministrations, the perfect combination of nip and suck, rough and soft. Too soon, he moved his lips on a sexy trail south. Just as her reached her navel with a whisper of a kiss across her overheated skin, he looked up.
“Touch your breasts, Jules. Slowly.”
Orders! Oh, she liked that very much. In her fantasies, he took charge but it was so different from the Tad she knew that it had never occurred to her he might actually be dominant in the bedroom.
She brushed the underside of her breast, luxuriating in the tease. Hesitantly, she hovered with her hands, partly to torment but mostly because her limbs felt heavy and pleasure-drunk. Her nipples had remained in sensitive peaks from his torturous manipulations.
“Baby, don’t try my patience. I said to touch your beautiful tits. Squeeze those pretty pink nipples.”
She could do better than that. She dragged a hand along her stomach then dipped it between her legs. With fingers glistening from her own dewy sex, she massaged slow circles around her nipples. The dark flush flagging his cheeks signaled his approval.
He shot to his feet. “Don’t hate me but I can’t wait another second, Jules.” Quickly, he stripped.
Please let him be big. Please, pretty please.
She gasped at the sight of his huge erection, full and proud with a slight lean to the left.
High five, universe.
Her thighs fell apart and her sensitive folds swelled in anticipation, ready to accept that incredibly arousing example of masculine glory.
“Hurry, I need you,” she whispered, not caring that she sounded a hundred miles past desperate.
Two seconds later, he had a condom on, covering a hard-on as big as a jeroboam. He seated his powerful hips between her thighs and rubbed against her sensitive, blood-flushed sex. This was the best moment right here, soaking with possibility.
“Baby, I’m usually able to hold out longer than this, I swear—”
“Cock. In. Now.” Inner slut, come on down!
“So damn bossy,” he murmured as he slid into her in one fluid stroke. It felt so bloody brilliant she cried out at its perfection. She had missed this so much. The bloom of heat. The spark of connection. A strong man inside her.
“Your muscles are so…” Whatever they were got swallowed in his deep groan, but she could finish that sentence. They were greedy like her hands and her eyes and her heart.
He never stopped staring at her with all that heart-wrenching intensity. Did he produce it at the same level as his testosterone? Did he not realize how dangerous that was and how close she was to falling for him?
Switching to shallow, teasing thrusts, he tested the limits of her patience. She grasped his gorgeous arse to encourage him deeper.
“More. Please, more.”
“Think you can handle it?”
She dug her nails into his tightly loomed butt muscles. “I’m going to murder you if you don’t f*ck me properly. Stop holding back and give it to me hard.”
Thunderstorms swirled in his dark, blue eyes, heralding the relentless strokes he now impaled her with. Each thrust became more punishing than the last. Each one broke her apart and put her back together again.
“You feel… Jules… You feel so much better than I imagined.” An invisible line ran from his voice to her sex and it stroked her along with each one of his long, hard thrusts. His hand moved to where their bodies met and pressed against her *.
She screamed as the pleasure raked over her and his fingers rubbed another orgasm from her throbbing core. In a glorious crash of noise and sensation, she came. With one final thrust, he met her at the peak and it was beautiful to behold. Those DeLuca blue eyes held her captive while every muscle in his body bunched tight through the final pump of release.
Still hard as granite inside her, he buried his chin in the crook of her neck while his shallow breaths returned to an even, steady draw. Moments of peace passed before he moved up on his elbows and gifted her a long, slow kiss that melted whatever was left of her internal organs.
“If you think that’s the only time we’re doing that,” he murmured against her lips, “you can think again.”