Breezy was his woman, and he knew everything that aroused her. He’d made it an art to seduce her. To please her. To bring her every bit of pleasure possible under their circumstances. Now he had her without the Swords surrounding them, which gave him endless possibilities. He hadn’t forgotten one detail. Not one. He’d introduced her to so many pleasures and intended to introduce her to many more.
He kept his hand there, the pad of one finger stroking her bare skin. She was soft. He closed his eyes and savored the way her skin felt. She didn’t move. She didn’t make a sound. He had known she wouldn’t. Breezy might not want to be his, but she was. She belonged to him and she always would, just as he knew there would be no other for him.
He knew as much as he was deliberately seducing her, she was doing the same for him, although innocently. She wasn’t in the least trying, and his body was already hers and always would be. He pushed the hair aside from the back of her neck and leaned in to inhale her scent and then blow warm air on her nape. He felt the little tremor that went through her body. It was subtle, but he was acutely tuned to every nuance.
He pressed his lips against her nape. Just touched her there. “Isn’t the view incredible? I did worry about lighting. If, for instance, we wanted to sleep in, the morning light would wake us up early. On the other hand, I’d hate to cover the view, so I had electronic blackout drapes installed. What do you think?” He kissed her again, more for himself this time.
“Steele.”
There was apprehension in her voice. Caution. She wanted to escape, but both of them knew there was no way that was going to happen.
“Breezy.” He let the genuine ache into his voice. The absolute need. He knew, above anything else, that would be seductive, even irresistible to her.
She shook her head, but she didn’t move, not even when he reached around her and unbuttoned the jacket. His jacket. He had been careful to pack one that didn’t have his colors on it. The club was a problem, and that was way down the line of things to address. He slid the jacket down her arms, not moving back even an inch so he had to carefully work the denim from between them.
She shivered. Shook her head a second time. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“It’s the only good idea I’ve had in a very long time.” He pressed another kiss to her neck this time, and then her shoulder. That was always one of her very erogenous spots, and nothing had changed. Her breath hitched.
He felt her hesitate again and then she started to push away from the glass, away from him, and he knew she was thinking of those three women he’d partied with. Dick move. Stupid. And it hadn’t done a damn thing for him except nearly lose his woman all over again. He also knew she had known the moment they entered the house that he would have her. She knew what would happen, and she’d entered anyway. He knew that was her consent. Intellectually, she didn’t want him, and he couldn’t blame her, but her body needed his nearly as much as he needed her. Still, he didn’t want to give her the time to talk herself out of it, and she was thinking about doing just that.
He knew Breezy. He knew what got her going fast, and it wasn’t a gentle seduction. That was foreplay, but it wasn’t what would tip the scales in his favor. He caught the hem of her shirt and ripped it over her head, tossing it aside. At the same time, he took control of the nape of her neck and pushed her against the glass aggressively.
Her breath exploded out of her lungs in a gasp of pure need. He stripped away her bra and had his palms filled with her generous breasts. For a moment he heard the roar of his blood in his ears, felt the chaos in his head. That fever of need only Breezy could bring him. He woke up night after night needing her. A frenzy of desire. A fever. His head pounded as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. A million ugly images poured in, images only Breezy could drive out.
He took a breath and let himself just feel the soft weight of her breasts while his mouth took her neck, trailing burning kisses, using the edge of his teeth and his seductive tongue from her neck to her ear and back to her shoulder. Then his fingers were at her nipples. He’d fallen in love with her nipples. He liked that she was sensitive in a way he could play, not so sensitive that she didn’t like the things he did.
“Kick off your shoes.” He didn’t ask. He made it a command.
Breezy responded to his demands, and the more he poured authority into his voice, the more she wanted him. It was the first thing he’d noticed about her and the one that turned him on the most. She was perfect for him. Made for him. He needed that from her, and she’d always given it to him. She did now. She toed her shoes off obediently.
“Open your jeans.” His voice had turned gravelly. A growl more than human. His cock felt as if it might explode. The first time wasn’t going to be slow. It had been too long for him. Far too long.
