Now. Now. Now.
“Alright,” he tore his mouth free and spoke in a low, laughing growl. “I’m Tarzan, you’re Jane and I’ve just rescued you from some wild beast. I’m wired and there’s only one thing to ease off the adrenalin. Not gentle. Not slow. Sure you can take it?” That hint of laughter disappeared as he asked the last—as if the edge really was cutting into him.
He really had a rescue thing going, didn’t he? But right now she didn’t care, she just wanted the fantasy. She wound her arms around his neck and lifted her chin for him to kiss her again. He barely broke the kiss to bash the elevator button to take them to the right floor. The doors opened but she didn’t want to step back from him. Fortunately he obviously felt the same because he picked her up, keeping her close and carrying her out—uncaring if anyone saw. She’d drowned so deep in lust already she didn’t care either.
He put her down the instant they were inside her apartment, pulled a condom from his pocket and undid his jeans only far enough to get the thing on, still kissing her haphazardly as he did. Excitement flooded her as she registered his desperation despite that fast, expert action. Hurriedly she undid the buttons on her blouse and the front clasp of her bra to bare her breasts. He took one wild look and with a growl turned her towards the wall, tilting her hips up towards him. He wedged a foot between hers and pushed so she spread her legs further apart. Taking her hands in his, he placed them on the wall, pushing hard on them so she knew to keep them there—bracing and waiting. He flipped her skirt up. Cooler air hit the backs of her thighs but was soon chased by the heat of him positioning right behind her.
Thank heavens she wore skirts.
“I need this,” he muttered, sounding almost angry. “I have to have this. You.”
He ran his hands over her, firmly tracing every curve again and again until he pressed both palms low on her belly. Then he slid one north, over her stomach to her ribs and then to her breast. Confident, merciless, he claimed possession, clasping her nipple, briefly pinching between his forefinger and thumb. Pleasure-pain shot to her womb, heating, slickening. She pushed her breasts towards the wall while her hips bucked back—arching, thrusting her butt towards him to let him do as he wanted.
So hurry up and take me.
But she couldn’t say it.
His other hand spread wide and moved south under her waistband to rub over her mound. His fingers teased, tested, tormented. Then he whipped that hand free only to return by going under the hem of her skirt to grab the crotch of her knickers. With a twist he tugged sharp enough to tear them.
“Sometimes Tarzan is more animal than man,” he growled in her ear.
Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes. She wanted him to be animal, wanted him to want her—take her uncontrollably. To sate himself. In doing that, he’d satisfy her. She wanted to make him collapse in ecstatic exhaustion, he did it for her so well. She ached for that mindless relief.
His fingers rubbed in circles, making her squirm and squeeze in anticipation. She needed him inside her now. His erection pressed against her butt, but frustratingly he didn’t push forward. Instead he kept teasing in the way he knew turned her on.
But she was already turned on. She’d been ‘on’ the last three days. She couldn’t be wetter or more ready or more desperate. She just wanted all of him. Wanted him to ride her as hard and as animal as he’d promised. Wanted him to lose control the way she was about to.
But still he teased, easily holding her restless hips still enough for him to stroke her with maddening fingertips—not penetrating, not giving her that full completion she was throbbing for.
And still she couldn’t speak. Her hands slid over the wall as she tried to support herself. Her mouth parted as she panted, she licked her lips as her temperature soared and her desire peaked. She wanted to scream at him to take her, but all that came out was a wordless cry as the orgasm hit and her muscles convulsed. She closed her eyes, loving the intense release and yet it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t filled. She needed him to release inside her.
As soon as her spasms stopped he turned her to face him, his hands firm on her waist to support her wobbly legs. She glanced down his perfect, fit body—feasting on the size of his straining cock. He didn’t give her long to enjoy looking. With a harsh word, he hooked his arms under her thighs, lifted her just enough for him to ram home.
Her back whacked against the wall with the force of his thrust. She was utterly within his hold. His control.
He had her.
Yes. She screamed as the second orgasm swiftly overtook her, sending her into a tumultuous storm of sensation—bliss so acute it was almost unbearable. And still he worked, relentlessly thrusting with unlimited stamina.
