Heat of the Night (7 page)

Something inside
her
understood.

"We're both having a crappy day," he managed, his voice raspier than he would have liked. "Why should we have a crappy night, too?"

"Sex won't fix my problem."

As she wrapped her hands around the edge of the wooden stool seat, her chin lifted. The pose thrust her breasts forward wantonly, defiantly, stirring the need he felt into raging hunger. A rough growl filled the space between them and she gasped softly. Her nipples beaded up tight, pushing against the loose cotton ribbing of her tank top.

Connor's cock swelled further, a response he was unable to hide as scantily dressed as he was. He wanted her.
Now
. Wanted to forget that he wasn't at home, that he might never go home. Wanted to forget that he'd been lied to and deceived. Wanted to wrap himself around a warm, willing woman and help her forget her pain, too. It was what he did, what he knew, what he excelled at. What grounded him. And this time it would be for real. Not a dream or a fantasy.

He could sense the vibrating anxiety in her, the tinge of desperation, the need to scream out her frustration and anger and hurt. The need to connect to someone who had absolutely nothing to do with anything. Someone blameless, without baggage or expectation, a guilt-free pleasure. She just needed a little push.

Tugging at his towel, Connor let it drop to the floor.

"Good grief," she muttered. "You're incredible."

With a gentle smile, he deliberately took her statement in a way it wasn't intended. "Ah, but I haven't even started yet."

The low, deep brogue wrapped around Stacey's spine, then slid down in a heated glide.

Infuriated with herself for being aroused, she stared at the tall, golden, gorgeous—impossibly gorgeous—
naked
man striding toward her. Unable to look away from the beautifully honed muscles drenched in tawny skin. Or the dark honey hair that hung over a strong brow. Or the Caribbean blue eyes that roamed her body from head to toe, the gaze hot and lustful but tender, too.

His sinfully sensual mouth was framed by lines of tension and stress, a sight that tempted her to kiss his troubles away. Whatever they might be.

As if it that was possible. Connor Bruce seemed to be an island unto himself. There was something inherently dangerous about him, something savage and untamed. He seemed…
dark
somehow, tormented. A feeling she understood because she presently felt that way herself. Barely leashed. Tense. She wanted to drive up to Big Bear and tell Justin and Tommy both that one fucking ski trip did not make Tommy Father of the Century.

Frustrated with her inability to "get over it," Stacey imprudently ogled Connor's luscious cock instead. After all, he was waving it around…

"It's all yours," he purred, coming at her with a devastating combination of determination and mouth-watering, finely honed abs. She looked up and saw challenge within the depths of his blue eyes. He knew she couldn't help but look and covet what he offered so bluntly. "And you're all mine."

God, how she wished she could laugh that off. Considering how long they'd known each other, that comment should have been funny as hell. But Connor was too primitive a male to dismiss when he became possessive. Just as she, apparently, was primitive enough to enjoy being dragged back to his cave by her hair.

There was something
very
wrong with a man being that perfect. Six feet plus of pure, potent male. He was big, broad, and bad. Irresistibly bad. And unapologetic about it. She might have been able to resist if that were all he was. But he seemed vulnerable, too, in a way she couldn't define. It called to her, though, whatever it was. Deeply. She found herself wanting to soothe him, embrace him, make him smile.

Her gaze once again fell helplessly to the long, thick cock that led the way for him. That was perfect, too. She couldn't find a damn thing wrong with his body and she was trying. Boy, was she trying. He was savagely beautiful and forbiddingly sexy, but she wasn't giving in. No way. She was drooling over him, yes, but she was not going to repeat her past mistakes. She didn't even know the guy, for chrissakes!

"Does that Conan the Barbarian act work for you?" she asked with an arched brow, acting for all she was worth. '"Cuz it sure as hell isn't working for me."

His lips curved in a boyish smile. She was stunned by her reaction to it. It was the kind of charming curve that made one want to smile back.

"Prove it." His long, easy stride made her shiver. She gripped the seat behind her with such force she broke a nail and a small sound of dismay escaped her. It gave away too much, that soft breathy cry. She could tell it did, because his gaze heated and darkened, and his cock swelled even further. Her mouth dried at the sight.

