Hard (10 page)

“No…” she whispered holding him to her.

Having her cling to him with her breathy declaration of need made his passions roar. He clamped down on her, squeezing her tight and he pounded into her with intent, driving himself to release.

She gasped as he crushed her to him, but she wanted him to hold her tighter still, to hold her tight and never let her go. She tightened her own embrace, pulling him into her, their embrace almost crushing the breath from her, but she wanted to be held even tighter, making her feel safe and protected, like nothing could harm her. Her climax crashed down upon her, erotic energy pouring through her like an electric current. With another whimper she wrapped him up, holding him tight as her climax tossed her this way and that, drowning her in pleasure.

Sensing Bridget tip over the edge into her orgasm, her soft whimper acted like a match to gunpowder. She tried to ball up, her legs wrapping around his ass as she held him tight, her soft pants of a moment ago still as she held her breath. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was grimacing as she clung to him, her face the mask of a woman in rapture as she rode out her orgasm. With a grunt he flooded into her, pushing in hard and deep as he came, holding himself there a moment before pulling back and thrusting again.

   They held each other, their orgasms washing out of them, but neither wanted to relax their embrace. He breathed heavily, taking in her scent of flowers, soap and passion, wanting to remember her smell forever. Their relationship had always been defined by sex, but tonight there was more. Tonight he hadn’t fucked her, he had made love to her, and he had to clamp down hard on his emotions. He breathed deep once more and gritted his teeth against the need to tell her how he felt.

She clung to him, eyes closed, trying to file away every sensation, the press of his body against hers, the feel of him inside her, the warmth of his breath on her neck, she wanted to remember it all, to be able to return to this magical moment in future years and try to recapture just a shadow of how she felt now. This is more than fucking, more than sex, more than two people pleasing each other. There was a connection, a connection she had never felt before. She loved Stiles, but she hadn’t fully admitted to it until now, when he had made love to her, so slow and loving. She smiled sadly, a single tear leaking from her right eye.

She pushed him up, and he rose, watching her face. “I should go.”

He watched her for a moment, searching for something,
anything,
which might indicate she cared for him as he did for her. He opened his mouth to tell her, to go for broke, to profess how he felt, but before he uttered a sound, she pushed at him again.

“I need to go,” she said, pushing at him gently as she looked away. She wasn’t going to be able to keep this up much longer. She was coming apart inside and she had to get out before she broke down.

He sighed and withdrew from her, moving to the side and then reaching to the floor for his boxers. He wouldn’t beg, and it was clear now that while she may have wanted to continue their affair, she didn’t care for him as he cared for her.

They dressed in silence, refusing to look at each other, neither wanting to show the other how they felt as they desperately put up emotional walls to block the pain they were feeling. She stopped him with a soft touch on his bare chest as they stepped out of the bedroom. She rose to her tiptoes to kiss him softly before lowering her head and turning away.

“Goodbye,” she whispered as she stopped at the kitchen door.

He said nothing, and she turned as she opened the door to make sure he had heard. He was staring at her, his mouth pulled down hard, almost as if he was struggling to not cry. She lowered her head again, struggling against her own tears and not wanting him to see her pain. She turned to go, but then stopped and turned to face him again. She couldn’t leave, not without saying it.

“I love you, Stiles,” she said softly, then stepped out of the door, closing it behind her. The moment the door clicked shut the tears came. She couldn’t stop them and she ran to her SUV, needing to get away. It was over. The one thing she realized she wanted more than anything else in the world had just slipped beyond her grasp.

She flung herself into her SUV and slammed the door, throwing her purse into the passenger seat and then reached for the start button.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Stiles stood in stunned silence as the door latched behind Bridget.
Did I just hear what I thought I heard? Did the woman of my dreams just say she loved me?
Stiles blinked again and then lunged for the door, yanking it open just in time to hear the door slam on Bridget’s Escape. He ran down the walk, dressed only in boxers, vaguely aware of the pain in his feet from the gravel drive. The car started just as he reached the vehicle and snatched open the door, causing Bridget to jump and gasp in surprise as she cringed from the door.

He reached in and took her face in his hands to pull her strongly to him, kissing her furiously. She fought him for a moment before relaxing into the kiss. “I love you, too,” he said softly as he pulled back from the kiss, staring into her eyes a moment before kissing her again while pulling at her face gently, trying to coax her from the SUV.

