"Yes," she cried, her mouth hard against his, the sound muffled as he finger-fucked her hard and deep.
"God, Mina, you feel so good."
"Cam," she begged. "I want you inside me."
"Do you have any idea how much I want that, too?"
"Please," she urged, grinding against his hand. She felt lost. Drunk. And she'd only had the one glass of wine, and dammit, she wasn't even scared anymore. She was high on his touch, wild with need. Perfectly sober and drowning in lust and desire and a sexual craving that was so intense it bordered on painful.
Slowly, his fingers moved inside her, and she bit her lip, wriggling against his hand. "You feel so amazing," he said. "I want you, and I'm just drunk enough to take you right here."
"Yes," she said. "Oh, God, yes." She felt her body clench tight around his fingers, then heard his soft sound of surprise and pleasure at the evidence of just how much that idea appealed to her.
He bent his head closer to her ear, his slick fingers stroking her shaved pussy as he slid in and out in a rhythm designed to make her crazed.
"Oh, God, baby," he murmured, his lips caressing the corner of her mouth. "You feel so good it's making me dizzy. I want to turn you around and take you hard against this wall, then get on my knees, spread your legs and taste every inch of you. I want to tease you with my tongue until you beg me to make you come, and I'm just drunk enough to tell you all this out loud."
"Don't just tell me," she whimpered, craving an explosion that seemed just out of reach. "Do it," she begged, so ready for his touch, so desperate to lose herself to him. "Cameron, yes. Now, please."
"I want to," he said, and there was pain in his voice. "You don't know how much I want to."
She looked into his eyes and saw the blue-gray steel of resolve.
"But not now," he whispered, tearing her heart in two. "Not like this."
* * *
Cameron couldn't believe he was actually putting the brakes on. Especially since every cell in his body wanted to turn her around, cup his hands over her breasts, and take her hard. To make her his. To erase the thought of every other guy so that she saw only him. Wanted only him.
And he would.
But not like this. Not in a stinking alley.
She deserved candlelight and silk sheets. Strawberries and champagne. At the very least, she deserved a bed--not to have her back scratched up by rough brick as he buried himself in her. Not to have her remember the rank odor of rotting food instead of the scent of him and the musk of sex.
"Cam. Please."
She stood right in front of him, her mouth mere inches from his, her body boxed in by his palms that were now flat on the brick wall behind her. Her voice was a plea and her eyes--her wonderfully sober eyes--brimmed with a green fire that sparked with blatant, sexual need.
He felt his cock grow harder as his need grew and his resolve faded. He might be a fool who believed he could chase down a thug with a knife, but none of that mattered because this woman--this gorgeous, vibrant, amazing woman--wanted him.
Her hand slid down to cup his balls, and he moaned as liquid fire poured through him. He felt as weak as a kitten and as strong as Hercules, and he leaned forward, burying his face at the crook of her neck as she murmured, "Please. Oh, God, Cam, please."
Yes, he thought. Oh, hell, yes. His hands moved to cup her perfect ass. To tug her roughly against him so that he felt the press of her everywhere. Thighs, sex, breasts.
His heart pounded in time with hers, and he knew that if she said his name one more time he really would take her right there--and he also knew that he'd regret it in the morning. Her voice was a plea, an incantation. And he was just tipsy enough to fall under its spell.
With supreme effort, he gathered his resolve. "Not here." Roughly, he pulled away, the motion taking more effort than any regimen of torture he'd ever suffered in Matthew's gym. For the first time in years he regretted not staying in the South Austin house he and Kiki had inherited from their grandmother. A house where there was privacy. Tons of privacy.
But the house was rented now, and he bunked in a co-op near campus, paid for by his scholarship's housing allowance. But there was no way in hell he was making love to Mina in a ratty twin bed with his suite-mate in the next room jacking off to their moans and the squeak of his bed springs.
"My place." Her voice burned into him, hoarse and urgent.
He thought of Darryl and his room that looked out over the grounds--and Mina's apartment. "Are you sure?"
"Hell, yes."
Thank God.