All Chained Up Page 12

  She lifted her head and stared straight ahead into the cabinets, waiting. Was this it, then? She had invited him over here on the pretext of ice cream, but the first move was his?

  He closed the final distance and braced both hands on the counter, leaning in, letting her feel all of him against the trembling line of her body.

  He spoke into her ear and caught a whiff of pears. Just like all those times in the HSU. Except they were alone now. No guards. No handcuffs. Nothing was stopping him from touching her. “This is a bad idea,” he whispered.

  A shudder racked her softness and vibrated into the length of him.

  He lifted his hand and fisted it into her hair, fingers sinking deep and tangling in the mass, the strands soft as silk against his rough palm. “You should tell me to go,” he growled, fingers delving deeper, searching for the band to free it. She released a soft whimper as he found the thin elastic and tugged it free. The band snapped and broke and the mass of silky hair fell over his hand and arm, tumbling down her back.

  Just like that, something snapped in him, too. The last invisible thread that had been holding him together.

  “Last chance,” he growled, thrusting his hips, letting her feel him, rock hard against her, letting her know exactly what was going to happen if she didn’t tell him to get the fuck out of here.

  He pulled back on her hair and another one of those little sounds escaped her as she arched her throat for him and he pressed his open mouth to the flushed skin at the side of her neck, directly beneath her ear.

  She pushed back against him in response, rocking her ass into his hardness.

  She might come to regret it, but he had his answer.

  SHE WAS ON FIRE. She arched her neck, guided by the hard hand in her hair. She pushed back against his erection, grinding her bottom into him, moaning as his wet mouth found her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut and she bit her lip to stop from crying out so loudly.

  Was it possible to orgasm with your clothes on? She felt like she was seconds from coming. And he hadn’t even kissed her yet.

  And God, she wanted him to do that. She wanted that mouth on hers. She wanted to taste him with an ache that went bone-­deep. Despite all his tough edges, that mouth had always looked so beautiful, hinting at a tenderness in the well-­carved shape.

  She inhaled a ragged breath, trying to get it together and calm her nerves. Desire rushed through her like a high-­speed train. She hadn’t been on a date in over a year. And that date had ended in a handshake. She hadn’t been kissed in closer to two years. And sex? Forget it. She couldn’t even remember how long it had been since Beau. Maybe it was abnormal, but she had never cared. Never missed it. Not in these many years had her lack of sex life bothered her. Until now.

  Until she had confronted someone she wanted so badly her body ached and hummed. He felt so good against her it was frightening.

  With a frustrated choke, Briar turned, squeezing between him and the hard edge of the counter. He looked down at her, so much taller, bigger, the blue of his eyes almost black as he gazed hotly at her.

  He still braced his hands against the counter’s edge, caging her in. He ate up all the space in her small kitchen.

  “Knox,” she whispered, a thread of wonder in her voice as she flattened a hand against his chest. She stopped just short of begging him to give her his mouth. His heart beat hard against her palm, but surely hers beat harder. She felt so awkward. Almost like she didn’t know what to do next, which was silly. She’d done this before even if it was a long time ago. Even if it had never been with anyone like him.

  Maybe that was just it. It had never been with anyone like him. Her hand smoothed its way up his shirt, stopping at the hard curve of his shoulder. She rose up on tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his exposed neck. He tensed as she feathered tiny kisses along the bristly edge of his jaw until she reached the corner of his mouth.

  Air shuddered from her at arriving there—­at the mouth that rarely smiled. At least before. In the prison. Here, it was different. Everything was different. They were alone and she could have him. She could touch her mouth to his. See for herself if it felt soft or hard, cold or warm.

  She stretched higher on her tiptoes and slanted her mouth across his more fully. His lips were soft. Firm and dry. Her chest squeezed with a desperate desire for him to kiss her back. For her to do it right so that she pleased him.

  She started to sink back on her heels, disappointment pumping through her at his lack of response. And shame. Shame that she had thrown herself at him and he didn’t want what she was offering. She didn’t arouse him.

