Sinful Nights: Sinful Love Part 16

He was helpless to resist. He bent down and buried his face between her thighs once more, kissing and licking her sweetness, rubbing his stubble all over her slick, wet heat. She moaned and rocked her hips into him, faster, harder, then just wilder. Her hips shot up as he thrust his fingers inside her and sucked her sweet c.l.i.t between his lips until she came, flooding his tongue, her pleasure all over his face.

Seconds later he crawled up her, wedged himself between her legs, and dragged the head of his c.o.c.k through her heat.

She gasped, her head falling back against the pillow, her lips parted.

"So greedy," he said as he toyed with her, loving the feel of her wet p.u.s.s.y against his hard d.i.c.k. This was what he'd craved for so long. The chance to be with her. The thrill of f.u.c.king the woman he'd never stopped loving.

"Please don't tease me. I need you. I need you now," she said, so desperate, so s.e.xy, so beautiful.

"Je te veux tellement," he said, repeating the phrase she'd shared on the plane.

She trembled, whispering desperately, "Say it again."

"Je te veux tellement," he said roughly.

"You're even s.e.xier when you speak my language."

"I'm only speaking the truth. I want you so much. So f.u.c.king much."

"Have me. Take me."

He eased inside her in one hot, tight thrust.

Then the earth stopped spinning. The stars melted away from the sky. Gravity had no hold on him because he was falling, falling, falling into her.

After all these years. After all this time. It was exquisite and so unbelievably f.u.c.king good. She gasped, her breath spilling out as she made the first move, her hips rising up, her legs wrapping around him.

"Closer. Come closer," she whispered, and he lowered himself, their chests nearly touching as he braced on his elbows, flexing forward in slow, steady thrusts, taking his time, savoring the feel of her bare, sweet p.u.s.s.y.

Their heated bodies moved together. He was lit up everywhere, his entire being electrified as he pushed in and out, then deeper, hitting her right where she went wild, her back bowing off the bed, her mouth falling open, and a beautiful groan that became his name.

"Say it." He growled. "Say it now."

"Baise-moi plus fort."

G.o.d, it was music from her. It was heady and thrilling to hear her say those words.

"I knew you'd sound crazy for me when you said it like this," he groaned, then buried his face in her neck, kissing, biting, marking.

"I am. I'm crazy for you," she said, and then it was her turn to nip. She went for his collarbone, and he nearly exploded. He loved her roughness, and she knew it because seconds later her hands were on his shoulders, then she dragged her nails down his back, digging into his flesh.

"Let me feel you all over me," he said as he f.u.c.ked her faster, harder.

She ran her nails down to his a.s.s, curling her hands around him. He pushed deeper, the start of his o.r.g.a.s.m barreling through his body. She arched up, grabbing his head, crushing his mouth in a crazed, fierce kiss, full of teeth and tongue and madness. Then she let go, his name tumbling from her lips in a raptured cry as she shattered beneath him, arms and legs grabbing, twisting, tugging him even closer, like she'd never get enough.

Her need for him set him off, igniting a mind-blowing o.r.g.a.s.m that blurred his vision and torched his veins as he followed her there, in perfect f.u.c.king bliss.

Like heaven on earth.

He collapsed on her, a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs, and lips, and desire, sated at last.

She ran her hands through his hair and sighed softly against him. It was unequivocally the best night of his life, but he also winced inside with the awareness of how much harder it would be to say good-bye now that he'd experienced all of her.

Until she said the next words.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

Wow.

Just wow.

That was out of this world.

She lay on the bed in a sea of rumpled sheets, Michael's strong arms wrapped around her sweat-slicked frame, her heart beating like a hummingbird, and she blinked open her eyes.

All her senses were heightened, and she felt new, like she was experiencing having a body again after a deep, dreamless sleep.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Each inhalation sent air rushing through her blood, waking her up, nudging her, reminding her that this was life, this was s.e.x, and this was good.

It had been so much more than good.

She'd seen stars, tasted heaven, breathed rare air. Her skin tingled all over, and her blood pulsed hot and fast from her climax. She'd never come like that before. She felt it humming in her bones. Skimming across her skin.