Lord have mercy. The thick length was lined with throbbing veins that forced her to bite back a moan of longing. Porn stars would pay for that cock. Shit, women paid for cocks such as his, molded in plastic with a speed control switch.

"Are you double-dog daring me?" she muttered, her gaze riveted by the sheer predatory grace of his movements. She wondered how he moved while fucking and the thought made her damp between the legs.

She was lonely, tired, frustrated by the hand life had dealt her, and pissed off enough to want to shed her unappreciated-mommy role for an hour or two.
Get over it
? Sure. What better way to get over it than to get under a man like Connor Bruce?

"Let me hold you," he murmured, his accent a gentle enticement.

Stacey didn't move. She couldn't.

As he came closer, she held her breath, knowing that her resistance to his very attractive but impractical offer would weaken if she smelled him. The scent of his skin was unique. A bit spicy, a bit musky. One hundred percent male. Pure Connor. Inhaling would sharpen the images already in her mind of him suspended above her, his arms bulging as he held his weight aloft, his abdominal muscles lacing tight as he pumped his thick cock in and out of her, his gorgeous features taut with lust.

The way he looked right now.

Panicked at her craving, Stacey shook her head violently and jumped quickly to the side, hoping to skirt the dining table and… hoping he'd chase her.

Which he did.

Connor lunged and caught her easily, his steely arm banding around her waist and hauling her back against him. The confinement awakened the full force of her desire, making her soften and grow slick with anticipation.

"Let me, Stacey." The tone of his voice changed, became urgent and thick with need. "I need you. You need me. Let it happen."

The fierceness of his desire was evident in every line of his big body. It was tangible and very, very tempting.

It was also insane.

"Damn it!" she snapped, struggling because it turned her on more to do so, not because she had any expectation of getting away. "You can't just haul me off to bed!"

"You're right. I won't make it that far. Right here will have to do."

"
Here
?" she croaked. "This is nuts! We don't even know each other!"

He tightened his embrace and nuzzled against her sweetly, his tongue gliding across the fluttering pulse at her throat. It made her dizzy to be held by him, surrounded by his scent and his attention to detail. She had no doubt that Connor would find every erogenous zone on her body. She also had no doubt that she wanted him to. God, it had been so long since she'd had great sex with someone who was focused on pleasuring her. Someone who seemed to
need
to pleasure her.

"You're thinking too much," he whispered with his lips to her ear. He reached up and cupped her unfettered breast. His palm was warm, his squeeze firm but gentle. His thumb and forefinger pinched her nipple, rolled it, tugged it. She writhed as the sensation shot straight to her sex and tingled madly. A rough sound rumbled up from his chest.

The urge to close her eyes and melt into him was strong. "People don't just hop into bed with strangers because they had a shitty day."

"Why not? Why deny yourself something you want?"

"It's called maturity." She changed tactics and hung like a deadweight in his arms. He didn't appear to notice. The man was brawny enough to carry an elephant.

"Sounds like self-torture to me."

"I suppose you just barrel through life thinking you can do whatever you damn well please because you're hot."

He pressed a hard, quick kiss to her temple and used both hands to knead her breasts. "You're hot and you don't do what you want."

Stacey snorted. "Compliments will not get you into my pants."

Connor reached up and cupped her cheek, angling her mouth to meet his. "No," he whispered against her lips, "but this will."

He yanked open her button fly, then shoved his hand into her jeans.

"No…"

His tongue thrust deep into her mouth, stemming her protest. He cupped her through her lace thong. "Yes," he purred, rubbing her swollen, needy pussy with skillful fingers, "you're wet, sweetheart."

She whimpered as he pushed the intruding material out of the way and touched her skin-to-skin.

"Tell me you want me," he rasped, the callused tip of his index finger sliding between her folds and stroking over her engorged clit. Back and forth. Caressing, circling.

The tension was intense, her breath panting, her legs straining.

"Oh! I'm going to come… Oh god…" Jesus, she'd gone so long without she was hair-trigger ready.

