Page 20 of Rough Return

Oh, God. This woman. She’d kissed him when they were younger—would that mall scene in his head never go away?—but this was more intense, desperate, but closed. Her heart wasn’t in it. And while he would have been fine with that had she not been grieving, the simple fact she’d lost her father today made this a no-go. No matter how many times she whimpered into his mouth, or how her hands twisted his shirt out of her way so she could knead the skin at his spine, he couldn’t let her do this.

And his resolve held firm until she guided his hand to her thigh. Her smooth, firm, supple thigh. Skin like satin. Warm. Inching apart because her skirt held tight. The hand guiding him stopped, and she used it to jerk the fabric toward her hips.

If he didn’t stop soon, he wouldn’t be able. They would end up rolling around her floor and her couch and probably her kitchen table and it would be an amazing, exquisite experience. But in the morning, she would regret it. He would regret it. If he’d not been so stubborn, not so caught up in his memories of Max’s threats, they would already have had a first time, and a second and so many more, and this sex would be therapeutic, not a first time shadowed by Max’s death.

She moaned into his mouth when he slid his hand a sliver closer to her panties, to the heaven they guarded. Barely guarded. She twisted, and his hand shifted closer, brushed her silk-covered clit, and she moaned again. Primal. Raw. She writhed and strained, but this time he held her in place.

He tore his lips away and moved them along her jaw until he could take her earlobe between his teeth. “Tell me what you want, Fiona.”

She tried to draw his hand inside her panties, but he didn’t budge.

“Tell me, Fiona.” By now, he could have used his cock to cut diamonds, and he wanted the sweet bliss of release, but Fiona needed the mindlessness and collapse an orgasm, the one he planned to give her, would bring.

“I want your fingers.”

She tried to capture his face between her hands, and he twisted away. He traced her lips with his thumb. “What do you want me to do with them?”

She opened her mouth and dragged her teeth along the pad of his thumb, then circled his wrist and brought it to her thigh, tried to push his hand again. Again, he didn’t move.

“If you want me to finger you, ask me to do it.”

“Grier, please.” Desire thickened her voice, and Grier’s heart threatened to pound out of his body through his dick.

“Please, what?”

She narrowed her eyes, and he won their power play. With her teeth clenched, she hissed the words. “Please fuck my pussy with your fingers.”

Slow. Deliberate. He slithered the backs of his fingers up her thigh. She gasped when he skipped around to the waistband of her panties and hauled them down to her knees as he crushed her mouth with his.

Oh, God. So much more exquisite than he’d ever imagined. Wet and hot. Grier imagined his cock sliding in and out, closed his eyes and tried to remember tonight was for Fiona. He swiped his thumb over her clit, and she gasped again.

Her moan, low and deep, long and pleased, came when he slid his finger inside, still teasing her with his thumb. “Unbutton your blouse.”

She needed someone to take control, to let her enjoy without thinking.

“What?”

“Fiona, unbutton your blouse.” He spoke in a firm, determined tone.

She was already panting in time with every gentle thrust of his fingers. It wouldn’t be long. “I can’t.”

“I could do it, but then I have to stop this.” He slipped his fingers out, and she brought hers to fumble with the buttons on her shirt. “Good.” When she finished, she pulled it open, exposing see-through lace, the kind of bra meant to entice, to tempt, to make a man lose his damned mind. And what those transparent cups held underneath… he was maybe ten seconds from making an embarrassing high school mistake.

He needed to slow this down. Take a minute to get his shit together. He removed his fingers. “Stand up. Take your clothes off.” Without the argument he might have expected, she stood and shimmied out of her skirt, slipped out of her shirt, shucked the bra and panties before he could even blink.

Naked Fiona did nothing to help his control. Quite the opposite, in fact. She was everything he’d dreamed her to be and more. So much more. Curves and plains, edges and angles. He took a few seconds to drink her in, to feast on her body with his eyes.

He scooted to the edge of the sofa and pulled her in so that her belly button was at his eye level. “Tell me what you want, Fiona.” Because he damned sure knew what he wanted.

“Fuck me, Grier.”

Oh, God, yes.

Focus.

“Later. Pick something else.”

“Take your clothes off.”