Fearless (6 page)

“Look at me,” he commands softly. I open my eyes, although it takes a moment to focus on him. He smiles. “You can let go of the headboard.”

Suddenly aware of the death grip I have on the hard wood, I let go and Beckett rolls onto his side, pulling me with him so I'm nestled in his arms, my back to his chest. We lay there for a few minutes as he absentmindedly plays with my hair until my breathing slows.

“Holy shit,” I finally manage. “Thank you seems inadequate.”

With his lips close to my ear, he murmurs, “Don't thank me yet. I'm not finished with you.”

I turn in his arms so I'm facing him. Surely he's joking. One orgasm was nothing short of a miracle. Surely he couldn't do that again, especially so soon.

Seeing the look of doubt in my eyes he laughs, that deep, provocative, sexy laugh of his. “Is that a challenge?” he asks. Before I can say anything, he's kissing me again—a slow, languid, sensual kiss, and unbelievably I can feel the heat grow between my legs again.

“Roll over,” he says softly, gently maneuvering me until I'm lying on my stomach.

Closing my eyes, I sigh at the warm touch of his sensuous hands on my back. He strokes and kneads, moving from my neck to my shoulders, then down my back, kneading every muscle until I feel like I might melt right into the mattress. My body is languid, my muscles like warm butter as he massages every inch of my back. Now I know what is so special about a surgeon's hands. Those gifted hands move down toward my butt, and I hold my breath as he lightly traces a finger along the crack of my ass. His finger pushes forward, probing, until it reaches my slick folds, and he gently slides a finger inside of me, thrusting upward until he hits a spot that makes me gasp as the pleasure spears through me.

He pulls his finger out and I roll over so I'm facing him, eager now to feel his hard maleness beneath my hands. I run my hands over the hardened muscles of his biceps, then across his back and down his chest, exploring his hot flesh as he holds himself still for me, letting me touch him where I want. I want to devour him. I lean forward and run my tongue across his nipple lightly and then nip it, tugging gently with my teeth.

With a primitive growl, he rolls me onto my back and straddles me. Now his hands are on my breasts, simultaneously kneading, pinching, and tugging until my nipples are hard peaks and I'm wild with need.

“You're going to kill me,” I say.

“Don't worry. I'm a doctor,” he whispers, and that makes me laugh. He takes advantage of my exposed neck to press his hot lips against the hollow of my throat.

“I want you,” I say.

He stands and unfastens his pants, letting them fall to the ground. He slowly peels off his underwear and I gulp at the sight of his pulsing shaft, long, thick, and rigid. He reaches into the nightstand for a condom and quickly sheaths himself. With the practiced grace of a predatory animal, he climbs onto the bed, straddling me again as he looks down at me, sheer desire in his eyes.

“What do you want?” he purrs, his voice dark and rich as the tip of his manhood teases the entrance of my swollen labia.

“This. You. Everything. I want you inside me,” I manage, my hips thrusting up in a futile attempt to fill the growing ache between my legs. I grip his hips, urging him toward me. I may as well try to move concrete.

His cock pushes into me slightly. Apparently he wants to torture me because he stops, poised there at my entrance.

“Tell me, Emmaline,” he urges. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

I am beyond need. I am desperate to feel him deep inside me—pushing, thrusting, releasing this unbearable tension in my body. Any reserve I have is gone. There is only me and him and this primal need.

“I want you to fuck me,” I beg. “Hard!”

With a low hiss, he impales me slowly, inch by delicious inch, until he's buried in me and I'm stretched to the limit by his long and thick hardness. I whimper. I have never experienced anything like this before, and the feel of this powerful man inside me, filling me, possessing me, is exquisite. My hips lift toward him as if of their own volition, and with a groan he begins to move, driving in and out of my slick heat with slow powerful thrusts as I writhe beneath him.

He slips a hand between us where our bodies are joined and finds my silken nub. He plays with it, rolling it lightly under his thumb. I moan and buck against him. He increases the pressure, rubbing faster and then slower, teasing me mercilessly.

