“Okay.” She moved down his stomach, his abs contracting harshly under her lips after each damp kiss. She added her hands and stroked over his rib cage, seeming to savor his strength and the taut skin, the hard muscles.
“That…”—he swallowed, bumping his head back as he fought a groan, his arms rested and motionless above him—“feels good, too.”
She went lower, and drew back to stare at his cock with eyes that felt like caresses. A milky drop had gathered at the tip, and her mouth opened to take it. She lapped it with her tongue. “Ahh, Christ.” His hip shot upward and swiveled.
She angled back to meet his gaze. “That feels … good?”
“Incredible.”
Lips curving with a sensual knowledge he found hot as hell, she bent her head, and when she kissed him fully on the tip, she pulled the next drop of semen into her mouth with that feisty tongue. He fisted his hands up above him, suddenly suffering in his restraints, unused to not being able to touch her, wanting to feel her hair, her skin, her breasts … throbbing to do all of those things and more, throbbing and pulsing as she played with him with her hot little mouth. “God, that feels so fucking good.”
She seemed lost in what she was doing now, her eyes only for his cock, her tongue totally monogamous to it as she seemed to be determined to drink every single drop of pre-come that came forward. He was leaking like crazy, drunk and fevered, as he wondered if she was going to leave anything for tomorrow.
Again and again he felt his wetness emerge from the sheer agony of his need, and watched her tongue twirl around it and pick it up. Her eyes drifted shut, and she moaned softly. Fierce tremors of need were running down his body. He wanted to be in her pussy and her mouth, both at the same time, his hands all over her. All. Over. Her.
She rubbed his hard thighs and then cupped his scrotum. He had big, dense testicles to match the size of his shaft—and he saw the way her nipples puckered even more as she fondled that part of him, those swollen, dusky little points looking about as juicy as peaches right now. His tongue felt restless in his mouth.
Her fingers curled into fists, one over the other, so that together they almost covered the base of his shaft, and as she slid them upward to meet her mouth, Daniel started pumping, losing it.
Her mouth was lava around the tip, her fingers and hands clenching him, and when she moaned as though his pleasure were her own, he just lost it. He jetted into her mouth with a harsh bark of pleasure, his arms straining above him, and when she drew back to watch him lose it, working him with her fists until he’d spurted every last drop, her eyes were dark and glazed with arousal.
“Danny,” she murmured, the name imploring him as she quickly unhooked his wrists and pushed one of his hands between her legs. She was on her knees at his side, almost thrusting her hips into his shoulder, clutching his jaw, burying her face in his hair. “Please, please,” she groaned, pushing her hips to his hand, rubbing herself against him.
God, how could I have lived all my life without you, Monica?
“Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmured, drawing her to him by spreading his free hand on her butt and anchoring her to his body, his other hand teasing his fingers into her pussy. As he watched, his chest trembled at the sight of the magnificent woman against him rocking her pelvis in trusting surrender, coming apart as soon as he fed her his two longest fingers.
She exploded with a soft cry, a cry he claimed with his mouth, and when she went lax, he gently gathered her to him, whispering to her, telling her he’d wanted to hold her for years, that she fit just right in the crook of his neck, that as she burrowed in his arms he could feel the peace in her body, the peace in his.
After days of torment, he felt the tendrils of sleep tugging him as he brushed her hair back and kissed her forehead.
She was groggy, lying limp and tired against him. He kissed her on the lips, and she shuddered. Her hand clenched on the back of his neck, locking herself to him.
He’d held her before, like this. They hadn’t been sweaty and sated. They hadn’t been slick with their juices and tired from their lovemaking. But it was just as easy, just as right, as ever.
* * *
She dreamed of them again.
Always that same dream, always of that day.
“Promise me you will never, ever, give any man your heart, Monica, like I did. You keep it to yourself. Give your virginity away—that doesn’t matter—but you never, ever, give anyone the power to hurt you. You have to promise me no matter what happens to me.”
She looked wild, her mother. Her hair undone as it had been for the past months, her eyes bloodshot. “But Father loves you,” Monica said, trying to soothe her.
“He never did, never!” She was packing up his things, having Monica help her. “Come, help me pack this. We’re not leaving, but he sure as hell won’t be staying here with us anymore. We’re getting this house, we’re getting Davenport’s, we’re getting the last penny—see how much his little woman likes him then—otherwise I’m not even signing the divorce!”
Monica folded her father’s sweater to perfection. It smelled of cologne, and it made her chest constrict, and all she could do was fold up that sweater. Her family was falling apart and she was folding the sweater, making sure all the buttons were buttoned to the top.
“You should always be with someone who loves you more than you do him. Always.” Her mother kissed her forehead. “You’re a smart girl, you’re smarter than both of us. You won’t ever fall for a man after knowing this is in store for you. You will choose a partner with your head, not your heart, Monica.”
Monica thought of Daniel Lexington, and his twinkling green eyes and that wickedly sexy smile, and the way he’d looked months ago in the Pacific Ocean when he’d traipsed off the Lexington’s yacht and into the deep blue water. He’d come up behind her like a shark, and she made a squeal, thinking she was drowning because his hands had been on her waist. Instead he propped her up on the stairs and then followed her up, slicking his head back.
She thought later that day of the way he’d called her princess, of all the ways he smiled and paid even more attention to her than he had to his own sister. Her mother suddenly seemed to read her mind. “That boy’s not for you. These rich men, they’re born pampered. They think they deserve it all: the wife, the mistress, the groupies. Don’t ever love any of them. Not any man, much less one like him!”
Monica nodded, shocked at the change in her mother.
“Baby, I know you wanted to go to college, but maybe you’ll stay here with me?” Her mother’s chin trembled, and she started crying. “Oh, Monica, Monica, sometimes I don’t even want to live.…”