The Hotter You Burn (The Original Heartbreakers 2)

“Only with you.” He was on her a second later, pressing her against the cool RV wall. His lips smashed into hers, his tongue driving into her mouth to demand its due.

She told herself to pull away, to push him away—something. They hadn’t come to any kind of understanding, and he’d just arranged for her to go out with another man. But she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life, even tilting her head and welcoming him deeper. The desire always simmering below the surface of her skin boiled out of control, spilling over, consuming every inch of her.

Her legs trembled, her knees weakened. He balled the hem of her dress and pulled it to her waist, right at her panty line. Warm, sultry air brushed against her tingling flesh.

“You wet for me?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Only me?”

She pressed her lips together, refusing to answer.

A muscle jumped beneath his eye. “Let’s see.” He moved his hand to just under her navel and slowly traced his fingertips down, down, sliding under her panties.

The anticipation was too much. “Beck. Please.”

“Wider.” He nipped at her ear and, not content to wait, kicked her legs apart. As she gasped, he wedged one of those big fingers inside her. He groaned, and she moaned, arching forward, seeking more.

“Soaking,” he praised. “Let me taste.”

She thought he would pull his finger out, maybe lick it, and that would have been the hottest thing she’d ever seen. But he dropped to his knees, and her breath hitched. This was hotter.

“Hope these aren’t your favorite.” With a single tug, he ripped the side of her panties, baring her to his view.

Tremors of excitement, of need, cascaded over her. The moon was out, and the porch light was on, both casting muted golden ribbons their way, but the wall of the RV cast a wide shadow the ribbons couldn’t reach, hiding them from prying eyes.

“Wish the sun were shining,” he said, and he sounded drugged. “I want to see you bathed in light.”

“Beck.”

He leaned in, his warm breath fanning over her. His tongue flicked out, touching her for the first time, and she cried out in delight. Her hips moved of their own accord, following his motions.

It was... He was... Can’t think.

“So sweet,” he praised. “You are like honeyed cocaine, baby.”

He’d aroused her before, and he’d made her come, but the arousal had never been this ragged or intense. Her new cries, panting breaths and whimpers echoed through the night, a song of desire.

“Beck, I’m so close.”

“You hold out as long as you can.” His voice lashed with command. “I’m not even close to being done with you.”

Hold out? She tried, oh, she tried, but his tongue worked her harder and faster, worked black magic. Then he brought his fingers into play, sinking two inside her, stretching her, and she saw stars behind her lids, screaming as she finally fell over the edge of desire.

As she quaked with aftereffects, he pushed to his feet. He towered over her, his expression one of absolute hunger, the playful side to him utterly vanquished, his gaze devouring her face the way his mouth had just devoured another part of her, practically consuming her whole.

“I want you.” He unbuttoned his pants, lowered the zipper. “Here, now.”

Yes. “Beck, I...” Stop. Think.

He gripped his length with one hand, wound a lock of her hair with the other. “Say yes, Harlow. I’ll take care of you. I swear I’ll take care of you.”

But for how long?

Crap! Crap, crap, crap. Ice-cold waves washed over her, invading her bloodstream, dousing the fire he’d stoked, and she realized she was right back where she’d started: going nowhere fast.

“Beck...” She had to tell him the truth, and she had to make him understand why she wanted what she wanted. “I can’t do this. I’m not casual about sex. I’ve never been casual about sex. I... Beck, I’ve never been with a man, and I can’t—I won’t—give my virginity to a one-night stand.”

He stiffened, shook his head as if he’d misheard her. “But...you can’t be...” He scrubbed a hand over his face, different emotions playing in his golden eyes. Anger. Longing. Relief. Even possessiveness?

“I’ve been up-front about my long-term goals from the beginning. I plan to give myself to the man I’m committed to, and no one else.” Be that man. Please.

He released her, refastening his pants as he backed away. Considering she’d nearly gone up in flames a few moments before, the forced separation almost killed her; she had to swallow a cry.

“I... I’m sorry, Harlow,” he stammered. “I didn’t know, or I never would have pushed you...” He looked so lost, so broken. “You’re a prize, and you’re worth more than what I can give you. I’m sorry,” he repeated. Then the stubborn male turned, walked up the drive and disappeared inside the farmhouse.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A WEEK PASSED. An entire week without a phone call or text from Beck. Actually, no, that wasn’t true. Harlow received a text from him the morning after she’d revealed her virgin state. He told her to take the day off, that he had things handled at the office.

As one day bled into another, he stayed away from her as if she’d told him she had an infectious disease—or that she was the only woman in the world who could get pregnant with eye contact. Not once had he shown up in the morning to drive her to work, so she’d holed up in the RV to sketch, leaving the game sets and characters she finished on the desk in Beck’s bedroom.