She pushed the button to kill the engine then stepped from the SUV and into his arms, pressing in tight as the kiss ramped up in intensity. He was still slightly damp with sweat from their earlier lovemaking, and she could feel her need roll over her like a tide.
Stile fucking loves me!
she shouted to herself as they kissed. All thoughts of her wedding, of Terry, of her parents’ probable disapproval vanished in a flash. None of that mattered now. What mattered now was Stiles and the fact that he felt about her how she felt about him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked as the kiss dissolved.

“I didn’t think you wanted me. Or only wanted me for a boy toy and I didn’t want to pressure you. You seemed to want to go through with the wedding,” he said softly, touching his head to hers.

“Do, did, but only because…” She paused, unsure of what to do. “I don’t know what to do, Stiles.”

“Call it off.”

“I want to but I can’t!”

“You can. If you love me, you will.” He pulled his head up and pushed her slowly away, gaining some space between them. “Or did you not mean what you said?”

“No!” she cried. “I do love you! But things have gone so far! How can I call it off now, a
week
before the wedding!”

“You need to figure something out, Bridget. I meant what I said. I love you, but I can’t be with you if you are in the arms of another man. It’s not fair to me or him.”

Bridget could feel her face twisting up in anguish, but she was powerless to stop the tears. Her family had always taught her to think about others and not be selfish. She might be a little wild, but she thought of herself as a good person and she didn’t want to hurt Terry or upset her parents. But
Stiles
was the one she loved.

“I don’t know what to do,” she sobbed into his chest.

He held her close. “You do.”

“I know! But how can I?”

“You just have to do it, Bridget. This is not something I can do for you.
You
have to call off the wedding…or you have to let me go.” 

She sobbed a moment more, the shame of what she had done weighing heavy on her. She knew this moment would come eventually, but before it had always been in the future, something she could put off worrying about. But tomorrow was here and she could no longer avoid the issue. “Help me, Stiles,” she sniffed, trying to get control of herself. “Help do the right thing.”

“What is the right thing?” he asked softly.

“Being with you.”

“I will.”

She melted into him, needing to draw upon his strength, needing to recapture the feeling of safety she felt when in his arms, needing him to show her that, together, they could stand against any obstacle. She pulled his head down, drawing his lips to hers, and the kiss came alive.

He breathed deep as she kissed him, the power of the kiss making him soar, the kiss of a woman in love, the kiss of a woman that was yin to his yang. He began to harden, his cock binding against his boxers and her body.

“Come on,” he growled pushing her away and hustling her toward the door, almost sighing in relief as he stepped back onto the concrete walk and out of the gravel.

Fucking A,
Bridget thought as Stiles spun her around and pinned her to the inside of the kitchen door. He placed a hand to either side of her, leaning hard against the door frame. She met his stare as the sexual heat began to rising around them.

“Do you love me?” he growled again, leaning in closer still.

“Yes,” she whispered as she stared into his eyes, thrilling at the implied threat in his posture. She didn’t fear him and his aggressive position, pinning her in, promised much pleasure to come.

He continued to stare at her, letting the darkness grow and churn inside of him, feeding and pumping him up. He was going to own this woman, make her his and never let her go. He stood and took her blouse into his hands, ripping the front open with a quick jerk, causing the tiny buttons to fly like shrapnel.

She gasped at the sudden violence, but then he paused, watching her, his eyes dark and hard, a look she had seen many times. She could feel her heart speeding up as his need fueled her own. She stood, refusing to cower or cover, the top four buttons of her shirt missing, allowing it to gap open to expose the swell of her breasts.

He gave her blouse another yank, sheering off the last three buttons, and roughly pulled the material from her.
I’ll buy her another fucking shirt
he snarled to himself and he threw tattered cloth into the floor. She tried to bat his hands away as he reached for her bra, but he bulled through, removing that, as well, being slightly more careful so to not
actually
hurt her. She pushed his boxers down and he stepped out of them as they puddled at his feet. Her shorts where next and the moment they fell to her ankles he lifted her, banging her hard into the door.

She gasped at the shocking cold of the steel door against her bare back and ass, but it was nothing compared to the blistering heat of Stiles body as he pressed into her, kissing her furiously. He adjusted his position, catching her under her legs and lifted her higher, squatting as he did. She could feel his rod probing her, looking for her entrance so she took his cock and guided it into her. He slid into her, a hard, swift, insertion that sent an electric shock of pleasure racing through her. He held himself deep a moment as he breathed hard into her neck before pulling back and driving into her hard again.

He began to plunge into her, holding himself deep and hard for a moment before pulling back and plunging into her again. She held him, one hand on his head to hold his lips to her neck, the other around his back. He was becoming overwhelmed by his need to fuck her, his passions carrying him away. With a growl, he let the darkness flow.