I feel like I'm about to explode from the onslaught of sensation—the feel of him thick and rock-hard inside me, the primeval, rhythmic pulse of his thrusts that are sending sizzling shocks of pleasure through me, his expert manipulation of my clitoris. I can't take it anymore. Then he pinches my clit as he thrusts deep inside me and I scream, the orgasm ripping through me like a tornado.

As my muscles contract around him, Beckett gathers me in his arms, pulling me tight against his hard chest as he explodes inside of me.

I'm dreaming. Someone is touching my face, tracing the bones of my cheek and the lines of my eyebrow, and I purr with pleasure at the sensation. I'm curled up next to a hard rock and I feel safe and warm. The rock moves and I want to protest, but I'm distracted by the soft caress along my inner thigh and belly, and instead I moan with pleasure. I'm shocked awake by a pinch on one of my nipples, followed by the other.

“Good morning,” Beckett says huskily, leaning over to seal his mouth to mine. My mind is still groggy, but my body is fully awake and it responds instinctively to his touch. I kiss him back, parting my lips to let his tongue probe deeper and possess my mouth as completely as he possessed my body last night. This must be what my friends mean when they talk about chemistry and sexual attraction. Before Beckett, I've never had this primal response to a man before. I have never felt anything like the adrenaline rush I get from his slightest touch, or the all-consuming need I feel for him, the desperation for the feel of his hands and mouth on my body. He's like a drug, and I want to be an addict.

Sex has always been okay, even fun sometimes, but I didn't particularly miss it after Tim and I split up. In some ways, I was relieved I didn't have to perform anymore. But Beckett has aroused a hunger in me that I never dreamed existed.

He deepens our kiss, his hand sliding down between my legs where I'm already wet and ready. With sleep still numbing my mind, my body responds without reserve. In one swift motion I climb on top of him, straddling his hips. I run my hands over his tanned chest, reveling in the feel of his smooth skin against my palms. He watches me, his eyes hooded with desire as my hands explore his body, roaming over his chest with a boldness I didn't know I possessed. I grind my pelvis against his cock so that he can feel my damp heat.

“You're wet for me,” he murmurs.

“I know, right?” I say. I can't explain it myself. He smiles and cups his hand behind my head, pulling me down for another kiss. I nibble his lips, alternately biting and licking until he growls, “You have about ten seconds to finish what you've started or you're going to find yourself flat on your back with your legs spread and me inside of you.”

My pulse leaps at the image his words evoke.

“I need you,” I say breathlessly.

Reaching between us, I grasp him firmly in my palm. He's as hard as stone, and huge! I have no idea how this fit inside of me last night. I shiver at the memory of him filling me, driving me wild. Closing my hand around him I squeeze gently, sliding my fist up and down the length of him.

“Emmaline,” he says sternly. “I'm warning you….”

I laugh as he groans. I like the power I have to bring him to his knees.

I lift up onto my knees so I can guide his cock into me. His hand stops me.

“Condom,” he reminds me hoarsely.

Reaching over to the nightstand, he opens the drawer with one hand, never taking his eyes off of me, and pulls a condom out. He rips it open with his teeth and rolls it on deftly. I'm impatient now, my hands on him, positioning him against the drenched folds of my cleft. He puts his hands on my hips to steady me as I slowly lower myself onto him, taking him deep inside of me. Ah! The feel of him inside me is like coming home.

“Emma,” he gasps. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

I close my eyes as he slides deeper inside me, stretching me deliciously. Pressing his hand flat against my belly, his thumb finds my throbbing clit, and he massages it in slow, languorous circles until I'm writhing against him, wet with desire.

“Open your eyes, Emma,” he commands, and I do as he says, taking in the powerful, masculine, gorgeous man beneath me. “Keep them open. I want to watch you come.”

Oh. I can feel the heat in my cheeks but I keep them open. I move carefully over him, sliding up a few inches and then down, tentatively at first, and then with confidence, taking him deeper into me with each downward thrust. The size of him fully sheathed inside of me is almost too much, filling me to the point that I think I can't possibly take any more, yet somehow I still want more of him. Keeping my eyes locked on his I ride him, my hips rocking against the maddening pressure of his thumb on my clit. Desire is gathering in my core in a tightly wound ball of ferocious need, and the unbearable tension is driving me to a madness I'd never imagined. I ride him with abandon, every fiber of my being focused on release from this sweet torture.

