“Yes,” she said, rocking against his hand, faster, harder, searching, needing. She grasped his neck and hauled his mouth to hers. Their teeth knocked, but she didn’t care. She just knew she might die if she didn’t have him touching her everywhere he could and penetrating her every way he could. His tongue filled her mouth and his fingers filled the aching place between her legs, and the hard heel of his hand rubbed against her again and again where she was most sensitive and most desperate and suddenly about to come apart in his arms.
The orgasm was shattering, the most powerful thing she’d ever felt in her life. She nearly screamed into Dare’s mouth and he grasped the side of her face, holding her through it, almost praising her in the gentleness of the touch.
“Fuck, yeah,” he rasped, easing his hand from between her legs. He brought his fingers to his mouth, and, looking her right in the eye, he slowly licked at the wetness on his skin.
Haven’s mouth dropped open as she watched him savor what he’d just brought out of her. Without even thinking, she grasped his wrist and licked the back of his middle finger.
Dare’s eyes flared. “Jesus Christ, Haven, I need in you,” he said, tugging his hand free so he could unbutton his jeans. He shoved the denim and a pair of boxers down over his hips until they were hanging on his thighs, and then his fist circled his erection and stroked it hard, once, twice.
Haven watched hungrily, finding what he was doing incredibly erotic but a little intimidating, too. Dare was much bigger than Zach had been—his whole body and that particular part of him. A man where Zach had been a boy. She wasn’t a virgin, but it had been a long time, and it suddenly made her nervous.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, stepping in close again, the hanging denim heavy against her legs, his moving hand bumping his knuckles and the head of his erection against her belly.
“You,” she whispered. Despite the nerves, she was utterly sure. “I want you.”
He shuddered out a breath. “What am I . . .” He shook his head. “I should slow this down, lay you out, do this right.” He grasped her hand and made to pull her toward the door.
“No,” she said, tugging against his hold. “Here. Now.” Part of her was afraid she’d freak out in the time it took to go wherever he wanted to take her, but a part of her liked the idea of it here. In the bathroom. Standing up. Against the wall.
His eyebrow lifted, and he gave her a slow up-and-down look that set her body on fire.
“Now, Dare,” she said, her voice shaky but her mind made up.
The approval that slid into his expression lit her up inside. He stepped out of his boots and the rest of his clothes until he stood gloriously naked in front of her. Tattoos—some pictures, some words—ran the length of his lean body, along with more than a few scars. His body was rugged, strong, utterly masculine.
He retrieved something from the wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. And then he ripped open the little square wrapper and placed the rubber against his tip. As he rolled it on, he watched her watching him until she thought she might die of anticipation. And the fact that he’d thought of it—when her brain had barreled right past the consideration for protection—proved that she was entrusting this moment to the right man.
God, Dare really was the right man. For her. Except—
“Here?” he rasped, boxing her up against the wall again. The contact chased away her thoughts, especially as he pushed his erection between her legs and rubbed the thick head against her clit.
She nodded and grasped his shoulder. Instinct had her sliding her leg up the outside of his until her thigh hooked on his hip. With one hand, he grasped her leg and helped hold it there, and with the other, he guided his blunt tip deeper between her legs until he was probing her entrance.
“Now?” he asked, his eyes absolutely on fire.
“Now,” she breathed, tilting her hips, aligning her need with his promise.
“It’s been a long fucking time for you, Haven. Don’t let me hurt you,” he said.
The words made her smile. “Just the fact that you said that makes me know you won’t.”
“Jesus.” His hips thrust forward, just a little, but enough to impale her on his tip.
She moaned and arched, her head falling back and her hips angling toward him. Wanting more. Needing all of him.
“Fuck,” Dare bit out, the raw desperation of the curse making her wetter, allowing her to take more of him. And, finally, all of him.
Dare was big, and it had been a long time, and the feeling of fullness and stretching was a little uncomfortable. But it was something more than that, too—it was . . . it was freedom. She was free, free to choose this, to choose him. “Oh, God,” she cried. “Move. Please move.”