by Shayla Black
soon.
“Fuck me, Joaquin.”
He should probably warn her that this wasn’t going to be romantic, gentle, or easy. He should probably take a deep breath and slow way down. But his fingers fell to his fly and his brain hit autopilot. He ripped at his snap, jerked down his zipper, and shoved everything aside, as he situated himself between her legs. All he could see was the nirvana of her pussy. All he could feel was the thick need coursing through his veins. Nothing had ever been this urgent. No woman had ever made him more rabid for satisfaction.
Joaquin gripped her hips and fitted himself against her opening. Just the touch of his sensitive head to her sweltering, wet flesh jetted an electric arc down his spine. He tossed back his head and groaned, pushing forward. He couldn’t get into her fast enough, couldn’t fuck her deep enough.
It didn’t take long to notice that she was goddamn tight. He growled as he tried to pry his way in only to come up short.
“Baby girl,” he whispered against her lips. “Take a deep breath.”
Once she had, he captured her mouth, consuming her in a demanding kiss. As he did, Joaquin arched forward. Her body gave way to him one agonizing inch at a time. Instantly, he took the space she ceded to him.
His head slipped inside her sweltering heat, then the sensitive spot underneath. His eyes rolled into the back of his head. He didn’t want to break the kiss, but a groan slipped free. Under him, she sucked in a shocked breath, but she spread wider for him.
The feel of her was everything he’d imagined. Hell, she was more potent than a wet dream. Joaquin shoved a bit deeper, praying like hell that he wasn’t hurting her. It had been a while for her, and her last boyfriend had obviously been a fidiot in bed. But damn it, submerging inside her was proving more difficult than breaking into Fort Knox.
He nipped at her bottom lip with his teeth. “Breathe again. That’s it. Inhale. Yeah . . . Now let it out.”
As she did, her body loosened. He thrust the rest of the way inside. Her swollen pussy enveloped him, a snug clasp that robbed him of equilibrium and the ability to give a shit about anything but plowing into her and making her come again.
Joaquin withdrew, and the shudder of sensation rattled down his spine. He groaned, cursed, gripped her tighter. Holy hell, she was going to fucking decimate his self-control.
He cupped her chin and took her lips again, needing to be inside her in every way. His tongue plunged deep in rhythm with his cock. Under him, she shook and arched, writhed and flushed again.
He had to make her come once more. God knew how long he was going to last in this sugary-snug pussy.
Fitting one hand under her ass, he tilted her and slid down a fraction. When he braced on his knees and shoved up again, the head of his cock dragged over her most sensitive spot inside. He pressed onto her clit. She mewled, her fists clenching, her legs lifting to cradle his hips. Fuck, he’d never seen any woman sexier.
He sank deeper, prodding the end of her passage. Her cry of bliss was almost as much reward as the ecstasy zipping through his body.
“I’m . . .” She couldn’t catch her breath. “I’m going to—”
“Come, baby girl. Yeah. Fuck. Do it.”
Her back twisted and her face contorted. He kept pushing into her, the pace slow and punishing, scraping her insides with every thrust. She screamed like a wild thing, arms tugging at her cuffs and rattling the headboard. Those strong muscles in her thighs squeezed him, as did the clasp of her pussy. Pleasure didn’t just sizzle and burn. It turned nuclear, boiled his veins, charred his restraint, and wiped away his ability to give a crap about anything except sharing this orgasm with her. Next time—and there would be one—he’d go slow and find a way not to pound into her with every ounce of his strength. He’d love her a lot more gently. Right now?
“Fuck!” His balls felt heavy and tight as tingling sparked. The telltale escalation of sensation spiked to something stratospheric. Joaquin squeezed her tight, wondering how he could prevent himself from losing his fucking mind. When he blew, he already knew it wouldn’t be like any previous climax.
He’d rather forfeit his next fifty years than give up his next thirty seconds with Bailey.
As soon as the thought hit his brain, along with the tangy-sweet whiff of her pussy and the womanly scent of something floral and exotic, he lost it.
The pressure inside him gave way to sexual agony. A scream claimed his throat, scrubbing it raw. He planted even deeper inside her, picking up the pace, thickening, then releasing with a blast of ecstasy.
In that moment, he realized that he’d lost his head so thoroughly that a condom had never crossed his mind. That alone stunned him beyond words. He’d never, ever forgotten to glove up. But that wasn’t all. He’d also given Bailey far more than his seed. Something in his chest twisted and clawed, yanking at him, beating at him. He looked down at her, her softly parted lips, the wonder in her blue eyes, the jut of her juicy nipples.
Mine, mine, mine . . .