Beckett grasps my hips again, tilting me back ever so slightly until the tip of his cock hits a tender, aching spot deep inside me. He lifts me up slightly and then he pulls me down hard, slamming into me. I can feel every muscle in my body tighten as I contract against his cock. Time seems to stand still as I hover at that sweet precipice, then plunge over the edge, crying out his name as I convulse around him, wave after wave racking my body. Beckett rams into me one more time and then his body stiffens, his fingers fisting in my hair as he finds his release.

I collapse on top of him, panting and spent as he wraps his arms around me, holding me close. He closes his eyes, his long lashes brushing his cheek. Normally I think it's a waste when guys get those gorgeous long lashes, but they just make him more beautiful. We lay there, our bodies still entwined, until I remember Nikki. How did I forget? I pull away abruptly.

“Oh crap! What time is it?”

Beckett lifts himself up slightly on one powerful forearm.

“It's eight,” he says.

“Thank goodness,” I say, collapsing back against him. We're face to face now, mere inches from each other, and I can't believe I'm here with him, so close I can see the flecks in his coffee colored eyes.

“What time do you have to be home?” he asks.

“Noon,” I say, idly running my fingertips over his upper chest and shoulders.

In one quick move, he flips me onto my back, pinning my wrists above my head and caging my body with his, his legs straddling my hips. He nips my ear playfully.

“If you keep touching me like that, I can't be responsible for what I do,” he says warningly. “Although I do love making you come, so feel free to keep trying my patience.”

I laugh. “I have had more orgasms in the last twelve hours than I think I've had the entire rest of my life. I don't think I could come again if my life depended on it.”

His eyes narrow and I squirm slightly under him. I'm starting to recognize that look. In one lithe move, he's out of bed and on his feet, his back to me. I enjoy the view of his bare ass as he walks across the room to a small refrigerator cleverly concealed inside an armoire and takes out two cold water bottles.

He walks back over to where I'm still lying on the bed and hands me one.

“Drink that,” he commands. He nods toward the door of the adjacent bathroom. “The bathroom is right there. Be in the shower in five minutes.”

Then he strides out of the bedroom. I open the bottle of water and take a few deep gulps, trying to process what just happened, how he went from sweet and sexy to hard and domineering in less than a minute. I think back. Did I do something wrong? His mercurial mood confuses me. He wants me in the shower in five minutes? What the hell? I have never, in my wildest fantasies, imagined sex as incredible as the sex we've had over the last twelve hours. And apparently not only can I have orgasms, I can have mind-blowing, multiple orgasms. But given the way he has just commanded me into the shower, it's apparent he's used to having women eagerly obey his every whim and do whatever he says. I'm pretty sure I don't want to be another conquest who gives in to whatever he wants.

I don't like that I'm starting to feel like some sort of challenge to be mastered, and I don't want to be any man's project, even one as drop dead gorgeous and erotic as Beckett Black. With a sinking feeling, I realize I'm the over thirty equivalent of the high school virgin the boys all wanted to score with at my high school. Why else would a man as gorgeous and sexually skilled as Beckett want to be with me, an uptight, divorced mom who can barely have orgasms? I should have known it was too good to be true.

I finish my water, find my clothes that are scattered across the floor, and walk into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I'm tender between my legs, probably because it's been a while since a man has been there, much less one the size of Beckett Black. I put on my thong, trying not to remember the erotic way he removed it last night, and then slip the dress over my head, fighting back tears. How could I have been so monumentally stupid? Beckett is undoubtedly patting himself on the back right now for his awesome prowess in bed and the knowledge that he could do what other men hadn't—give me mind-blowing orgasms. And while our lovemaking, if I can even call it that, was nothing short of earth shattering to me, I'm probably just another lay, and not even a very good one, to him. I want to be the reckless, carefree ingénue, I really do, but in the light of day I just can't pull it off.