“Oh…my…god…” she gasped as he began to give it to her, pounding into her so hard that the door began to bang and rattle in its frame. His need washed over her, making her feel desired, wanted, needed in a way that no over man ever made her feel.

He could feel his orgasm spooling up already, her confession of love, her gasp of pleasure, and he hard pounding he was giving her stealing his control. With a growl of frustrated desire, he pulled her from the door, turned, and carried her to the den, his cock still inside of her.

Bridget groaned as he peeled her off the door. She had been on her way to an
epic
orgasm, only to have it stall as he carried her to the living room. He laid her over the arm of the couch, letting her fall backwards onto the cushions for the last few inches as he overbalanced, following her down as she fell. She cried out, his cock going incredibly deep as he fell into her, deeper than any man had ever gone before. It hurt, but it hurt so
good,
and she began to pump her hips, desperate to capitalize on the surge of erotic pain, the brief sting exciting her.       

Bridget squirming under him made his blood roar, the feral snarl on her beautiful face exciting him at a deep level. Bent at the waste, he began to pound into her, sliding his arms under her back and holding her by her shoulders to keep her from sliding away.

The orgasm that had stalled came storming back with a vengeance. Their position was uncomfortable but that only added to the intensity, their need for each other overriding everything else. She gripped his head, forcing his head up and back so she could look into his eyes.

“Don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop. You better make me fucking come,” she snarled as her orgasm began to surround her. As she watched, his face twisted with pleasure and effort, the sight giving her the final push she needed to tumble into the abyss. Her climax slammed into her, making her want to scream, to shout her pleasure to the world, but power of it stole her voice. With a long soft keen that ended in a short wail of pleasure, her orgasm took her. She hauled hard on Stiles, as he continued to pound into her hard and fast, her fingers digging into his head, then his back. She had to be hurting him,
had
to, but she was powerless to relax her claw like fingers as her release burned through her.

With a gasp, Stiles stopped his furious pounding strokes, panting to catch his breath as he pulled her lips to his. She took them, but lethargically, her kiss slowly rising in passion as her strength returned.

“Fuck…” she gasped as their lips parted. “I haven’t come that hard in a
long
time.”

“Oh, we are just getting started,” he rumbled as he began to thrust into her again. He had managed to drive her to orgasm before he succumbed, feeding his need to out fuck her, to dominate her and see that she was never left wanting more.

“Good,” she said as she struggled to get away from him, her lower back breaking despite the thick padding on the arm.

He let her go and she rolled away and came to her feet before pulling him down into the seating area of the cushions. Realizing what she wanted, he slumped down, hanging his ass off the front as she settled onto him. As he slid into her again, she draped her ankles over his knees and leaned forward, tucking in her chin as he stretched up, their lips meeting in a torrid kiss. 

“I want you to fuck me good,” she cooed, rising up from the kiss.

He said nothing, her challenge causing the darkness to grow again. He took her by the hips steadying her as he began to move, pumping his hips slowly at first, but then harder and faster.

She smiled as Stiles face darkened at her demand. She loved the power she held over him, the ability to bring out the appetite that he kept hidden. During the day he was calm, logical, and polite, but at night, with her, she could sweep all of that aside with a word, a gesture, and he became deeply passionate, fucking her like no man before. Her smile faded as he began to drive into her, the pleasure pushing aside all thought.

He watched as her face hardened, the soft smile replaced but by a look of intense pleasure and she pitched forward slightly, holding herself up with her arms on the back of the couch. That allowed him to drive into her harder still. He began to growl in effort, his own orgasm stalking him again.

“Oh, fuck…” she murmured as he ravished her. She already had two orgasms tonight, but if he kept this up, she was going to have another. She opened her eyes, watching his face, his eyes intense, his face hard and as he pounded into her.

“Get some,” he snarled, almost to himself, driving himself on, wanting to give her more and make her come again.

“Ah…shit…fuck,” she whispered, feeling the first tendrils of an orgasm forming. She closed her eyes, seeing their position in her mind, how his body was beginning to glisten with sweat, how his muscles stood in relief as he held her, how her breasts jiggled as they moved together. She opened her eyes again, watching his face, needing to see the passion written there.  

“Fuck!” he barked, giving his head a shake in denial. He was losing his battle to his orgasm.

She watched as his face twisted in pleasure, seeing the effort on his face and the shake of his head. She had seen it all before and knew he was battling his orgasm. Suddenly he stopped, his hips becoming still.