With Just Cause (6 page)

The color exactly matched his lashes, the
shade of his eyes, and the shadow of whisker growth atop his lip.
Deandra licked at her bottom lip. Wow. The guy was better than
gorgeous. She’d have to think of a proper word. She put an index
finger on the spot below his throat where he’d opened his shirt and
then started sliding down the opening. And everywhere she touched
tingled. Sparked. Fizzed. The feeling was akin to touching an
effervescent tablet with a wet finger, or something. And he wasn’t
helping. He was trembling in place.

Damn. He wore an undershirt.

Deandra’s explorations stopped at the cotton
garment and she started moving along the hem, tugging away his
shirt even more. Exploring. Thrilling. Grimm had impressive pecs.
Very impressive. Hard. Yet malleable. Striations erupted beneath
her finger as she moved along him. She felt the muscles tensing.
Tightening. Oh my.

“This... isn’t a good idea.”

The rumble of his words transferred to her
finger, making it vibrate against his skin.

“You’re joking, right?” she replied.

Deandra brought her other hand to his button
placket, pulled the tail from where he’d tucked it, and then
finished unfastening it. His shirt was classic Western cut. Nothing
rodeo fancy, but authentic. Fashioned from heavy cotton with a
light plaid weave in a tan shade, featuring pointed yoke, and snaps
with a pearled finish. It was well made. Impossible to rip off him,
even as she thought of it. Deandra moved her hands along his chest
to his shoulders and pushed the fabric onto his upper arms. And
then she was looking over ripped abs barely hidden beneath a white
cotton, sleeveless shirt.

Really ripped abs. Deandra’s hands moved
without orders to running along a washboard frame that trembled
beneath her explorations. Flat belly. Nice thick ridge of muscle
along his waist. She yanked the undershirt up and then pulled at
his belt buckle. The chunk of metal gave easily. Deandra held it
for a moment before pulling on the brown leather it was attached
to. His buckle wasn’t large or ornate or fancy. None of his attire
was. It spoke of workaday cowboy, not glitz and glam rodeo. He was
even wearing button-fly denims that dropped low on his hips as the
belt came free. And then he grabbed for her hands and stopped
her.

He wasn’t just trembling. He was shaking. It
took her into cadence with it.

“I wasn’t joking.”

The world beneath them rocked, making her
stumble. If she hadn’t been held by his hands, she might have
dropped to her knees. Then it ceased. Everything seemed to stop.
Even time. His eyes caught hers, ensnaring her with unfathomable
depths of black atop a mirrored surface of more black. Deep. Dark.
Matte-finish black. And everything on her answered. Deandra’s lips
opened, allowing pants of breath. Her nipples tightened, going to
nubs that rubbed and annoyed against her bra lining. She flushed.
The space about her heart heated. That muscle expanded, ramping her
pulse beat higher. Her knees weakened. Her thighs twitched.
Sensations moved higher, twanging a chord deep in her apex. Her
loins began to flex and release. Moistening. Growing heavy with
longing. Craving. Desire. Absolute need.

“Grimm...”

The name came out as a plea. A moan. A cry. A
combination of all three. The one thing it didn’t sound like was
her.

“You don’t understand.”

He tensed everything about him, moving her
closer with the tightening of his arms. He’d gritted his teeth,
too, putting slicing-sharp fangs on display. She couldn’t blink.
Think. Move. He looked feral. Untamed. Wild. Primal. And wholly
male.

And Deandra was caught.

“I haven’t been with... a woman. Not for...
some time.”

“Some time?” she managed to whisper.

“Yeah. Years.”

The instant feeling that rippled through her
veins like champagne bubbles was so close to euphoria, she felt
faint. Giddy. Overjoyed. Amazed. She cleared her throat in order to
answer.

“Oh. Good. I really... hate asking the
awkward stuff anyway.”

“Stuff?”

“You know. Stuff like... rubbers. Birth
control. Other... partners.”

He growled.
Growled.
The sound
emanated from him until bass tones filled the room, pulsating off
the walls. The real Deandra would have been annoyed. At the very
least. This Deandra was even more intrigued. Caught. She wouldn’t
have moved her eyes from him even if she’d been able to. She
narrowed the space between them, standing, not touching. Lifting
her chin. Pursing her lips. Trembling. Waiting. And then he lowered
his head to her, and matched his lips to hers.