Yeah, all his. Attachments had never been his thing, and he wondered if this need to clasp her to him forever would pass.
As he poured himself into her in a shocking, seemingly endless orgasm, he sincerely doubted it.
* * *
BAILEY listened to the sounds of Joaquin in the shower, her head racing. After withdrawing from her slowly and uncuffing her, he’d left her body a mass of head-to-toe tingles. She’d climbed out of bed and darted to the shower. Her tears had just started to flow when he opened the bathroom door and charged into the room.
In fact, he’d ducked into the shower with her uninvited.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her.
Joaquin stood too close. Emotionally, she felt as if he’d scraped her raw. Having him in her personal space now just slammed her psyche with a frightening vulnerability all over again.
She pushed back, but he didn’t give an inch.
“Bailey . . .” he warned.
“Nothing.” She didn’t know how else to answer him. “Tonight—the party, the picture, the sex—it was too much.”
His face softened. “If I came at you too hard, I’m sorry.”
The contrition there told her that he meant it. “It was just intense. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“I wasn’t either,” he admitted. “I meant to be gentler.”
Bailey shook her head. “That wasn’t what you needed. I don’t think it was what I needed either. It sure wasn’t anything like my last time.”
He clenched his teeth. “Wipe him from your memory bank.”
Was he jealous? As crazy as that sounded, it was the only conclusion she could come up with.
“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “He’s the reason my first time was my last.”
“Are you kidding me?”
Joaquin sounded shocked. She supposed that, at her age, he’d already had sex a zillion times. She just hadn’t seen what the big deal was until him.
Bailey pushed him away. “I can shower alone. You don’t have to help me.”
“I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” He reached for her again, wrapping his hands around her waist and drawing her closer. “I’m just surprised.”
That stung. She shoved him back. “You’re surprised I don’t sleep around?”
“No. That’s not what I meant. Forget it. You’re rattled and upset. My brain is still fogged over with pleasure. I’m not leaving you.” He reached for the soap as if the matter was closed.
She was both annoyed and relieved. Jeez, she sounded contrary. “You’re used to getting your way.”
“Not always, but I fight when I know I’m right.”
Like this case. Like saving her life. Like not leaving her alone to sort through her feelings now?
Rubbing the scented bar between his hands, he lathered up, then set the soap back in the dish. “Turn around.”
“I can wash myself.”
�
��I know.” He sighed. “Can you just stop being stubborn for a second and let me take care of you? I drove into you like a Mack truck. I just want to make sure you’re okay so I can feel a little less guilty.”
When he put it like that . . . She nodded and spun around, presenting him her back and moving her hair over her shoulder, out of his way.
His hands glided over her back, starting at her shoulder blades, then skimming down her rib cage. He embraced her waist, enveloping her in his strong grip. Shuffling closer, he kissed the sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder met. He breathed over her skin and nipped at her lobe as he eased his soapy palms over her hips, then pressed against her body.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured.
She shivered as he nipped his way across her neck to settle against her other ear.
“Thank you for trusting me with your body, for putting your life in my hands.”
As his palm worked inward, over her stomach, then began gliding lower, Bailey tensed. His fingers worked past the swollen lips of her sex to graze her sensitive clit.
She gasped and grabbed his wrist, closing her eyes. “Stop. As soon as I got in the shower, I realized we forgot a condom.”
“I’m clean,” he swore. “If you want me to prove it, I will.”
“Unless you’re sterile, that’s not the only issue.”
“Whatever happens, we’ll work it out.”
She whirled on him. “Your own family, the people you grew up with, never see you. Why would you bother with some girl stupid enough to let you kidnap her and knock her up? You wouldn’t. I bet that if I told you I was pregnant tomorrow, you’d run in horror. I’ll take half the blame for this mistake, but do me a favor. Don’t touch me anymore.”
Because the thought of getting close to Joaquin—maybe falling in love with him—only to have him bail on her was more than she could take.
Bailey pushed her way past him, heading for the shower door. He grabbed her arm. “That’s not going to happen. The lack of a condom tonight was my mistake. I take responsibility entirely. If you get preg—”
“Stop it. Just . . . don’t. You took my whole life from me and you can’t respect my one wish, to leave me alone?”
Joaquin cocked his head, looking dark and sure of himself. “If I thought staying away from you would solve anything or make you happier, I’d give it one hell of a try. But in your head, everyone important in your life has left you, so I don’t think you want me to repeat the pattern, no matter how much you protest otherwise.”
Bailey couldn’t look at him. Damn him for seeing through her again and being so right. She trembled, on the verge of tears once more. She hated the way he’d crawled under her skin.