As the searing ecstasy eased and lax warmth flowed, she registered the hungry, avid way he watched her breasts bounce with each pound of his body, heard the rising sound of his pleasure-soaked growls as he fought to push her—and himself—harder. Her pleasure surged again, mixed with pride. She liked that he was taking raw, basic pleasure in her femininity the way she did his masculinity. She revelled in the fact he had strength enough to support her with such ease. Heat continued to rebuild within her. She clamped her legs tightly around his waist, used her inner muscles to clamp even tighter on his cock, wanting to take him deeper still. She cupped her breasts in her hands, pushing them together and up as an offering to him. At that he muttered something unintelligible, his feral gaze locked on her tight, red nipples. He shoved deep inside her one last time and groaned as orgasm overtook him. And at the sight and sound and feel of his straining ecstasy, she soared straight back into the fiery storm with him.
When she finally opened her eyes again, she found she was still in his hold—her legs still wound around him, her upper body slumped against the wall. He smiled and gently hoisted her so she was wholly in his embrace.
Slowly he shuffled to her bedroom. The buckle of his belt clanged on the floor with every half step, making her smile.
“What am I going to do with you now…” he looked at her thoughtfully as he placed her on her bed. “So many delicious options.” His lips curved in that naughty way as he stripped her free from her rumpled clothes with ease that spoke of much experience. “Very delicious. I’m thinking food—sauces in particular. And maybe some ice. What’s in your fridge?”
“My fridge?”
“I’m thinking of a banquet. Maybe I’m a battle worn warrior and my men have prepared a beautiful center-piece for my table—because I’m hungry. So they’ve prepared a woman for me—clad in nothing but delicious creams and sauces.”
She sent him a sideways look even as she tightened inside. She was so willing to be the plate for him to lick clean. “You have a fertile imagination.”
“You bet. Albeit somewhat lame.” He chuckled and stepped out of his jeans. He pulled off his tee and let her look.
She didn’t think his imagination was lame. She thought it was fun—carefree fantasy was perfect.
“You’re not shy either,” she noted, already distracted by the bronze skin and strong muscles on show. And that burgeoning hard-on.
“Life’s too short to be shy. Life’s too hard not to have some fun.” He headed out towards the kitchen.
Chelsea stretched out as he went in search of his sauces. In what way was his life hard? She so didn’t think it was. Not when he came across as this relaxed. He was the master at keeping things easy.
She felt physically sated, emotionally amused. It had been a wild but easy fun fulfilment. There was no emotional connection—while there was courtesy, there was no intense caring. There was no responsibility in that way. Which felt strangely good. She smiled. This was going to be just fine. Her libido had woken and needed attention. There was nothing wrong with that.
Xander was the perfect companion. He’d said he wasn’t a relationship guy and it was pretty clear why—he was that gorgeous, that playful, he wasn’t going to settle for just one woman. But she knew she could trust him. She just needed to
make sure that despite that lack of depth, they maintained that respect and affection until they walked away.
“How is this going to end?” she asked when he reappeared. Because as sure as the sky was blue, this was going to end.
“When you tire of me. Or,” he hesitated and sat down on the edge of the bed, clutching a couple of bottles. “If boundaries get blurred. Sex can be more emotional for women.” He shrugged, a refusal to apologize. “It’s true.”
“So if I fall for you, that’s it?”
“It would end. That would be best. For you. No point in falling for me. You understand?”
Yeah she had that already. “What if you fall for me?” she asked.
He said nothing.
She sat bolt upright in bed. “You jerk, like that’s impossible?”
“It’s not impossible for someone to fall for you.” He laughed briefly—but rapidly sobered. “It’s impossible for me to fall for anyone. Even someone as amazing as you. Don’t try to change that, Chelsea.”
“I have no intention of trying to.” Wasn’t he just Mr. Mysterious? “I don’t want to fall in love with a guy who thinks he’s a superhero.” She sent him a pointed look. “A guy like that clearly hasn’t grown up.”
He put the bottles on the floor and turned, swiftly tugging her down the bed, spreading her legs. He picked up one of the bottles again. “Fortunately I have ‘grown up’ enough to take you again. And as we know, when it comes to this, what I want, happens.” His eyes were sharp. “And right now, I have a hankering for this raspberry sauce.”
He squirted a dollop of it onto her breast. She squeaked—it was cold.
“Be quiet, slave,” he said firmly. “Reach back and hold onto the headboard.”
She glared up at him but registered the heat in his eyes.
“Now,” he added.
She said nothing, but his instruction, his expression melted her. He wanted. Slowly she lifted her hands above her head to do as he’d bid, happy to sink into the game.
He looked at her exposed breasts. “Very nice.”
Slowly, torturously slowly he drizzled the sauce—circling it around her nipples. “And delicious.”
He worked the line of sauce lower, around her belly button. She watched his face as he concentrated—watched the desire in his expression grow.