Temptation’s Edge (6 page)

Even if the way he held her made her
heart
melt, for the first time in her life.

She was being ridiculous. They’d just met. And she was not that kind of girl. She’d just have to keep telling herself that until this terrible, strange yearning went away.

Moonlight shone through the pale rice paper of the window shades, just enough that he could see her still form outlined beneath the down quilt. It had slipped from her shoulders in her sleep, revealing the curve of one luscious breast pressed beneath her arm. He glanced at the clock; it was after two. Which meant they hadn’t been asleep for long. He felt as though he’d been sleeping for hours, he was so groggy. Or maybe it was the softness that was
her
that made him feel a little dizzy. Out of his head.

He
was
a little out of his head. He’d dreamed of her. They’d just met, and he was dreaming of her, for fuck’s sake! Even now he couldn’t stop staring at her. Wondering…what? If she would stay in his bed for as long as possible in the morning, certainly. Maybe take a long, hot shower with him. Soap her up, feel her lush body slippery with soap. Maybe fuck her again in the shower. Even better, maybe bend her over his big glass dining room table and give her a good spanking. The one he couldn’t give her until
they’d worked through their negotiations. He’d been too caught up in her earlier to talk. He’d had to have her as soon as he could. He’d barely been able to hold off long enough to make her come a few times, even though he’d wanted her to. Watching a woman come always really killed him. Watching Mischa come…

He moaned, remembering the sounds she made, her hot, panting breath, her clenching pussy.

When was the last time any woman had challenged his sense of absolute control the way she did? The control that was too necessary to his role as a dominant—to the way he lived his life—to even question.

He scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. This woman was different. He’d come to understand that right away. The way she made his blood run hot, just looking at her. Talking with her. Unbelievable.

And now, seeing her in his bed, her skin washed silver in the moonlight…Hell, he was turning into some kind of romantic, suddenly. But romance wasn’t what had his pulse hammering, his cock coming up hard. It was the scent of sex that hung in the cool night air. The scent of woman next to him. The heat of her body under the covers.

He reached out, pulled the covers down a bit to see her better. She sighed in her sleep, rolled onto her back. Lord, she had the most perfect breasts he’d ever seen in his life. They were full, her nipples large. They were hardening, from the cold air, probably. Tempting as hell. His cock pulsed.

Need to touch her…

He leaned in, whispered in her ear, “Come on, Mischa. Wake up.”

“Hmm?”

“Wake up, darlin’. I need to fuck you again.”

“Ah, Connor.”

She reached for him, still half asleep, her eyes not even open. There was a small smile on her mouth as she wrapped a soft hand behind his neck and pulled him in.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He slid on top of her, her plush breasts crushed beneath his chest. She was spreading her thighs already. And he was hard as stone for her. It was all he could do to reach for a condom, to raise himself up long enough to sheath himself before he slid into her.

Ah, but she was hot and silky—he could feel it through the latex. And so damn tight. She wrapped her legs around his back, her arms around his neck, her hands in his hair. He began to move, trying not to hurt her, but really needing to just fuck her, to push into her until he was as deep as he could go. Her hips were arching into his, harder and harder, taking him in, and she was making small rasping, panting noises that were driving him crazy.

“Connor, please…”

“What do you need?”

“I just…God, I need more.”

He slipped his hands under her, held on tight to her fine ass, raising her hips so he could change angles, move even deeper inside her.

She was really moving, fucking him as much as he was her, her nails digging into his shoulders. Pleasure was like a coiled snake in his belly, tighter and tighter, making him shiver. It spread, into his balls, his
brain
.

“That’s it, darlin’…yes. Come on, fuck me. That’s it.”

He reached in between them, pressed his fingers onto her hard little clit.

“Oh, that’s good,” she murmured.

They moved faster, moved together. He rubbed at her clit as he thrust into her, and soon she was crying out.

“Ah, Connor! Yes!”

He felt her pussy clamp hard around his cock as she came, a hot, clasping fist. She was trembling all over, her nails digging deeper into his flesh. Pleasure crested, the small bit of pain from her nails driving him on—the sharp spasms, the scent of her climax, driving him even harder.

He came, his body shaking with it. His head reeling. One shock of pleasure after another, reverberating through his system, his balls pulling tight.

He was groaning—he could hear himself as if from a distance. Heard her soft sighs. It was several moments before he became aware that he was still fucking her, even after his climax, and hers, were over. He couldn’t get enough of her—her soft body, her sweet, silky pussy.

Her.

Ridiculous.

She was just all hot woman. Fucking beautiful. Responsive as hell. What man wouldn’t be taken with her?

He pulled out of her, meant to pull away. But he caught a glimpse of her face, so damn lovely in the light of the moon, with her recent pleasure making her features soft and loose. Her eyes were gleaming from beneath half-closed lids, her red lips were parted. And he couldn’t help himself, he had to kiss her, his mouth coming down on hers.

She was soft and hot inside her mouth as she opened to him. Her lips were sweet, her tongue even sweeter. And soon they were making out like two teenagers. Just kissing like crazy, eating each other up. He couldn’t get hard again; not so soon. But there was some strange driving
need
there he didn’t understand. They were just kissing, hands in each other’s hair, and hers was like satin, tangling in his fingers.

She was panting into his mouth. He loved the feel of it. Of her rising excitement. He wanted to touch her, make her come
again. He wasn’t about to stop kissing her—it was too good. He moved to the side just enough that he could reach down between her thighs, slip over the smooth skin of her shaved cleft. Found her soaking wet again. It made his belly, his worn cock, clench. He’d fuck her again right now if he could. But while he waited to recover, he’d just slide in her juices, let his hand fuck her.

