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The sensation of his hot flesh pulsating against her palm released a flurry of butterflies in her stomach. He groaned under his breath, his stomach stiffening. She stroked his dick, desperate to see him lose control under her command.
Vincent had other plans. Catching her wrist, he pushed her down on the bed. Before she protested, he traced a path of kisses down her neck, and she closed her eyes, burying her head in the pillow.
He pulled up her skirt and lowered her panties. A cold draft teased her exposed sex, the sensation having the opposite internal effect and searing her nerve endings. He blew a puff of air into her, and zingers of anticipation tingled in her core. “Vincent,” she hissed.
A shiver of pleasure moved through her when he breathed closer to her pussy, and she moaned. He licked her, and she shoved her hands in his hair, arching her body toward him. God, he knew how to eat out a woman. His tongue fucked her like a cock would, without shame or impediment.
“Oh yes,” she said when he inserted a couple of fingers into her cunt and they made an invisible pattern on her folds teasing her to the point of madness. “Don’t stop.”
He continued licking her, thrusting his fingers in and out of her ruthlessly. The feel of his strong, calloused hand between her thighs brought a sense of completion, second only to a good ol’ fuck. She lifted her ass from the mattress, too restless to keep still. He slid his fingers under her butt and brought her to his mouth like she was some expensive ass wine he tasted. Or rather, chugged down his throat.
The man lapped at her pussy like he was searching for the secret map to an ancient sacred monument, and every fold drove him closer to his final destination. He kneaded her buttocks, his fingers warming her ass.
“Babe, you eat me so good,” she said, forgetting his surname and what it represented for a moment. “You’re driving me crazy.”
Her words encouraged him, and soon his thumb flicked her clit. She gasped, oxygen caught in her throat. The way he teased her with his tongue and fingers had an underlying punishing vibe… so intense, so powerful. Pleasure throbbed in her core and quickly spread through her body. She convulsed and creamed in his mouth, and never for an instant did he stop his relentless pursuit. Her moans filled the room, louder than she intended, but lower than the heartbeats drumming in her chest.
He finally rose from between her legs, and sat at the edge of the bed. “Natalie…” he ran his hand into his hair. “What are we doing?”
She propped herself on her elbows. “Screwing.” She let out a long sigh. “I need this.”
The amazing oral sex he’d performed only made her hungrier, not even close to being sated. For the last few years she hadn’t cared much for the lack of a sex life, but now her entire being tingled with a need for him in a way she couldn’t explain or understand—just feel.
“I don’t even have a condom with me,” he said, his voice factual.
She sat on the bed, and scooted next to him. “Come inside me, then. I can’t get pregnant,” she said, savoring the idea of him filling her in the most primitive way. Doctors had assured her it’d be very hard under ideal circumstances, and highly unlikely in the worst.
He glanced at her, and shook his head. “What?” Before she replied, he surged to his feet and created a distance between them. He regarded her once more, and frustration flickered in his eyes. His entire body stiffened. “Why not?”
Because of your son.How to tell him Clint’s death wasn’t the only consequence of the car accident? “Because of the car accident, my uterus got damaged and doctors said my chances were next to zero,” she said, looking down at the carpet.
He took a couple of steps toward her, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
She raised her gaze to him. “It’s okay. I’ve come to terms with it,” she lied. Growing up with divorced parents who had used her as a pawn against each other and fought in court or out of court, she always wanted to prove them wrong. She wanted to have a lasting marriage and offer her future children a happy childhood—so much so, she hesitated to leave Clint one too many times.
He ran his hand down his face. “Natalie, I can’t screw you. That’d be wrong.”
“Don’t you want me?” She hated how insecure she sounded. Ever since Clint’s death she hadn’t been with anyone. Though a couple of men in town had asked her out on dates.
He curled his lips at the corners of his sexy mouth. “Yes, but I have to be stronger than desire. You were married to my son, darlin’.”
She rubbed her palms together. Should she tell him? “Our marriage ended long before he died. I don’t know how much you know, and I don’t want to talk smack about Clint but—
He lifted his hand, gesturing for her to stop talking. “I understand. Clint was sick, and I don’t think he did right by you. But making him into the bad guy for a quick fuck ain’t working.”
Red hot anger flushed through her body. “That’s not what I was doing. I was just explaining,” she said, shaking her head. He had no right to simply accuse her of talking shit about her husband. He didn’t know half of what his son had put her through… “For the longest time I put other people first—and if you think I’m smearing his reputation just to get my rocks off…”
He waved her off. “See? We’re already arguing because of him. Listen I’m flattered but this won’t ever happen. I’m sorry I mauled you like a rabid dog.” He reached for the duffel bag he’d brought and grabbed it from the floor. “I’m going to sleep in my truck. Stay in the room. We’ll drive back to town in the morning and act like tonight never happened.”
