Imaginary Lines (New York Leopards 3)

My cheeks flared with heat. “No, of course not.”

He started to smile.

“I mean, sure, in middle school—and high school—and part of college, yes—I was madly infatuated with you. And then I wasn’t—”

“Of course not,” he put in dryly.

“And then I was totally over you, but I’d sort of missed the experimenting years. Like I was very clueless. Like I was nineteen and had never kissed anyone.”

His smile widened.

I rolled my eyes. “And then I could hook up with people, but I could never sleep with them. It was all just much too fast. Also, I am probably broken.”

“Tamar.” He caught my hand. “You’re not broken.”

That was sweet and appreciated, but incorrect. “Thank you.” I held my thumb and forefinger apart an inch. “But I am at least a little bit.”

He shook his head and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “But I’m right. You did wait for me.”

“No, I just—” I swallowed. “I trust you. And I have...very deep and long-lasting feelings toward you. So, do I want you to be the first person I have sex with? Yeah.” I shot him an arch look as payback for the never-never comment. “My roommates think it will get you out of my system.”

His jaw firmed up, and in an instant he had pulled me flush against his body and kissed me so intensely all thought fled my mind, replaced with a perfect storm of heat and desire. His mouth played a symphony of pleasure against mine. It reverberated throughout my entire body until I was weak and clung to him.

When he raised his head, he was smiling in satisfaction, and I was utterly breathless. “What was that?”

“That,” he said, “was to let you know that you will never get me out of your system, Tamar Rosenfeld.”

For a moment I just stared at him, and then I pulled him down to me, devouring him. He met me in stride, and we fell back against the pillows. Suspended like that, his arms braced on either side of me and his hair falling into his eyes, he looked like an angel. Though the way he played my body was anything but angelic, and sinful pleasure flowed through my body.

Pressure built in me, an unceasing ache between my legs, a burning in my core. Abraham kissed me harder, his mouth bruising mine, taking everything until I writhed on the sheets, my only sensation of silk and skin. His hand ran up my body, caressing my hip and trailing across my stomach until he took hold of my breast in a massaging grip that left me moaning in painful desire as he stroked my flesh. “Please,” I begged, the word nothing more than a gasp. “Please.”

His mouth lowered to my other breast and drew my nipple in. It was a terrible, erotic torture—the heat and firmness of his tongue and lips, the aching pain of his teeth. I wanted everything. My fingers tangled in his sand-streaked hair and I arched my back to bring us closer. I could feel his desire hard against me, and his size and strength simultaneously scared me and drove me mad. I pulled him back to my mouth for another soul-deep kiss, a meeting and melding that left me shaking.

I wrapped my legs around him. “Please.”

He groaned and pushed closer. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. I need you.”

He pushed himself up on his forearms and stared down at me. He gleamed with sweat and desire, and his eyes took up his whole face, painfully beautiful. “Are you sure?”

“Abraham,” I begged, rocking against him. My hands pulled at his shoulders and my feet slid against his calves. “I need you. Now.”

He pressed a hot, mind-blowing kiss to my neck and lowered himself slowly into me.

He was so much, so large, and I had never done anything like this before. I could feel my body stretching painfully to accommodate him. My fingers raked down his back, dragging against his skin as I opened my mouth wide. I was on fire, I was nothing, I was everything. He moved down with excruciating slowness, and I let out a long gasp that quickly accelerated into shuddering, moaning cries. I dug into his shoulders and my head fell back as a slice of pain cut through me. My nails cut into his muscles. Oh, God. This was everything. I lay there in perfect stillness, trying to just breathe, just understand. He pressed his mouth to the base of my neck, his breathing labored. “I can stop if you want.”

“No.” I moved tentatively and shivers of pleasure rocked through me. “Oh, God.”

He groaned, as if it was too much. “Tamar, don’t move if you don’t want me to lose control.”

I kissed him greedily. “I want you.” I bucked experimentally, and the desire that spiraled out made me greedy for more.

He groaned, and then withdrew slightly and slowly buried himself back in me, sending liquid pleasure through me, heat that coiled and spun, forming connections of building desire that I couldn’t quite grasp. I rocked against him, faster, harder.

And then he lost control, wild now, plunging and plummeting, so quickly that we were both ablaze. There was no control anymore, no anything, just the fierce dance of our bodies, the beat, the rhythm, the everything, and I wanted more and more and I was blind except for him, it had always been him, and it would always be him—

He let out a great shout, a great noise that ripped from his throat. And then I felt the crystalline desire break me apart, a shattering of tension, bringing a great, crashing wave of pleasure and relief that lost the world to me. There was no world. Only the forever of the night and the brightness of the moon, carrying me on a dizzying rush through the stars. I was awash in desire and joy and happiness, aware of only one thing.