  His head dipped then, swiftly catching her mouth before she was fully gone from him.

  “Where are you going?” he growled against her lips.

  He snatched her by the waist with both hands and picked her up and plopped her onto the counter before she could draw a breath. The motion positioned them more evenly, brought their lips level. He settled one hand at her waist, gripping her there while his other hand sank into her hair, his fingers curling around her skull and pulling her in, drawing her closer until their mouths were fused.

  She gasped and his tongue entered her mouth, slicked over hers in total possession. She leaned in, moaning, tangling her tongue with his, tasting something faintly lemon on him and wondering what he had eaten. He tasted so good. Lemon, a faint saltiness, and man. Sex. She tasted sex on his tongue and the pleasure to come. She curled both her fingers into his shoulders, clinging to him and pulling him closer.

  He made a deep sound in his throat and kissed her deeper, his fingers clenching tighter around the back of her head. She touched his face, the bristle of hair on his cheek a delicious scrape that ran right through her. They kissed and kissed and kissed. She didn’t know kissing could be like this. So drugging. So addictive. Simultaneously endless and not enough.

  His hand on her waist moved up and palmed her breast over her shirt. Sensation shot through her and Briar moaned into his mouth, pushing into his big palm.

  “Christ,” he muttered against her lips, pulling back. His hand left her hair, too. She whimpered at the loss of him, but it was only temporary. He grabbed the hem of her shirt. Seizing it, he yanked it over her head, leaving her naked from the waist up on her counter. No bra. God, why hadn’t she worn a bra?

  His eyes went to her chest. “Fuuuck.”

  Her hands instinctively dove for her breasts, but hard fingers circled her wrists, exerting only the slightest pressure, but she was fully aware of his power, the strength in his big hands as he tugged her hands down.

  “Don’t,” he commanded. “I want to see you.”

  Knox shook his head once, his blue eyes dark and intent on her, moving from her face and down the slope of her throat to her breasts again. Trembling, she didn’t know if it was more from his gaze or his words. The deep sound of his voice spiked her desire higher, twisting it into something almost painful between her legs. She felt her nipples tighten under his stare.

  He slowly eased his hands away from her wrists, and this time she didn’t try to cover herself. She held up her chin, closing her fingers around the edge of the counter, clutching tightly to stop herself from covering her body up again.

  She tried to block out her embarrassment and focus on him. It worked. She was so busy watching him watch her, reveling in his stark beauty, the intensity of those deep-­set eyes on her, the brutal slash of his sexy mouth, that she didn’t at first realize what he was doing with his hands. One of his hands reached for the nearby bowl. He dipped two fingers into the melting Cherry Garcia, scooping a small amount and carrying it to one of her nipples.

  She gasped at the wet coldness.

  His deep voice rippled through her. “Tonight these are mine . . . you’re mine, Briar.”

  She could only nod senselessly as he rolled both fingers over her rigid nipple. Back and forth, back and forth,
toying with the peak, making the point grow harder with every swirl of his slick fingers.

  She made a choked sound and dropped her head back on her shoulders, thrusting out her chest.

  “Fuck, that’s hot,” he growled.

  Then she felt him at her other breast, rolling more ice cream on that rapidly hardening nipple. “Wh-­what are you—­” Her voice died on a squeak as he pinched her slippery nipple. She felt a rush of wetness between her legs and she squirmed on the countertop, desperate for relief, for an end to the ache growing there.

  He looked at her from beneath heavy lids. “This is how I like to eat my ice cream,” he said thickly, and then she felt him there, his hot mouth closing over the wet, chilled tip of her breast like he was starving and she the long denied feast.

  She cried out as his warm tongue sucked her nipple into his mouth.

  She grabbed the back of his head, urging him closer. Everything in her tightened and squeezed, pleasure centering where his mouth fed on her, his tongue swirling wildly. Her sex pulsed, clenching in agony.