The moment they kissed, Deandra lost all
semblance of control. She lunged for him, gripping him to her with
her arms beneath his while her hands grabbed at chunks of fabric.
Her breasts flared with spasms of desire that spread outward from
where they’d smashed against his pecs. Something pricked her lower
lip. A slight sting happened. And then a thrill such as nothing
she’d experienced. Ever. Her body shuddered through wave after wave
of ecstasy. Molten pleasure. Incredible bliss. And she wanted
more.

Drum-like pounding pulsed through her with a
power and volume beyond physical limitation. Throbbing with
intensity. Beating with intent. Deandra launched upward and he
caught her, and then held her tightly against him. She wrapped her
legs about his hips and ground her pelvis against his, her motions
matching the rhythm within her. The thrum. The building momentum.
Her entire body in the thrall of something so elemental and wild it
took any inhibitions and sent them packing.

More. She needed more. And she needed it
now
!

They rose somehow. Flew. Settled onto a
structure that rocked at the force of their landing. All, without
any sense of motion and little passing of time. Deandra didn’t
care. Her fingernails raked his back, her body lunged up against
his, trying for a closeness that couldn’t exist. Her shirt
disappeared. She barely felt the material tear. Her leggings slid
down, shoved there by a combination of one of her hands and one of
his. The spandex material snagged on an ankle before she kicked
them free. The buttons of his fly went next, sliding from their
holes with the eagerness of her fingers, and then she had him. Hot
and huge and heavy. In her hand.

His pants got shoved to his knees. Her
panties were the next bit of collateral damage, yanked until the
elastic gave up the effort and ripped. Hard hands grabbed for and
held her hips. Centered for him. Splayed. Opened. His rod touched,
the contact ratcheting the drumbeats in her ears into hard
pulsations of sound. And they were faster as well. Louder. And then
he lunged deep into her core, filling her. Completing her. Matching
to her with a groan that echoed through the caverns of their joined
mouths.

All prior experience shattered. Disappeared.
Got overwritten with pure beauty. Deandra’s torso bowed as his
curved, grasping and embracing for each thrust, somehow matching
the beat that filled her mind, her ears, her heart. Grimm moved his
kiss, sliding his lips to her chin. Along her jaw. He moved
lower... to her neck. Using his tongue to lap at the pulse beat
hammering against her skin. She felt a burn. A slicing sensation. A
cut. And then there was nothing but spasms of bliss, and they
radiated from where he lavished attention to her throat. Deandra
saw red. Smelled musk. Felt heat. Sensed moistness. And with each
bit of suction he applied, her body craved more.

More.

Grimm seemed to know, leaving off the laving
of her throat as he pushed up, positioning himself perfectly. Like
a sculpted god dropped to earth for her delectation and pleasure.
Deandra wrapped her legs about him and lunged upward, meeting each
thrust. Pulled away. Shoved against him again. Creating a symphony
of rhythm and tone. Over and over. Again and again. His rod
filling. Her body welcoming. Pressuring. Plowing. Pleasuring.
Pulling out. Thrusting back in. Trilling along her cavern sides
with heat and rigidity and tension. Each move was accompanied by
little grunts. Harder. Faster. More intense. The combination sent
her right over a waterfall of such wonder, she yanked her mouth
free of his in order to give the euphoric sensation sound. She had
wings and they’d been freed. Deandra arced her head backwards, her
mouth open and wide as the cry tore her throat, keening the
ecstatic throes of pleasure into the room.

And before she could catch breath, it started
again. Each movement adding to the last. Her heart beat ramped into
a drum roll, her breathing became pants. And everywhere was Grimm.
Solid. Thick. Thrusting and grunting and questing. The canopy above
them spun. Swiveled. Rocked crazily.

Grimm became a wild thing. Everything about
him taut and defined. Thrilling to watch. Incredible to experience.
Her legs tightened about him, staying connected through a series of
thrusts that made the mattress rock beneath them. The bed frame
creaked and shuddered. Rocked. And then she felt it again. Closer.
Nearer...

Deandra sucked a breath and held it. Her
heart was like a caged thing, beating unmercifully and powerfully
against her ribs. Her eyes slammed shut. Tighter. Fireworks
rocketed through the blackness. And then there was light. And
weightlessness. Paradise opened for her. Welcomed her. Embraced
her. The plethora of sensation taking her to a place she’d only
dreamt existed. Amazing her.

