Taming His Tutor

Thank heavens.

She needed it. The orgasm hadn’t satisfied—instead it had aggravated the hunger inside her. She arched her neck, tilting her head so her lips were his to own. And he took full possession. His mouth ravaged. Long, hungry, rhythmic sucks, his tongue stroking in a demanding circular exploration of her mouth.

She tried to kiss back, to suck back.

But the languor was invading.

Deep in her belly that warm poison was spreading. Loosening her limbs, her muscles, her mind. She rested her head on the wood behind her—letting him go as deep as he liked in her mouth. Wishing he’d go as deep as he could inside her.

How could he do this with just a kiss?

But it wasn’t just a kiss. It was an all-out sexual onslaught.

His hands tightened on her wrists. He was taller, bigger, and he used every ounce of his vastly superior size to dominate her.

And she liked the helplessness. Relished the way he was ravishing her. She wanted him to do everything.

Her skin tightened, ultrasensitive. Clothes. Why was she still wearing clothes that hindered his access?

“You want me to fuck you,” he muttered harshly into her ear. “You want some big strong man to carry you off and make you come. Repeatedly. You want that man to be me.”

She gasped at his blunt arrogance. Pride made her lash out. “You’re full of it.”

“Absolutely. And you want it.” He grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze again. “You want me. Say it?”

He was so arrogant. But the worst thing was, she didn’t care. He saw right through her. She wanted it all. And just him stating it had her on the edge of another intense orgasm. How in the hell was that possible?

Damned if she could pull herself together enough to answer. All she managed was to open her mouth.

He pressed against her, kissing her full on the lips again. Fucking her mouth with his tongue until she was hot, melting, and writhing. She needed him to touch her, wanted his big hand to slide up her thigh again. Only this time she wanted him to go further. She wanted him to shove his hand down her waistband, pull aside her panties, and thrust deep. Fingers, cock, tongue.

She hurt with wanting so much. All of him.

He thrust his muscular thigh between hers and rocked his pelvis against her in slow, rough moves. And she just let him. He muttered between kisses. Talking dirty—telling her what he knew she wanted him to do. Turning her on in a way she never would have expected.

More. But she didn’t ask, didn’t move…it was all she could do to stay upright.

…

Brake, brake, brake.

Joe lifted his head and silently regarded her. What had started as a tease was out of hand; he was seconds from seeing through a raging fuck-fest. He knew he should pull her away from the door so he could open it and steer them both back to the crowded bar. It was that or pull her pants to her thighs, whip out his cock, and shove it inside her in the next two seconds. So not the smooth moves he was used to. What was with this sudden psycho urge to screw her ASAP? He never felt this out-of-control hot and hard for a woman. Sex had always come carefree and easy and fun. That’s how he liked it. Wanted it. Would have it.

Just for fun.

He took what was offered, never pushed for more. He sure as hell was pushing now—imprisoning her, using every touch to make her want him. Demanding she admit it and offer—what? More than what he was used to?

This driving urge was all more than he was used to.

But seeing that guy Pete eat her with his eyes? Standing so close to her? He’d been so damn obvious about what he wanted to do.

No matter that it was exactly what Joe wanted to do. He wasn’t going to stand for another guy offering it. No, if Abbi wanted to practice her moves, then he was going to be her sparring partner.

He’d had to stake his claim. But shit, that had escalated in a moment he hadn’t originally intended. At least, not so soon. And now? Lust was rampaging through him. The things he wanted to do—now, hard, fast, again.

She’d gone off like a firecracker in less than five. Watching her come? Watching her eyes glaze and her lips part? Hearing her breathless little sigh?

Her compliance turned him on so tight he was about to burst. Somehow she’d unleashed a temptation he didn’t think he could resist.

When had he ever wanted a woman like this? Until now he’d just taken what a woman offered—taken less. A fuck or five and a wave good-bye.

But Abbi? He wanted to push her into letting him do anything…

His cock strained harder against his jeans. His body screamed to be buried in her tight, wet heat. The want in his gut was so bad, he hurt worse than when he’d fallen and his bone had smashed through muscle and skin on live TV.

He wanted her too bad.

He should walk away. Joe always had to be able to walk away. He could take it or leave it. Anything. He needed nothing from no one. Ever.

But for the life of him, he couldn’t peel his hands from where they pressed against the door on either side of her head.

Imprisoning her.

A door slammed nearby. A shout of laughter echoed even louder as a bunch of supporters walked right by the room they were using. Hell, they were at a baseball game with thousands of other people, hardly out of public view, and he was almost at the point of fucking her. He loved sex, but he wasn’t an exhibitionist.

None of this was Joe’s usual modus operandi. He might play but he didn’t risk public displays of lust. Maybe it was from too many years in the sports media and all the training from team management, warning them to avoid groupie trouble. Clearly he’d been working too hard recently and needed a blowout.

She didn’t deserve to be taken in such an out-of-control fashion. It’d be over in less than five seconds the way he was feeling. He’d never been so out of control. Never been so angry. Never been so turned on. Never wanted a woman so badly.

But Abbi deserved better.

Fuck.

This should be slower. Less intense. Was she really ready for this kind of casual screw, even with that wannabe vixen cloak and spurt of sassy talk? Least he could do was hit pause and double-check. And gain some control.

But before his very eyes she was retreating. He straightened, lowered his arms to his sides. She visibly pulled herself together and fixed her clothes, stepping to the side now that he’d backed off.

“You wanna check out the game?” he asked, meaning whatever kind of game she wanted. He wanted to see what she’d say—whether she could maintain that playful talk.

But she didn’t say anything. She’d reverted to shy silence. Hell, she even blushed.

“Come on,” he said, suddenly irritated with himself because he shouldn’t care.

But he did.

They walked out into the corridor, smack into the middle of a crowd of hyped baseball supporters.

“Hey, it’s Joe Fuller!”

He tensed. He’d long since learned that while die-hard sports fans had their favorite sports, they liked talking any kind of sport. And they liked nothing more than talking sport to a pro. Even an ex-pro like him.

“Man, how’s your leg?” The one who’d recognized him followed up with the inevitable. “That was a shocker…”

Never mind that it had been healed a couple of years now; thanks to the internet, people could see that horror as often as they wanted. Like it was yesterday.

“I’m good, thanks.” But he wasn’t. Abbi was three feet away from him and letting herself get pushed farther away from him as the group of guys stepped closer. Guys who’d clearly been making the most of the corporate box’s complimentary drinks.

“Wow, that second-to-last game you played? It was—”

Joe’s brows lifted, even as he tuned out. This guy was a basketball freak, but now really wasn’t the time.

“Hang on a sec. Hey Abbi—” he called over to her.

She smiled, but it was a strained one. “Don’t worry. You stay

and talk. I’ll get going. Ball games aren’t really my thing.”

He didn’t want her to leave. Not yet. Not without talking. “Abbi—”

But was a repeat of this morning already—a quick flick of the wrist, this time a wave, and she was gone.

“Sorry, dude.” The basketball fan looked so apologetic it was comical. “You better go after her. She’s—”

Joe gave the guy a hard look and lifted his hand.

Silence.

“Sorry,” the guy mumbled again.

“Don’t worry about it.” Joe forced a smile to settle things.

Once again he was faced with a choice. And once again, he let her run. He knew he’d gone too fast. For all her wannabe vixen attitude, Abbi was still a go-slow kind of girl. She’d escaped the first chance she’d gotten. And probably, wasn’t that for the best?

She’d be better off without him.

That was a fact.

…

Five minutes later Abbi slumped in the backseat of the taxi, innards stewing in a hot soup of deflated desire, embarrassment, and confusion.