Undercover Engagement (Private Pleasures 5)

He brought his mouth down on hers. Hard. Desperate. Transmitting every bit of his bone-deep relief to see her—just to have her there—along with all his frustration over their whole fucked up situation. A lone brain cell somewhere in the back of his head warned him she probably hadn’t come here to be shoved against a wall and kissed with a passion that bordered on punishing. She’d probably come for a fucking explanation about the fucking video.

But maybe she had come for the kiss, because her hands rushed up to touch his cheeks, to stroke his jaw while her mouth devoured his with equal urgency. His hands wanted to think so. They were everywhere—in her hair, holding her head captive, yanking her blouse from her jeans, tugging buttons apart. Several gave way, pinging across the hardwood.

When he pushed her bra aside to cover her breast, she moaned into his mouth and arched into his touch. A second later she broke the kiss and gasped, “Talk. I came to talk. To tell you…”

To tell him he was a born liar? To tell him she didn’t trust him? To tell him he wasn’t worthy to lick her boots? He already knew these things but wasn’t sure he could bear hearing them from her right now. Without warning, he dropped to his knees and started dragging her jeans down. “You go ahead and talk, choux. I’m busy.”

She clawed at his T-shirt. He endured the loss of her skin under his lips for the seconds it took for her to whip the dang thing over his head. Then his hands were back with a vengeance, reclaiming her breasts, guiding them to his lips to do things he knew she couldn’t resist. Yeah, he thought with satisfaction after drawing one tight nipple into his mouth. All she could do was hold his head and submit.

He’d explain. He would, and he’d make her believe him. But why start with words? She’d witnessed his fast talk and didn’t trust it. But their bodies had never lied to each other. His was completely incapable of lying to hers. He slid his hands into her jeans, cupped her ass. She clung to his shoulders while he freed them from pretenses like denim and silk. When he nuzzled the soft skin below her belly button she folded her body over him, around him, as if she needed to absorb as much of him as she could with as much of her as possible. As if her body had missed his. His had sure as hell missed her. The scent of her. The heaven of her skin against his. Her taste. Her.

“Please,” she gasped, straightening when he trailed his lips lower. “We need to talk.” But she rocked her hips to hurry him rather than pull away. He locked his shoulders and arms. Clasped her tight, making sure she knew she could rely on his strength. His support. His arms wouldn’t falter. His hands wouldn’t drop her. In that she could trust.

He dipped his head and used his lips and tongue to tell her what was in his mind, his heart. His soul. On his hands and knees, with her leg over his shoulder and her body braced against the wall, he told her everything, again and again, while her skin gleamed with a sheen of sweat, and her fingers twisted in his hair.

“Please,” she said again, and this time the word was a whimper.

“Please what, choux?”

She shivered as his breath teased every nerve ending his mouth and tongue had whipped to a fever pitch.

“Please…I have something to say.”

“Say it.” His voice came out rougher, more challenging than he’d intended. He couldn’t seem to reel himself in. “Say it. I’m not stopping you.” But he intended to do his best. Yes, he did. If she thought she could come here tonight and tell him, ‘Adios, Motherfucker,’ without him putting up a fight, she was wrong. Committed to the fight, he grabbed her, shifted them both, and lay her flat on her back on the entryway floor. Before she could do more than let out a cry of surprise, he had her legs over his shoulders and his hands on her hips. “Say it while I’m inside you. I dare you to, choux.”

Her hands found his at her hips and covered them. She arched her body impatiently. “Then you better get inside me, cooyon.”

One smooth surge and he was home. So deep, so tight. It felt like she’d never let him go. She never would, if he had anything to do with it. Could it just be that fucking simple, for once? His cock was inside her and all was right with the universe. Because that’s how it felt.

But not how it was. He crawled closer, forcing her legs higher and wider as he brought his face within an inch of hers. Gray-green eyes slowly focused on him. “Say it,” he urged, punctuating the demand with a thrust. Why was he doing this to himself? Her lips parted, and suddenly afraid she might actually win the dare, he threw his head back and moved inside her with renewed desperation.

“I…trust…you.”

She panted the words over his frenzy of thrusts. Had he heard her right?

“To make you come?”

Her fingers slid into his hair, pulled his face down to hers. She kissed him. Their lips bounced together because he wouldn’t stop moving. Couldn’t.

“I…trust…you…with…everything.” She said the words quickly, gasping them into the space between each frantic thrust.

What? Even with his muscles burning and nerves about to fire all over the place, that brought him to a stop. Holy shit, had this actually worked? “The video…”

She clamped her hands on his ass, writhed under him. “I don’t care about the video. Don’t stop.”

He had to stop. He couldn’t move. He was for real frozen. Yes, he’d intended to win this encounter but figured the win would look a lot like Eden agreeing to give him another chance because she was letting her pussy do the deciding, sort of hating herself, and him, for bringing it down to such a primitive level. That had been a best-case scenario. Her, staring deep into his eyes, telling him she trusted him in spite of the video? That did not compute. “I—I can explain.”

“Don’t,” she repeated, and took advantage of th

e moment to execute a lightning-fast roll and flip their positions. Then it was his turn to writhe on the floor as she settled herself on him and began to move with renewed purpose. “I don’t need an explanation. I trust you. That’s it.”

It wasn’t it. It didn’t make any sense. She was entitled to that explanation. Unfortunately, every rock of her hips destroyed major cognitive functions. His ability to hold onto coherent thought was slipping fast. “But…”

The word trailed off into a groan when she fell forward onto her hands, so her hair surrounded them like a privacy screen. Her eyes glowed green in the intimate space. “No buts. I trust you straight down the line. I trust you on my six.”

So fierce. So beautiful. His heart jackhammered in his chest. Emotions clogged his throat. An orgasm of epic proportions gathered energy from every cell in his body, pulled every muscle to vibrating tension. This thing was going to rip through him like 22 calibers at extremely close range. Forcing what he hoped was a smile, he reached around and grabbed her busy ass, tried to slow it down. “I fucking love this six.”

“I know.” She wouldn’t be slowed. “I got that much from the nickname.”