Steele knew her body, and the moment she complied, dropping her hands to the waistband and opening her jeans, he spun her around and yanked on the offending denim, almost desperate to get to her. He wasn’t a desperate man. He was a deliberate one. His seductions were always thoughtful, methodical, all about his intended prey. He didn’t know if he could keep this time all about Breezy. Fortunately, she responded to his aggression.
He felt aggressive. He felt dominant. He wanted her a million times in a million ways. He never wanted her out of his sight again. She thought it was a great concession that he said she could go with them to get their son. He would never have left her behind. When he stripped her jeans from her, he took her panties as well, leaving her completely naked.
She took his breath away. For a moment, all he could do was look at her. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Bree.” Before she could respond, he swept his arm around her, locking her close and bent his head to her breast. He wasn’t gentle. She didn’t like gentle. She liked—him. His method of seduction. She thought he fucked her. He had fucked hundreds, maybe more, in his earlier years. He knew this wasn’t that. With Breezy, it had never been that, no matter how rough with her he got—and he needed rough.
His mouth was hot and wet, and her breasts were soft, made for him. He used his teeth and tongue, tugging and rolling her nipple. Suckling hard and then abruptly changing it up, so that she never knew which sensation she was going to get from his mouth or hands. He could spend hours working her body. Hours. He had before, keeping her on edge, right on that very brink, never letting her tip over until he allowed it. He loved that shit. Loved that she gave him that. He knew the sound of her voice. Those mewls. Those pleas. The little sobbing gasp of his name. He knew when she was ready and that she’d go big. So big. The orgasms would rush over her, taking them both, drowning them, rolling them in so much pleasure he couldn’t see straight.
His woman. Breezy. There was no one else in the world like her. No one else for him. No one else could make him as hard as a fucking rock. They couldn’t make him fight for control. That was all her. He kissed his way down her stomach. So soft. She’d nestled his child there and he hadn’t been there for that. He hadn’t kissed her the way he was doing now, showing her he loved every inch of her, pregnant or not.
He dropped to his knees, yanking her legs apart, and then he had the taste of her in his mouth and she was keening that soft little sound that drove him out of his mind. Breezy. She gave him solace. She gave him everything. Things he didn’t think possible. He gave her everything he was and more. When he was with her, he was a man, not a monster.
He drove her up fast, using his teeth and tongue. His fingers. He was greedy for her, that a
phrodisiac only she could provide. For him, her taste had been addicting from the first moment he’d put his mouth on her.
Her hands went to his shoulders, gripping hard, fingers digging into his flesh right through his shirt. She threw back her head as her body came apart, rippling around his fingers. She’d had a baby, yet she felt tight to him, and there was always that thrill of wondering if he was going to fit, to stretch her beyond her means to take him.
He was up, spinning her around, pressing her to the glass while he undid his jeans with one hand and took his heavy cock in his hand, positioning, pressing home. She was home. She would always be home.
“Use a condom.”
“I’m clean.” He didn’t want anything between them. He never had.
“You don’t know that, Steele. Use a condom or we don’t go there.” Even as she dictated to him, she was pressing back against him, her breath coming in ragged little explosive gasps.
“Baby, I’m telling you I know for a fact that I’m clean. I had to be inside those bitches to get unclean, and that didn’t happen. Let me. I need you right now, Bree. I swear to you on my fucking colors that I’m clean.”
He was lodged there, her heat and fire surrounding the crown of his cock. Squeezing him tightly. Pulling at him. Her body as greedy for his as his was for hers. He waited, and it nearly killed him. Thunder roared in his ears. He felt a jackhammer pounding relentlessly at his brain, the one that was sometimes there when she was close, and he needed her desperately.
“Please be telling the truth,” she whispered and nodded.
He slammed home, not taking chances she might change her mind, plowing through those tight folds that drove him out of his mind. Instantly he was gripped in a silken, fiery fist. Her sheath felt like paradise, so perfect there was no way his memories or his imagination could have prepared him for the feeling of ecstasy.