His smile then was tentative. Genuine. And even though she was hurt. Even though she should know better, that smile totally stole her heart.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said. Because that was the thing.
He wasn’t perfect. But he was honest even when it was uncomfortable. That meant a lot, made mistakes easier to forgive. And made her like him—too much.
“I should probably go,” she said.
She should go to home to Belle, find her father, make sure he was okay.
“No.” He grabbed her hand. “Stay. Six more nights, remember?”
“I—”
He kissed her. Wouldn’t stop kissing her. He knew what he did to her, didn’t he? That his kisses drugged, delighted and kicked her desire into the highest possible gear.
He stripped her, set about pleasing her. Knowing her weak spots. Caressing them. Teasing. Yet touching her so damn reverently.
She knew he was apologising. She didn’t want him to. She didn’t want this to deepen in that way.
She rolled onto her stomach, pushing up onto her hands and knees. Wanting to seek oblivion in his arms.
Just sex. Nothing but sex. Nothing but bodies fucking.
“Hurry up,” she ordered, but her voice was croaky and weak.
And he flipped her back, nudging her legs apart, pinning her to the bed.
“I’m not letting you retreat Savannah. You’re right with me. Looking at me.” He kissed her again. “Like this morning. Only less cramped. Less quick.”
She couldn’t do that. She didn’t want to be that open to him again. That would let him in too close and already her heart ached.
“Let me touch you,” he breathed and bent his head to her breast. “Everywhere.”
Her head fell back onto the plush pillow, her eyes closing. His touches were too good. The sight of him bracing over her, bearing down on her? Her eyes glazed as she feasted on the beauty of him. She arched instinctively, melting into his hands, her body writhing on auto… a sinuous dance to entice him.
“That’s it Sugar, just like that.” He gripped her hand, stopping her from stroking him. He held it up high and resumed his touches.
His damn, slow, so-good-she-was-gonna-die flicking flingers.
But anger flared at her cellular-level response to him. At her inability to control it. She fisted her hands into the sheet beneath her. “I can’t—”
“Yes you can…” He shushed her. Kissed her. “It’s okay.” He swept her hair back from her damp face. “Let me. Trust me.”
She couldn’t trust anyone.
“Damn it, Savannah.” He pulled her down the bed and pinned her arms out wide. “Let go. I’m here.”
He was right. She was being stupid. It was just sex. Just physical pleasure and release. Nothing more serious.
And she was lost already. Her pussy drenched from his touches, her need stoked by his insistence.
“Let go, sugar. Just fall. I’ll catch you.” He started again. Kissing her, teasing her, until she melted.
And only then, once she lay warm, gently responding to each touch, only then did he move to cover her. He framed her face, looking deep into her eyes and thrust into her body. Slow, sweet thrusts that hit the sweet spot every, single, time. She couldn’t speak. Her lips parted but she was barely able to meet the kisses he gifted her in between the powerful forward surges of his hips.
“Come with me,” he ordered. “I want to feel you holding me hard, Savannah.”
And somehow her arms were tight around him, clinging to the wide, strong breadth of his shoulders. Her legs curled around him too as finally, blessedly, he began to move that bit faster.
“Connor,” she cried, a broken whisper. “Connor.”
“That’s the way.” He rocked into her again. “That’s the way.”
“Please.” She needed it faster, furious. Seeking that swift oblivion.
“Soon.”
This was too intense. This was too intimate. But he kept that sweetly torturous pace. Kept his eyes on her—locking her into this moment with him. Not just her body. But her heart.
Her soul.
“Connor—”
“I’m here.”
Her fingers curled hard into him as her pleasure escalated. She felt his flinch, saw the flare in his eyes. Felt his force step up a gear.
“I want you,” he grated. “So. Fucking. Much.” He pounded. “All of you. With me.”
Her arms, legs tightened. She lifted her hips as best she could given the way he was driving her deep into the mattress. All the while she couldn’t tear her gaze from his.
A tempest of sensation streamed through her. She screamed, shuddering beneath him, her body contracting around him. His answering shout rang in her eyes, reverberating through her body. Her own pleasure doubling as she absorbed the extent of his.
So much pleasure. So much passion.
So much emotion.
The look on his face was so searing, she couldn’t take it anymore. She closed her eyes.
Long moments later she still lay pinned to the bed by his big body. Bound not by silk cords or metal chains, but by him alone. The sheer magnificence of him. And her inability to get enough of the delight he gave her.
She realized she’d been played. Bait and switch. He’d promised he’d be some kind of sex slave—that she could best him. Be the boss of this. Be the one in control.
Only he’d tricked her. Flipped her.
And now here she was, a molten mess of lax muscles and blissed-out bones. Too close to him. Too intense. Too good. And there was no denying her response. No holding back.
Sealed together with him, there was nothing she wouldn’t agree to if he asked.
As she lay unable to move, all energy wrung from her body, he lifted up onto his elbows to look at her. She read raw, masculine satisfaction in his expression. A level of relief in his features that she’d not seen before.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “That’s what I wanted.”
Savannah shut her eyes even as her body warmed and slicked and sought his possession all over again.
What he’d wanted was her sexual submission. Sex. That was all.
But what he’d taken, was her heart.
She’d fallen for him. He owned the source of her father’s heartache. Her heartache. He might have been trying to do the right thing but inadvertently he’d made it so much worse.
And now?
She was as much of a fool as her father. As her mother.
And the only thing she could do, was run away.
Chapter Eighteen
Connor stretched out, smiling, eyes still closed, rousing slowly from the best sleep ever. Satisfaction still warmed him, so did the residual soreness.
Physical? Yes.
Fast? Hell no.
He curled his arm around her, drawing her back against him. He liked the whole body contact and her soft sleepiness.
But she stiffened and pulled away. Sitting up.
“What’s wrong?” Why wasn’t she looking at him?
Why wasn’t she rolling to face him and welcome her into her heat? He wanted to be with her again, damn the aching muscles. But she pulled away, getting right out of bed.
“Nothing.” She pulled the nearest shirt over her head.
It was one of his Summerhill tees. It skimmed the top of her thighs. And suited her.
“And I’m a flying pink flamingo,” he muttered dryly. “You can’t hide your bad moods from me. Or anyone.” How the hell could she wake up moody after what they’d shared last night?
His own mood plummeted, vulnerability slipped its sharp blade beneath his skin.
“Don’t be smart.” She turned, hunting out her panties and jeans.
“You got a headache?”
“No.”
His phone buzzed. Mentally he cursed the caller. “What is it?” he snapped.
“Sorry Connor. There’s someone here to see you.”
At this hour? “Who?”
/> “He hasn’t given me his name. But he’s very insistent in a very quiet way. He’s been waiting here since eight thirty.” His manager was speaking in low tones. “I think you need to come and meet him.”
“Eight-thirty?” What time was it now? Connor glanced at his watch and sprang from the bed. Just after ten? When in his life had he ever slept in? “Why the hell didn’t you call me sooner?”
“I... uh.. Didn’t want—”
“I’ll be down in five,” he growled.
He glanced over at Savannah. She was finishing dressing, with ferocious attitude and jerky movements.
He yanked pants and a shirt on in record time, ensuring he was only a pace behind her down the small spiral staircase.
“I’m leaving,” she finally said something just as they got to the bottom.
“To go to work?” He held the door for her to go through the small lounge near his private entrance on the ground floor.
“Leaving Summerhill.”
“Not yet you’re not.”