He plunged inside without warning. She let out a semi-startled moan and heard him groan at the same time. His forehead fell to hers as he swirled his finger inside. She gave up; she pushed against him, adjusting her leg just a tiny bit. Ahh. . . there. Oh, God, that was it, that was the place.
But he wasn’t through questioning her yet. “The dude in the ballroom. The motherfucker who had his arm around you.”
“No. . . nobody,” she panted, unable to think of anything but the magic his fingers were creating.
“Don’t give me that shit. You feel me inside, baby?” He pushed harder, swirled in a larger circle around her inner walls, making her entire body short-circuit. “Let me explain it to you,” he growled. “Nobody puts their fucking hands on you again, understand me?”
Christ. The guy was a maniac. “You . . . no. . . you can’t tell me what to do.”
“No? I think I fucking can. But don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. You’re not going to have much of a goddamn choice.” With that, his lips fell back to hers and anything else she might have said was silenced by his mouth on hers.
Maria was swamped on all fronts by basic, sexual need. Under the onslaught of his mouth, teeth and tongue, she could barely breathe. She became light-headed, and all the feeling in her body seemed to dive and circulate around a pulse-point between her thighs. He added a second finger to the first, and the impact was electrifying. His thumb rubbed against her clit, and she was aware of the bulge of his erection pushing into the fabric of her dress, pressing so hard that his belt buckle began pinching into her.
It should have hurt, it would have hurt if she hadn’t been so far gone. If anyone walked in on them . . .but all she could focus on was his incredible scent . . . he smelled so good. Tantalizing . . . addictive . . . her hormones were going crazy. She felt as if she’d never recover from this one sexual encounter for the rest of her life to be able to enjoy anything else. Ever. Her brain splintered in two with the thought and as she felt him push against her, with his fingers, his lips, his tongue, she began splintering in two for real as she began falling over the edge.
She heard whimpers in the background, a noise that turned into a wail, and then she was blinded on all sides as ecstasy swamped her senses. Cataclysmic heat ran down her veins and centered at the intimate place where they were connected.
As soon as she began breathing again, Garrett ripped his mouth away from hers. Holding her pressed against the wall with his torso, he removed his hand from her and immediately went to work unfastening the enclosure on his pants.
Danger signs began lighting up inside her head. They were blinking as if she were on a road leading to a dark cliff that she couldn’t see, but that she knew was there. Undoubtedly, she’d end up somewhere where she’d crash and burn. “Garrett, no.”
She pushed against him, her sudden about-face taking him by surprise and allowing her to pull away from him so she stood just beyond his reach. His hands stilled on his pants as the look of a dangerous animal crossed his features. “No?”
She began shaking her head and backing away, not even looking or realizing where she was going.
His hand shot out and grabbed her arm, forcibly pulling her into his chest and away from the steps behind her. Her heart began hammering at what she’d almost done, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to cry.
But she never cried.
And she wasn’t about to start now. And certainly not in front of Garrett Rule. “Let me go. I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” She pulled back, but he clamped her wrist, holding her still.
His eyes ran over her, from top to bottom and she couldn’t read his expression. But what came out of his mouth shocked her silly. “I’ll never forget the way you look in that dress, you coming on my fingers, not until the day I die.”
Though earthy and erotic, it was an almost romantic thing for him to say, and it only upset her more. She tugged on her arm again, but he didn’t release her. He began walking up the steps to the fourth floor, all but dragging her with him. Apprehension clawed down her spine. “Where are we going?”
“I’m escorting you to your room.”
“I don’t need an escort.”
He stopped and turned to face her. “You think I’m going to leave you on the stairwell, all alone?”
She recognized the uncompromising set of his features and chose not to argue with him about it. Clamping her lips shut, she began walking toward the steel door of the stairwell. He pushed it open and held it for her, never once releasing her wrist.