went over the edge.
In the back of her head, she realized that all her previous orgasms had been tiny bursts, inconsequential flutters of pleasure. In Connor’s arms, she experienced something completely different. This orgasm flashed white-hot, blistering through her system. The pleasure seized her, possessed her. She jolted against his hand and went wild, trying to squeeze out every second of the exquisite sensation. For long moments, she twisted in his grip, like a marionette dancing for a puppet master as he prolonged the ecstasy far longer than she had the breath to scream.
Finally, Lara fell back, completely exhausted.
The world upended as he stood, cradling her in his arms as if she weighed nothing at all.
“Good. Now that we have that out of the way, it’s my turn. And I don’t intend to go easy on you.”
She shivered at the promise in his voice. She’d been sure she couldn’t possibly experience anything more earth-shattering than what he’d just given her, but Lara was suddenly convinced that he intended to try.
She didn’t bother to put her arms around him. Connor wouldn’t let her fall. She’d finally found the man she could trust with her body. She knew her heart was already halfway there, too.
“Anything you want,” she vowed.
He carried her into her bedroom, and Lara was certain that she would never be the same again.
SEVEN
Connor couldn’t remember a time when his dick had been harder. He’d been worried about how silent the damn thing had been since Greta had nearly fileted him. She’d been a supermodel of an operative. Sex on two very long, dangerous legs. He’d had some of the world’s most stunning women in his bed, but this short, curvy little sprite who’d induced him to dry hump her like a fucking fifteen-year-old had nearly undone him. He never lost control like that, and he swore as he carried her into her bedroom that he wouldn’t do it again. He wasn’t going to sink into her and fucking forget why he’d tracked her down in the first place. He would make sure she was taken care of but he wasn’t going to lose his head.
Or anything else.
She trusted him. She’d proven it by giving herself over to him. The minute her body had fully relaxed, he knew he had her. All he had to do was reach out and take, and she would be his—only his.
That was the moment he’d decided to keep her.
Anything you want, she’d offered him.
Well, he’d never wanted anything more than he wanted her, but he could manage that desire. He could wrap her up in bonds so strong that when she discovered the truth, she would still choose him. Eventually, he would tell her his real name and that those close boyhood friends he’d mentioned were now superpowerful men, but she never had to know everything. He’d tell her that he’d acted to protect her. If he gave her enough pleasure, she would believe him and stay. He could have all that warmth and softness for himself.
He laid her down on the bed and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt. He tugged it over his head and tossed it aside. He would take care of her and provide for her. She never had to know he was anything but an analyst with the CIA. He would pull back on foreign assignments and he would make sure she stayed out of trouble.
In exchange, he would give her the family she craved, the stability she required. Hell, he would find all the dirt on her parents and bury it so no one would ever find it—especially her. He would protect her and her folks the way he’d protected his friends all these years. Surely that was a good exchange.
He shoved out of his jeans, his cock desperate to be free.
She’d managed to sit up among the myriad pillows that littered her bed. Her dark hair fell in tumbling waves all the way down to her breasts, curling around one nipple. Now that he had her naked, she seemed perfectly comfortable. She watched him, her eyes wide. She looked ethereal in the moonlit room, like any fairy princess should. The drapes were open, but her unit was up higher than all the surrounding buildings, so he didn’t worry about anyone peeking in.
He liked seeing her in the silvery shadows. It made her skin glow. And as she watched him undress, her stare zipped right to his cock and a flush darkened her cheeks.
“Do you like what you see, princess?” He found himself a bit self-conscious. Every inch of her skin was dewy perfection. He was covered in scars. He was older than her other lovers. She tended toward doe-eyed idealists. He was as far from that as a man could be.
She twisted up, crawling toward him in a way that made her breasts bounce, and his dick tightened almost painfully. She balanced on her knees, ass resting on her heels, her hands perched on her thighs as she looked him over. “You’re a beautiful man. I’ve never known anyone like you.”
His gut coiled up. She didn’t know him at all. He couldn’t correct her, so he rationalized his every deceit. If he hadn’t come after her, Roman would have sent someone else who wouldn’t have even tried to protect her. He could still make this right for her. He would.
“Come here,” he cajoled. “Touch me.”
He needed to slow down, feel her hands on him. Now that he had her in her bedroom, he wanted to take this slow. They only had one first time together.
It damn sure wouldn’t be their last.
When had he turned into a fucking sentimental old man?
As he’d been thinking in circles, Lara had risen to stand in front of him. She touched her palm to his chest and brushed over his skin, her fingers finding the scars. She caressed the thin white line on his bicep leftover from a knife fight in Macau. She traced the jagged flesh along his ribs where he’d taken fire from a double agent in Dubai.
She stopped at the newest mottled flesh, a short but nasty scar from the blade Greta had shoved into his chest. She leaned over and placed her lips there.
The moment vibrated. Sensation rushed him.
Stunned and unmoving, Connor barely dared to breathe as she kissed her way across his chest. Her hair fell against his skin, a soft touch that sensitized him. As if he needed to be more sensitive to her. His cock was so hard he was sure it would thump against her belly in a desperate bid for attention.
Finally her hands made their way to his hips.
She bit her bottom lip and cautiously brushed her hand over his unruly cock. Her fingertips found the head of his dick and she seemed utterly fascinated by the pearly drop seeping there. It was evidence he’d been so close to the edge. She swiped her thumb across it and he was right back there, fighting against the loss of control.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take another second of her hands on him or he would lose it. “Lie down on the bed. I want your ass on the edge, knees in the air, wide apart.”
“What?” She shook her head like she hadn’t heard him properly.
He sank a hand into all that hair and used it to tilt her head up so she was forced to look him in the eyes. “You. Bed. Edge. Legs spread. I’m going to eat your pussy and you’re going to lie very still while I make a meal out of you.”
Her breath came in sexy gasps. Her heavy breasts with their hard tips pointing up, along with her pink cheeks and dilated pupils, were like a barometer for her arousal. Not three minutes after her first orgasm, she was starting to squirm.
He could seize control again by making her beg. “Now.”
She nodded and nearly stumbled in her haste to reach the bed. Once she’d decided to obey him, she did it with all the enthusiasm she put into one of her causes. If she felt awkward now, he couldn’t tell. Her breasts bounced as she lay back on the bed and splayed out. “I’ve always wanted to know what this felt like.”
How could she make him laugh in the middle of something that felt so fucking serious? Or incite that twinge in his chest when he realized no man had ever given her this pleasure. There was zero artifice in the way she acted. She wasn’t trying to seduce secrets out of him. She wasn’t trying to gain the upper hand. She simply wanted him to make her come again, to make her scream, and she would enthusiastically comply with his every order to get it.
“
Touch yourself. Stroke your pussy.” He had to be very specific.