"Tell me you want me," he repeated.

Her hips swiveled and rocked into that maddening finger. "Does it matter?" she gasped, bucking like a wild thing within the cage of his powerful arms.

"Yes." His teeth sank into the taut muscle at her neck and she cried out in surprise. "It does. I want you. I want you to want me back."

Two long, thick fingers were pushing into her and she spasmed on the verge of climax. Her eyes closed and her head fell back against his chest. She was shivering violently, overwhelmed, teary. Her entire day had been an emotional overload and now he'd added lust and desire to the mix.

"Yes…" she sobbed, her nails digging into the forearm crossing between her breasts. It felt so good to be held and embraced. Wanted.

"Push your jeans down."

Stacey grabbed her waistband and shimmied her pants down to her knees, blinking back hot tears. Straightening, she reached for her purse on the granite-topped breakfast bar and pulled out the string of condoms she'd picked up a week ago. They were Magnum XL, a joke she thought would add levity to her upcoming "birds and the bees" talk. Now, she hoped they weren't too small. Connor was hung, a circumstance that only made her wetter, less resistant. My god… he was going to be
in
her…
soon
…

He thrust one foot between her legs and stepped down, shoving her pants down to the floor. Her butt bumped against his steely erection and his breath hissed between his teeth. His grip on her torso tightened. Her heart leapt with a flare of fright. He was a huge man and he seemed barely in control.

"Shh," he crooned, releasing her only long enough to put his hand beneath her shirt. With his hand over her racing heart, he paused, his chest heaving against her back. His face was damp and feverishly hot, and he pressed his cheek to hers roughly. "This isn't me. I'm not like this. I'm pushing you too fast—"

"I'm not like this either," she whispered, setting her hand over his through her tank top and moving it down to her breast. Her fingers rested atop his and squeezed, urging him to fondle the heavy, aching weight of her flesh. "And you're not going fast enough."

"I'm going to fuck you. I can't help it." His brogue was so thick she could hardly understand him. "Hard and fast. Then we'll start over. I'll make it good for you. Do it right."

Shaking her head, Stacey leaned forward, offering the most private part of her body to him. "Just do it. Right or wrong."

Connor rumbled something, then he tore open the box of condoms and broke into a foil packet. She forced herself to breathe in and out carefully, willing her brain to feel less dizzy, telling herself that this was a one-night stand, not a goddamn relationship. He didn't have to be "permanent" material; he just had to carry the right equipment and show her some consideration.

The man was best friends with Aidan, who was a great guy. That didn't make Connor a great guy, but it did make him slightly better than a complete stranger. And they were adults. They could indulge in a little gratuitous sex and still be civil. She wasn't repeating past mistakes, because she had no expectations that this would go beyond an orgasm. Right?
Right
?

Stacey had almost convinced herself that this encounter was only slightly more involved that using a vibrator when Connor grasped her thighs and lifted her effortlessly, stealing her balance in more ways than one. With a startled cry, she clung to the barstool and felt the world tilt.

Then he was there, the fat tip of him notching into the slick, slitted entrance to her pussy. She moaned as he nudged and he made a soothing sound that might have calmed her if she weren't out of her mind with lust and a hundred other emotions.

"Relax," he urged hoarsely. "Let me in. I've got you."

Panting, she willed herself limp, afraid that she would be too heavy and startled to realize that he held her aloft easily. He eased in an inch and she felt every groove and vein of him because she hugged him so tightly.

"Oh!"

"Touch yourself." Connor shuddered as he fed more of his thick cock into her. "Get yourself off. You're so tight…"

Stacey clung to the seat with one arm, while reaching a hand between her legs to rub. She was stretched wide and tight to accommodate him, which exposed her clit even further from its hood. She was swollen, hot, slick; more aroused than she'd ever remembered being. He sank deeper, pushing with shallow, rapid digs that made her mewl and beg. Her pussy fluttered around his cock and he groaned, his fingertips digging into the flesh of her thighs.

"That's it, baby," he whispered hoarsely. "Suck me in. Take all of me."