  “Knox,” she pleaded, crying out again as he suddenly turned on her other breast, sucking hungrily, licking every bit of ice cream off her, not even missing the sticky sweetness that rolled down the sides.

  Her sounds were wild. Embarrassing little pants that verged into full-­on wails. Especially when his teeth scraped one stiff nipple and his fingers pinched down on the other one.

  The pressure inside her built, twisting into something that she couldn’t stop. She actually did try to resist, digging in her heels, too alarmed at the intensity, too terrified at the new sensations. Shudders began to overtake her. “Oh, God, God, God . . .”

  He spoke against her nipple, his words muffled as his tongue played on her flesh. “That’s it, baby. Let it happen. Come for me.”

  Was that what was happening? She was actually about to have an orgasm?

  She shook her head. She felt out of control. Too wild, too removed from her own body.

  “Let yourself have it,” he said, his voice darker, harder. His hand delved between her splayed thighs then so that his fingers could rub over her crotch.

  She gasped, heat flaming her face at the truth he felt there. Even through the layers of her panties and leggings he felt it. He knew.

  “Oh, baby. You’re so wet. You must be hurting.” Those firm fingers of his rubbed up and down her and the friction was unbearable, the pressure so sweet, especially when he grazed her clit.

  Just like that, she exploded, coming apart with a shriek and surging against his chest.

  She was still shaking, gasping, stars blinking behind her eyes as he picked her up and carried her out of the kitchen like she was a feather in his arms. She couldn’t form coherent speech as he walked them into her dark bedroom, his body tense and pulsing all around her—a direct contrast to her. Lethargy pulled at her, making her muscles limp as noodles.

  He set her on the middle of her queen-­size bed and stood back, stripping off his clothes. His eyes glittered at her in the near dark. The only light in her room spilled through the open bedroom door and the thin spaces between the slats of her blinds.

  She blinked lazily, appreciating what she could see of him—­the amazing chest and ridged abdomen. She wished she could see more, in better lighting . . . wished she could shake off this fog of postorgasm bliss. Her gaze traveled down his thin happy trail, stopping at his hands yanking open his fly. He shoved down his jeans and briefs in one move. At her first glimpse of him, her eyes flared wide and her sex reawakened with a swift pulsing clench. He was enormous and standing straight out, ready and eager to penetrate. To claim.

  A faint tremor of nervousness skated down her spine. He fished a condom out of his wallet and came over her as she inched back warily on the bed.

  “I’m not sure that’s going to fit,” she breathed.

  He prowled up her body, his hands walking up either side of her. “You felt it, too. This thing between us. Didn’t you?” he asked roughly.

  She nodded, unable to deny it. It was the truth. On some base, primal level Briar had always known. Her body knew before her mind ever understood. She was his for the taking.

  He seized the elastic of her leggings and pulled them off her in one smooth move, reminding her so much of the predator she first thought him to be in the prison.

  She trembled under him in nothing but a pair of panties. He flattened a hand over her abdomen, fingers splayed wide, the base of his palm directly over her sex, cupping her mound so that she had to bite back a moan.

  He looked up the length of her body, his heavy-­lidded eyes snaring hers. “This is where I want to be. Where I’ve wanted to be since you first put your hands on me.”

  The inner muscles of her sex squeezed as though in agreement. It wanted him there, too, but she still felt a stab of apprehension. “You’re too . . . big.”

  He rotated his hand until his fingers where diving down along the seam of her, the only barrier the thin cotton of her panties.

  She choked back a cry, arching her spine slightly at the sliding pressure of his fingers against her. “I belong here,” his deep voice said so confidently. “We’re going to fit together perfectly.” He knuckled aside her underwear and slipped a finger inside, spearing her deep. She came off the bed at the penetration.

