“Now.” He reached between them, pinching her clit.
“Wait.” She didn’t want to lose this sensation, the near-mindless bliss as they took each other.
“Yes,” he hissed. He drove into her again, nipping at the curve of her throat and she lost it, coming again, clenching around him and holding him tight. Like her pleasure was the permission slip he’d needed, he hammered into her hard, coming with her as he whispered her name over and over as if it was his passport to someplace special he couldn’t wait to be.
12
HE DIDN’T WANT to untie her. He did it, anyway, because Laney trusted him and leaving her bound to the bed, while fun for him, would probably scare the crap out of her until she figured out the hitch knots came undone easily. The pretty pink ties were silky smooth, the material running through his fingers like water. And that was part of the game, wasn’t it? She could slip away from him just as easily.
“You okay?” He rubbed a thumb over her wrists. The ties had left faint marks. He pressed his lips against her pinkened skin. The gesture wasn’t smooth, and he was definitely tipping his hand, but he did it, anyhow. As strong as she was, the bones of her wrist felt delicate, pale blue veins visible beneath the skin.
“I thought you weren’t a fan of the post-mortem,” she murmured sleepily. He’d worn her out, or maybe that was the multiple orgasms. Leaping on top of the covers and beating his chest seemed too caveman-like, so he settled for tucking the ties away in the pants he swiped from the floor. Souvenir. Something to remember her by when she’d left the island and he’d completed his mission here. She’d go home—and he’d go find himself a new battlefield.
“You were beautiful,” he whispered roughly.
“That was one hell of a fantasy, and you’re amazing.” She shifted, burrowing in and getting comfortable. He was losing her to the bed. “When can we do it again?”
His dick voted for now as she settled her butt against his front and inched closer. But she hadn’t been talking about the sex being amazing. At least he didn’t think so. She’d said he was amazing. It made him feel good, better than good, but it also meant it was time to retreat. Things were getting too personal between them. Making Laney’s sexual fantasies come true was great, but he couldn’t give her anything else. He was all body, no heart. And she deserved more. He didn’t know how to love someone—let alone say I love you or commit to any future more than a week out. All of which meant he needed to pull back, put some space between them and act like a Boy Scout—hands off.
His libido—and possibly a different organ higher up—protested.
“Gray?” Her sleepy voice was half-muffled by the pillow she’d buried her face in.
“Yeah?” He reached over to switch off the light. He’d like to make love to her in the daylight, watch her face as she came. Then he could watch all the little expressions on her face, see the pucker she got on her forehead as she concentrated on his touch and the way she bit her lower lip. They hadn’t done daylight sex. Somehow fantasies seemed like midnight material. “I’m right here.”
“Hold me?” She didn’t wait for his agreement. Instead, she rolled over and flopped onto his chest, her fingers tangling in his dog tags as she planted her head over his heart.
Did he know how to get the holding thing right? Because she wasn’t just asking him to put his arm around her, was she? It was part of that whole Gray, you’re amazing problem. She was asking him to cozy up emotionally and for that she needed a different man.
Over my dead body, his traitorous heart protested.
“Don’t overthink it.” She grinned up at him sleepily. “Holding me isn’t rocket science.”
No, but getting it right mattered. Making her happy mattered. He was screwed here in ways far beyond the sexual. He tucked an arm around her and settled back against the mountain of pillows she’d accumulated from somewhere. One bed. One pillow. That was how his bed had always worked, because he didn’t do sleepovers. Instead, she had enough pillows for two SEAL units.
“Scoot down some,” she mumbled. “We need to work on your cuddling skills.”
As he processed that, she proceeded to bang her head around his rib cage, her chin digging into his chest, as she made herself comfortable. Eventually, she settled for draping one leg over his, her arm tucked around his middle. He had no idea where she’d managed to store the other arm, but it seemed like an anatomical impossibility.
“See? Isn’t that better?” Her hair tickled his armpit, and if she moved too quickly, he’d be singing soprano. So okay. It was also pretty damn perfect. He could do this. He should probably tell her how amazing she’d been or how gorgeous she looked. She’d complimented him, after all, so he needed to level the playing field some.