Later that night, Landon led me into his house, one finger hooked around mine. Like we were halfway between holding hands and letting go.
Or maybe like it was a comfortable thing. Like he didn’t have to lay claim to me, but instead we’d fallen into a comfortable rhythm. Which was… terrifying. Because at the end of the day, there was nothing holding us together. I’d decided to get comfortable with him, to stop second-guessing how this would all go.
I wasn’t sure why I wanted so badly to trust this man. My brother had warned me away. My instincts had warned me away. I turned in the entry, following as we headed up the stairs to the master bedroom.
To his bedroom. The word master fit him too well. He was master of his world… master of me.
There was something different tonight, compared to the way he’d been in his office only hours before. He wasn’t in a rush, dragging me up the stairs.
But he wasn’t hesitant, either. He knew I’d follow him, and he walked with purpose, steadily leading me toward his room.
And yet even though I’ve had him, just hours earlier—even though I should’ve been satisfied--the need and want battled in my veins as we walk into his room. My mouth grew dry even as I could feel my panties grow damp. He was still only keeping his finger hooked around mine, and yet I was dying for him.
He turned to me, his hands sliding over my elbows so that he could back me up against his bed. My calves brushed the soft, luxurious textures of his bedding.
“Today, in my office,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “I fucked you hard and fast. Tonight, I’m going to take my time with you.”
I could do nothing more than nod, mute.
My breath disappeared from my lungs. He pushed me back, so that I fell against the bed. The blankets swelled up around me, so that I felt as if I’d fallen into a snow bank, but instead of cold, it was nothing but soft, burning heat.
His body pressed down against mine, as one hand slid up my body, his fingers curling around the back of my neck. “God you’re beautiful.”
Heat swelled inside, and I tried to steady my jagged breaths. Tried to slow down, the way he seemed to be, to enjoy the silk of his hands traveling my body, his softer kisses. It took so little to make me want him, to leave me begging for him to settle himself between my legs.
Yet I knew, tonight he would not rush this.
Tonight would be different.
“Did you think of me during the years I was gone?” His breath was hot and heavy, possessive. He wanted to hear how much I thought of him, of the two of us between the sheets, skin on skin.
I wanted to shove him away. Or deny it. But I was hot, panting, desperate for him.
“Yes,” I breathed. “All the time.”
And it wasn’t a lie. I’d thought of him. Every time I’d touched myself, I’d pictured him, perched over me, fucking me harder with each grown. Every time I lay beneath someone else, I’d wanted it to be him. There’d been only a couple of men in time since he left. The first, because I thought someone else would get him out of my system, make me realize that all I really wanted was sex. It didn’t matter who it was on top of me.
But that had been a lie, because it only left me feeling empty and sad. Used. Because that man had gotten what he wanted, and I’d gotten nothing. I’d woken up that morning thinking of Landon and wishing it had been him beside me in the bed.
The second was hardly better. A drunken, messy hook up after a year of taking care of my own needs. The guy had tried hard—really hard—but it had been sweaty and awkward and unfulfilling.
Yet things with Landon were so different from those other men that it was like they’d been aliens. Aliens pretending to be men.
Landon was a real man. The only man, it seemed, who did anything for me.
He slid my skirt off with practiced ease, letting his fingertips trail over my hips and thighs, down to my toes. Instead of yanking my clothing off, he let his touch linger, let his heat build. The way his hands trailed my body was tender, intimate in a way our sex earlier today hadn’t been. Like he wanted to savor each touch. Like he wanted to memorize the curve of my body. His fingers touched the soft underside of my thighs as I parted for him, letting him settle against me.
He kissed me, his lips hot and wet, slow and sensual against mine. Our tongues slid across one another, wet with the heat of what was to come. I bit his lower lip, teasing it between my teeth, barely holding back from the desire to bite down hard.
He didn’t want tonight to be wild fucking.
Tonight, he was making love to me, worshiping my body in a way that required my restraint.
But God, it was hard to take it slow. To not bite his lip and yank his pants off, beg him to fuck me hard and fast.