  “God, you’re tight.” His words came in quick pants as he continued to move that finger, thrusting in deeply, steadily, curving upward until he found that spot she never knew existed. He worked in a second finger, stretching her, readying her for him. She knew that, and she took him, wanting every bit of pleasure he was giving her. Wanting what was to come and wanting it to never end.

  She started to shake as another orgasm welled up inside her.

  “Oh, no. Not yet.” His fingers slipped out of her. She felt a tug and heard the slight rip of her underwear. But she didn’t care. She writhed on the bed, at a loss for the sudden emptiness inside her.

  There was the crinkle of the condom wrapper and then she felt him. The broad head of him parting her, entering her just a fraction.

  Her hands instinctively groped for something to hold onto, grabbing his tense biceps on either side of her. He was bigger than his fingers. Bigger than anything she’d had inside of her, and she tensed.

  “Hey,” he whispered. “Look at me.”

  She found his gaze in the dark. His eyes glittered, and for once she read emotion there, a desperate need that mirrored her own, and something else. Something vulnerable she had never seen in him before. He was waiting for her, holding himself back for her.

  Even though his jaw was clenched tight and she knew it was killing him to restrain himself, to wait, he was doing just that. He cared about her comfort. Her pleasure. This man wasn’t what everyone said he was—­what the world thought. And in this moment, he was all hers.

  She reached up to touch him. She dragged her thumb over his lips and leaned up, kissing him. He kissed her back. Hard and hungry, desperate even.

  He pushed a little deeper inside her and she gasped into his mouth, her inner muscles stretching, burning. Not exactly uncomfortable. He eased back out and she released a little sigh of relief.

  “Fuck,” he groaned. “You’ve done this before, right?”

  “Yeah,” she panted. “It’s just been a while . . . and never anything like—­” She gasped again as he pushed in more, going deeper, and a growl vibrated from his bare chest into hers.

  He threw back his head. “You feel so good.” A sense of feminine power swelled within her with the knowledge that she brought this man pleasure. Everything melted and softened inside her. She slid one hand down his back and gripped his taut ass. She dug her nails into the tight skin and he choked, “Don’t, Briar . . . I can’t go slow when you . . .”

  She pressed feathery kisses on his jaw, his cheek, moving to his lips. “Don’t, the
n. Take me like you want to.” She licked his mouth and then bit his bottom lip. “Fuck me harder, Knox. I won’t break.”

  Before the last word even left her mouth, he rammed himself fully inside her. The force shoved her up the bed. He waited a moment, breathing raggedly, holding himself back. Despite her encouragement, he was still waiting, letting her get accustomed to his throbbing member lodged full inside her.

  They were both panting as though they had run a long distance, their chests rising and falling together. Then he began again, moving at a steady pace, his hand tight on her hip, anchoring her for his thrusts.

  It didn’t take long for that pressure to build back up inside her. He had her back where she had been moments ago, so close to climax. She angled her hips and lifted her thighs, wrapping them around his hips. He groaned and dropped his head into her neck, hammering faster, harder, beating her into the mattress with his big body as her sex clenched and flexed around him.

  She curled a hand around his nape and held him there, reveling in his warm breath on her neck as he pumped deep and fast and wild. She came in a blinding flash, arching under him.

  He kept going, riding straight through the shudders of her orgasm until she was rising up on another wave, edging closer and closer to another climax. His free hand swept over her breasts, squeezing and fondling the ice-­cream sticky mounds. She felt a rush of new moisture between her thighs as he pinched down hard on one of her nipples.

  “Oh, Knox,” she pleaded. “I can’t . . . what are you doing to me . . .”

  “Again,” he commanded. “Come for me again.”

  Her body obeyed. Her sex pulsed and clenched around him, the tug in her belly almost too tight, too painful. Too much. Everything was too much. Too sensitive. When he dropped a hand between them and found that hidden spot in her folds, she screamed and came again. She went limp beneath him, certain she might have just died.

  He drove into her one more time and stopped, stilling, his chest lifting high as he came hard, pulsing inside her, a strangled gasp leaving his lips.