She jerked from his grip. “Can you at least give me five minutes to myself?”
“Five,” he growled. “Don’t leave the room or get into trouble. And don’t think I don’t give a shit. I’ve been fighting for you since I laid eyes on you. I won’t stop.”
She grabbed a towel and left the bathroom then. After throwing on the cotton nightie Callie had brought her, Bailey crawled between the sheets. She lay staring at the wall, wondering what the hell had happened tonight. Joaquin had reached her as a woman on every level. She’d opened herself to him—and she didn’t know how to stop. Worse, by the time she’d sorted through the tangle of her thoughts, her five minutes was up.
The shower cut off. The glass door opened. A minute of silence later, he emerged with a towel around his waist, skin bronzed and slick, big body tense, hazel eyes watchful.
His wet hair was slicked back from his face. Rivulets of water ran down his bulging chest. He stood in the doorway, taking up all the space. Without meaning to, he sucked the air from the room. Bailey’s mouth went dry. If she stared at him anymore and let herself dwell on the shocking pleasure he’d given her, she was liable to do something stupid, like throw herself at him again.
“Good night.” She forced herself to roll over and turn her back to him.
He’d leave the room soon enough, go back to his and give her some breathing space.
A moment later, she heard rustling cloth, then felt the mattress dip behind her. She swiveled around to watch him—stark naked—climb into bed beside her. “What are you doing?”
“Sleeping beside you. Tell me it’s okay to hold you.”
“You never ask, do you?”
A corner of his mouth climbed up in a crooked smile. “Not if I can help it.”
Bailey wanted to be angry with him, but it wasn’t his fault if he made love like a god. Afterward, he’d tried to pry from her whatever had obviously upset her, so that didn’t exactly make him a bad guy, either. If he scared her emotionally, that was more her fault than his. His relationship with his family, while head-scratching to her, was none of her business.
“You can hold me.” She gave in with a sigh.
Joaquin scooted over to her side of the bed and wrapped his arm around her. He nuzzled her neck. His erection prodded her back. He felt so good—sexy, comforting, dominating, protective. Kind of perfect to her.
“You’re . . .” She wriggled her butt against his cock.
“Hard?” he murmured in her ear. “You do that to me. I’m a grown man who can control it. Usually. But I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”
That seemed to be a theme with him. A part of her was tempted to turn in his arms, throw her leg over his hip, and invite him inside her body again. Another part of her knew she still needed time to process tonight—and any future implications it might bring.
“Good night.”
“I’ve never seen the benefit of spending the night next to anyone. You’re making it pretty obvious.” He kissed her neck, the lobe of her ear. “Night.”
* * *
COLD seeped into her. Bailey shivered as she looked out over the little farm she called home. Fresh snow had fallen the night before, and everything seemed quiet. She hunched down in her pink pajamas, wondering how long Daddy wanted her to stay outside in her brother’s fort. Where was Mommy? She’d had her bath. Wasn’t it time for dinner?
She’d wanted to go back into the warmth of the house long ago, but her father had sent her outside and told her to stay here, no matter what. But screams from inside the house had sounded full of terror and pain. More loud noises had jarred her. The air around paralyzed her with fear, especially after the bald man kicked in the back door and ran inside. Since then, a man had been crying out in agony.
Bailey didn’t know what to do.
“Please, don’t,” the voice she’d been hearing shook and pleaded. Her father. He sounded weak. In pain.
She started to climb out of the fort and run to him, then remembered her father’s stern words.
Hide outside and be very quiet. Sing your song in your head. Stay there, no matter what.
She hesitated. A shiver wracked her. Inside her fuzzy socks, her toes had gone numb.
Finally, she heard the squeaking of the back door. The stranger who had entered the house earlier stepped outside, holding Daddy by the arm and dragging him along. Her father wasn’t fighting, but tripping over his feet. In fact, he looked back at the fort. Blood stained his cheek. Their eyes met, and he pinned her in place with a grim stare.
When the stranger jerked on his arm again, he dragged Daddy to the car. She saw a trail of blood in the snow. Her father was hurt. Was that man taking him to a doctor? Where was Mommy? Her brother? Her sister?
The man shoved Daddy in a black car she’d never seen, then scanned the yard. Bailey ducked and peeked at him from the cracks between two pieces of corrugated metal. The stranger had mean, pale eyes. He looked angry.
Bailey bit her lip. What if he’d hurt Daddy?
Before she could decide what to do, the stranger flung himself in his car and drove off. She watched the black car get smaller and smaller as it bumped down the dirt road. Finally, it disappeared. She didn’t understand what had hap
pened.
Time seemed to last forever, and the cold finally forced her