Grimm slammed into her. Pulled out. Again.
Ceaselessly. Increasingly. Then even that altered. His efforts
stronger. His movements fiercer. Harder. Heavier. His body thrust
into hers with a force that dented the mattress beneath them.
Deanna slit her eyes open, watching. Grimm moved a hand, grabbing
and holding her fitted exactly to him for a final shove upward,
everything on him hard and taut. Rigid. The deepest, bone-wrenching
groan emanated from him, coming in throes that matched every twitch
his body made. Deandra held him to her, enjoying how his body
pulsed against her with the cadence of his release. One with him.
Inseparable. They were suspended in midair. Adrift atop time.
Encapsulated in wonder. Just the two of them.

Deandra’s heart swelled with emotion, daring
her to deny... something. The wonder. The awe. She couldn’t
possibly feel anything. She wouldn’t. She didn’t. Her eyes blurred
with unshed tears. It was insane. But it was still there. She
vibrated with... something. Something mad. And impossibly
beautiful. For a man she’d just met.

And bedded.

The riot of pleasure ebbed in spurts that
matched the twitches of his body. He’d never felt anything like
this. Not even when he’d lived. His limbs felt leaden. His muscles
like mush. Shaky. Weak. Completely satiated. Grimm moved his head
down, took in her dew-touched gaze, and smiled, making certain his
lips stayed atop any uncommon feature.

He couldn’t tell her just yet. Despite how
much he wanted to. He’d never been with a woman like her. Brazen,
yet touched with innocence. Alive. Free. Open with her needs and
desires and wants. So different, yet... so perfect. Perfection
personified.

“Oh, Grimm. Man. That was. It was—I mean.
I’ve never. Wow. I mean seriously... wow. I can’t describe it. It
was...”

Breath touched his skin with every wonderful
word. He had to blink rapidly at an emotion long gone and buried.
He licked his lips and answered.

“Yeah. Me too.”

She giggled and Grimm flinched at how that
felt. And then he reddened. As impossible as it sounded. He could
feel the flush moving along his chest. Down to his... uh... where
it was still buried in her sweetness. Flesh to flesh. Naked. He
couldn’t even feel his pants. He had to glance away to get his
voice to work.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“You.”

He looked back. His brows rose. “Me?”

“Yes. You. Trying to get a word out of you is
like—well. For lack of a better phrase, it’s like pulling
teeth.”

“Oh.”

She giggled again. His belly tensed to absorb
the feeling again. And then he dropped to her side, separating them
and making the mattress sway. He finished with a roll onto his back
to look up at the canopy that used to drape his mother’s bed. The
one done in the Bradley family color scheme. Same as their livery.
Their automobiles. All sorts of shades of red. And gold. He puffed
out his lips. He’d snuck in and stolen it while they’d buried her.
And nobody ever knew.

“You see?”

“What?” he asked.

“Your loquaciousness. Actually, I’m referring
to your lack thereof.”

“What?”

“It’s a fancy word for being talkative.”

“I know. I’ve just never heard anyone use
it.”

She giggled again. “Well, I’ve not used it
before, either. But it seemed to fit. And you seem to be avoiding
the question.”

“What was it again?”

“Your reticence. Like words cost too much,
and you’re afraid to upset your bank balance or something.”

She had a great grasp of colorful language.
It was entertaining, and slightly challenging to keep up with her.
He worked at answering noncommittally, so he wouldn’t sound
defensive.

“There’s... not many about to talk to.”

She lifted her head as if to check out the
room, and then settled onto a raised elbow in order to look down at
him. Grimm didn’t fight locking gazes with her. She was his mate.
And he was one lucky fellow. She was beautiful. Candlelight imbued
everything with warm soft light, shadowing some places. Enhancing
others. Gazing into her eyes was mesmeric. He was willing prey.
Baited. Snagged. Caught.

Forever.

She hadn’t used artificial means to darken or
thicken or lengthen her lashes. No need. They were a darker shade
than her hair. Her eyes were a light gray shade. Maybe tinted
slightly with green. They complemented a peaches-and-cream
complexion that contained the slightest dusting of freckles across
the bridge of her nose. She might be of Irish descent. He couldn’t
tell and didn’t care. Gold streaks ran her brown hair as if she was
about in the sun often. It was middle-back length. Locks of it
trailed about her shoulders and arms like fringe from a silken
cloak. He didn’t recollect pulling her pony-tail binding out. Or
how. Or when.