And hammering in her heart, insisting on being heard. She wanted more of him. So much that the thought of not having him again already hurt-like a phantom pain, a promise of how it would feel if she let him go. The prospect of flying home in two days and leaving this bliss behind made her chest ache, like it had been carved out once more.

She was tired of hollowness. Tired of hurting. She wanted more of the good. She turned in his arms, facing him. "Michael..." Her voice sounded hoa.r.s.e to her own ears; all that moaning his name had taken a toll. "I'm going to need so much more of that from you."

Her gaze locked on his, watching the slow spread of his smile, the way it stretched across his whole face, how his blue eyes seemed to flicker with happiness.

He kissed her cheek, whispering soft and s.e.xy. "With me, you can have everything."

The sentiment made her shudder, and yet she wasn't talking about more s.e.x, per se. Or even more s.e.x in the next few days. She pressed a hand to his naked chest, needing to make sure he understood exactly. "What I mean is..." She stopped to let a breath fill her lungs, fueling her admission. "I want to see you again. I don't want this-whatever it is-to end when we leave New York."

His features froze. His lips were parted, his jaw was set, and his eyes were vulnerable. He didn't move, as if he were slowly absorbing her request. Soon enough, though, he found words, his voice gravelly. His question came out as a scratch. "You do?"

She nodded vigorously. "I do. Maybe that is crazy. Do you think it's crazy?"

He shook his head. "No!" flew off his tongue.

The speed of his response emboldened her. That, combined with the endorphins still rushing through her system, drove her on. "I just," she began, running her fingers through the fine hairs on his chest. "I just would be so sad to leave New York and not see you again. And I don't have a plan, or an agenda, or anything beyond the here and now. All I know is I want to see more of you. Which probably sounds..." Her voice trailed away, lost in the noises of late-night New York floating through the window.

"Sounds what?" he asked, prompting her.

"You probably think it sounds too hard, since I'm in Paris and you're in Las Vegas, and that's how it was before," she said, worried that they were facing the same obstacles, those very ones that had splintered them years before.

That s.e.xy smile returned, tugging at his lips as he shook his head. "No. It's not crazy at all. We're not the same as we were before. The distance-it's not as daunting. We have the means to deal with it."

She nodded. "Yes, we do. And all I know is that I don't want this to end."

He pulled her closer, held her tighter. "That's enough for me to fly across an ocean for you."

He dusted her lips with his-a soft, sweet kiss that was both gentle and thrilling at once. On his lips, she swore she could taste his happiness, and she kissed more, taking some of it for herself.

They chatted in bed, talking about friends and family, work and music, photographs and security. Every now and then a small shard of latent guilt stabbed at her, but she pushed past her nagging worries. She wanted to savor these moments with Michael. This time with him was the sweetest thing she'd experienced in a while, and she'd rather revel in it, especially after so long of having felt the opposite.

Soon enough, their lips found each other again, and they kissed, slow and lazy, the kind of kiss that made her wetter and him harder, that led to fingers slipped between legs and dirty words like, Get on your hands and knees. I want to take you that way.

She didn't need to be asked twice. She wanted to be f.u.c.ked that way by him, with her palms flat against the navy blue comforter, her knees sinking down, and her a.s.s in the air. Michael ran a hand down her back, inch by torturously slow inch, each touch making her wriggle and writhe.

"Mmm," he murmured, his big palm tracing her flesh, pushing her spine low, forcing her to raise her a.s.s higher. "Look at you. Look at my Annalise. So f.u.c.king wet. So f.u.c.king hot. So needy for me."

Like a sparkler igniting, those dirty words set off a fresh wave of desire. Heat pooled between her legs as she lowered herself to her elbows, her breath coming fast. "I do need you. I need you in me, Michael."

He dragged his fingers through her s.e.x, and she moaned, closing her eyes, giving in to the fevered rush in her body, surrendering to her desire to be f.u.c.ked.

Sheets rustled behind her as he moved, straightened up on his knees, and positioned himself. When he rubbed the head of his c.o.c.k against her p.u.s.s.y, a wild cry ripped from her throat. Mon dieu, who was this woman in her body? Inhabiting her, taking over her mind, using her mouth to speak such dirty things? "f.u.c.k me. Hard. Take me. I'm yours."

