Master in Shining Armor (Masters Unleashed 4)

“Shh. Don’t move.”

He wedged his hand between her and the bed and ran his fingers over her swollen clit. Unable to help it, her pussy fluttered around his cock, and she choked on her breath. He worked her up to the point where she was moaning and gasping, struggling to stay still, but she wanted to move—she wanted it rough—and he was determined to make her come again with just his hand?

The frustration at not being allowed to move made her all the hotter. Tension built through her whole body, curling her toes, twisting her fingers into the pristine bedding. Her pussy clamped down on his rock-hard cock, seizing at the first moment of orgasm for a long, long moment. He was suddenly in motion, stealing her breath with a vicious thrust that rattled her teeth, just as her pussy started to milk his cock.

His fingers tortured her sore clit, teasing and hurting, making his rough, jarring use spark agonizing pleasure behind her eyelids and throughout her body. She screamed into the mattress as her body tried to process the pleasure and the pain as his dick hammered into her, turning her knees to water. All she could do was twist under him, never wanting the killer orgasm to end while wishing she could stop. There was too much—so much it was almost painful—was painful. Oh God, but it was glorious.

“You feel too fucking good,” he growled. He gave her one last thrust before his fingers tightened like metal on her hips. Another wave of ecstasy rolled through her, and she sobbed brokenly, unable to stop her body from coming. He grunted, and his cock throbbed inside her as he found his own release. A cry of elation and exhaustion escaped her and she melted against the mattress, not entirely sure she’d ever be able to unliquefy her muscles. Or her brain.

He collapsed on top of her, covering her small, shivering body with his big, warm one. His hand stroked her thigh, and he was murmuring something in her ear, but she couldn’t piece together what he was saying. Something about

how a woman like her belonged in a collar. She tried to be offended, but she got the feeling that from him it was the highest of compliments. The simple and necessary act of him pulling out left her with regrets that it was over, although her pussy was sore. So were her nipples. And her ass cheeks. And her thighs.

For a moment, he disappeared into the bathroom, then was back to unbuckle her ankles. Rather than letting her sort herself out, he swept her up in his arms and slid her between the sheets of his bed. He crawled in too and pulled her into his arms, not content until she was half lying on his ridiculously well muscled and beautifully tattooed chest. She nuzzled there, trying not to let herself get all turned on again, but he was fucking gorgeous and somehow still smelled fresh from a shower. He was petting her and playing with her hair. This time, instead of feeling used and gullible, she felt cherished and special to him. If she hadn’t panicked last time, she could have had this then, too, she was guessing. She’d totally missed out, because cuddling was almost as exquisite as the sex.

Why couldn’t she keep him, again?

Oh yeah. The baby. The adorable baby, who apparently did sleep like a rock, if the monitor was reliable.

She could have him for now, at least.

“Did you know this was going to happen when you came over, or had you meant not to do this?” he asked in all seriousness, as though he had no idea what effect even being in the same room as him had on her.

She made some sort of weird grunty noise, but he seemed unsatisfied with that as a response. Making an effort, she scraped together some brain cells to give him a better answer.

“I meant to try not to,” she admitted, feeling sheepish, “but the fact that I wore a brand-new bra and panties leads me to believe I didn’t have much faith in my own willpower where you’re concerned.”

Ugh. Was that too share-y? Way to feign disinterest, Juliet.

There was a rumble in his chest that she thought was a laugh at first, but turned out to be some sort of animalistic sound of approval. Heat flared through her even though she was way too sore to consider a second round.

“You okay?” he asked, stroking her hair back from her face, apparently having noticed her wince.

Other than being sore and feeling a weird languid high, she was so much better than okay it was probably best if she didn’t say so. What they’d done had made her strangely euphoric. She kissed his chest, wishing she could initiate another round, but it would probably kill her.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she replied, trying to think of how to reassure him. “That was . . . fun.”

“Fun?” he asked, chuckling.

“I’d need time to gather my thoughts if you want me to use big words. My brain feels like it’s wrapped in cotton balls. I’d give you two thumbs up, but I’m comfortable, so I’m not moving.”

He slid his fingers into her hair and rubbed her scalp, which was relaxing other than the fact that she kept wondering if he’d grab her hair. The idea made her shiver.

Now she needed to figure out when to leave. She was never sure what to do at this point. Usually, she’d hang out for a bit then head out, but he had her pinned to his chest and didn’t seem to want to let her up any time soon. Weird. She was used to obligatory cuddling from men, and trying her best to read when they wanted her to leave when she was at their places. She didn’t want to relax into this and make him think she was clingy.

His hand stroking up and down her back was warm and lulling, and he was warm, and she was warm, and her eyelids were drooping.

It was late and she’d gotten up early. Maybe a catnap before she drove home. It was probably safer, right?

Under no circumstances was she spending the night.

Chapter Twelve

The baby was fussing, but she sounded strangely far away. Tinny. Something warm and soft held him to the mattress. A satiny softness slid across his chest. His body understood it was a woman before his mind was fully awake, his body wanted her now. Again.

But Beau needed him. That sound she made when she was upset drove him to distraction.

Very gently, he extricated himself from under a spill of blonde hair, a beautiful, sleep-innocent face, a curled hand. The lights were still on. They’d both fallen asleep before they’d thought of turning them off.