She moaned as he stroked her wet slit, angled his hand so he could press two fingers inside her and circle her hard clitoris with his thumb. Immediately her hips were pumping. Her hot pussy taking his fingers in, clenching hard. He thrust into her, pressed hard onto her clit. Merciless. Desperate. He needed her to come into his hand. Needed to feel that pleasure in her body. Needed to keep on kissing her like this: mouths open, tongues twining. Everything wet and hot and
her
.

In moments she was coming again, moaning into his mouth. Her pussy flooded, soaking his hand. And unbelievably, his cock went hard once more.

He muttered something—he didn’t know what—as he reached, half blind, for another condom. Then he was on her, pushing into that silken flesh.

“Connor, please, just fuck me…I need you to…just…ah…”

He wanted to fuck her hard, fuck her through the wall, his need was so urgent. But once he was inside her she melted all over, her whole body softening under his. He was still kissing her, but more slowly now, letting her set the pace. And somehow the desperation turned into something else, some wild need for this slow, almost sleepy motion. Their hips pumped together. Her tongue surged softly into his mouth. And his cock pushed into her. But it was as if the whole world had slowed down so that he could really
feel
it all.

Softness.

Woman.

Mischa.

Her hands went to his hips, smoothed over his buttocks, pulled him in tighter. Her fingers flexed, dug a little into his flesh. But even that was softer, somehow.

When he came this time, it was like heat and water, the sensation liquid, undulating through him. And when it was over he was still kissing her, and she was kissing him back, making quiet little sighing sounds, just breathing into him.

His cock softened, he slipped out, and still they were kissing. Until they both grew sleepy, the kissing slowing until it was just their lips resting together. He fell asleep.

Mischa blinked in the dim light of dawn. She felt the heat of Connor’s big body beside her, heard the gentle rhythm of his breathing. And remembered that quiet space they’d shared in the middle of the night.

She ran her hands through her hair, staring up at the ceiling, exhaling slowly. Had it really happened? That slow, sleepy sex. The intensity of it, even though it had all flowed without effort, without thought, even. As if they were in a dream.

No man had ever kissed her that way. As if he’d die without it. They’d never stopped kissing for a moment. And it had been…wonderful.

But now, she had to question what it had really been about. Was the intensity simply what happened with a guy who was so deeply into the power play thing? She’d heard those heavy BDSM relationships were very impassioned, the connections strong—not that this was a relationship, by any means. Or was it just some momentary romantic fantasy? Not that she was the kind of woman who had those sorts of fantasies. And Connor hadn’t
struck her as being that kind of man. The idea that he’d want anything more than a night or two of hot sex was frankly silly.

But three or four wouldn’t be bad…and maybe more. She did plan to stay in Seattle for two weeks, until Dylan’s wedding arrangements were settled and she’d made a decision about going into business with Greyson. Two weeks with Connor…

She sat up, holding the down comforter over her bare breasts.

Bad idea. Very bad. If she was feeling this confused, this vulnerable, after one night with him, before they’d even had a chance to get to the real kink, how much more might that open her to him? She knew very well where that could lead—down a bumpy road she had no intention of following, one with inevitable damage at the end. The kind of damage her mother had suffered at the hands of the men she had loved.

She saw it in her mind’s eye like a movie playing, the haunting memories from her childhood she couldn’t seem to shake blending together into one raw, aching image. Her mother lying in a darkened room for days, her face swollen with tears. The inevitable ashtray overrun with ashes, the acrid scent of pot smoke in the air. The bed or couch or futon may have been different from year to year as Evie moved them around from apartment to commune to funky cottage, but her mother was always the same. Falling hard for some man, immersing herself in romantic fantasies that were crushed when the guy left. And the guy
always
left. Her mother’s inability to get a grasp on reality had too often left Mischa to care for her younger sister, to care for her
mother
, from too young an age. She remembered shaking Evie awake, trying to get her to eat. To get up and take a shower, take her and Raine to school. No kid should have to do that. No kid should have to witness the way Evie had allowed herself to be ravaged by love. No woman should allow that to happen.

Mischa shook herself. She was
not
falling in love. That wasn’t
what this was about. She didn’t know what it was, exactly. But every alarm bell in her head was going off, shrieking at her, and she wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

She got out of the bed as quietly as she could, found her clothes, slipped into them, trying very hard not to look at Connor. But it was impossible. He was too large, too imposing, even as he slept.

The light filtering through the shades was a pale, misty gray. But she could see him, the sheer size of him, the muscles in his shoulder as he lay on his side. His face was as beautiful as any man she’d ever seen, despite the rugged bone structure, the purely masculine lines, that scar beneath his right eye. Somehow, even as he slept his expression, his
presence
, held authority.

She shivered and told herself she was just cold as she turned away, tiptoeing down the hall, her shoes in her hand. She glanced up and found a row of erotic drawings on the long hallway wall, women in various states of undress, various states of bondage. She paused in front of one sketch—the woman looked very much like her, with long, wavy pale hair, a lot of tattoos. Some other woman he’d had sex with, probably. Had he slept with them all? Not that it was any of her business. None of her concern. Connor Galloway could do whatever he liked. Except fuck with her head. Which was why she was leaving.

She found her coat on the big sofa, had a brief flash of him pushing her down on the cushions, going down on her, doing things with his mouth she’d only ever
thought
she’d experienced before.