He took, f.u.c.king her as she'd never experienced before-rough and beautifully cruel, fingers digging into flesh, hands gripping her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and pinching her nipples, teeth on her shoulders. Deeply buried inside her, he f.u.c.ked her savagely. She moved with him, moaned with him, slammed her pelvis back on his c.o.c.k, letting him know that the more he filled her, the hungrier she was. Sliding a hand up her backbone, he grabbed her hair, wrapping it around his fist. She gasped and her noise turned into a long, animalistic cry as he yanked.

"Rougher. Harder," she bit out.

She wanted to be bruised, to feel used, to be f.u.c.ked so hard she felt him for days. Michael Sloan was more than willing to give her all of himself, to plunder her body with his c.o.c.k, to take her mercilessly until her hands grappled at the sheets, clutching and twisting as pleasure spiked then slammed into her.

A shattering.

No warning.

Just a rapturous crash as her climax rattled her body, jarring her bones. It shocked her, the power of this kind of o.r.g.a.s.m. It had a magnitude measurement as it thundered through her. With a final thrust, growling her name in her ear, he came. She'd never felt anyone go so deep inside her. Never felt so in tune with her body.

But it was more than that. She'd never felt this kind of physical connection. Raw and hungry.

And boundless, too.

That may have been what surprised her the most-this endlessness of the pleasure. She supposed that was how any sort of new pa.s.sion felt. Infatuation was the most powerful magician in any land, and it could trick you into thinking something was true and real. But there, in the dark of the night, in the middle of a city of millions, tucked away in a hotel room, she believed in its promise.

She believed in fate, too.

In second chances.

As he spooned her, brushing soft kisses against the back of her neck, tonight seemed precisely why she'd landed a job in Vegas, exactly why she'd said yes to the New York gig. As if the cruel mistress of circ.u.mstances who had toyed with them and yanked them apart when they were younger was working in their favor now.

Bringing them back together in a whole new way.

After that rough, punishing s.e.x that bruised her hips, and made her sore everywhere, she was sure she'd fall asleep sated. She did. For a bit.

But sometime in the middle of the night, she woke. Not with a start, but with a slow, unhurried shift of her hips. His erection grazed her backside, and she wiggled her rear against him.

"Mmm. That's a nice way to wake up," he said, all rough from sleep.

"It's not even time to get out of bed yet," she whispered, rocking into him.

"You mean it's time for more of this," he said, sliding his hand along the back of her thigh and shifting her knee to make room.

"Yes. Please. You've made me insatiable."

"Good, I like you that way. Hungry for me," he said against her neck as he eased inside her. He made it a lazy and luxurious coming together, as if they were two lovers who'd spent countless nights entwined. For a moment, she wondered if either of them could come like this, with this unhurried kind of love-making, but the question turned to dust as the warm pleasure in her hummed, tension coiling, and she climbed to the edge once again. She cried out his name, and then out of nowhere, a sob escaped her lips, mingling with her noises, obscuring the evidence of her pain.

A tear slid down her cheek.

She swallowed it quickly. Judging from the way he grunted and shoved deep in her, he didn't notice. A storm of emotions swelled, gripping her chest, squeezing her heart like an invisible hand trying to choke up the mess brewing inside-guilt, joy, sadness, elation.

She inhaled sharply, willing the air to spread through her lungs, to free her from this specter of remorse. She didn't want to feel it. There was nothing wrong with having s.e.x. Nothing at all.

Yet her heart was fracturing at the same time as it was st.i.tched back together. s.e.x with Michael was both wondrous and bittersweet.

And she understood precisely why she felt so f.u.c.king good, and so f.u.c.king awful at the same time.

"It's so good with you, Annalise," he said a minute later.

"I know. It is. It's so good."

It was unlike anything she'd ever felt. It was better. It was the best.

That was the problem.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

The beautiful blonde stretched on her belly on the white duvet-heels kicking in the air, lips red and pouty, as seductive as she was real. Even when she was posing, there was nothing forced about her client's beauty.

Casey Sullivan had one of the best smiles Annalise had ever photographed. Fresh-faced and all-American, she possessed a gorgeous grin. The woman also knew how to give "come f.u.c.k me" eyes to the camera.