And Graham would be Graham. Too wicked, too experienced, too impossible to contain or to ever fall in love with the innocent woman who had loved him from the moment she’d met him at a sun-drenched marina six years before.
He would just be Graham.
And she would become no more than another of the little playthings whose names his sister could never remember, and whose presence in his bed would be easily forgotten.
She would be no more than the current flavor of the month . . .
—
“What did you say?”
He was dying.
Graham stood poised at the very entrance to rapture, at the portal of agonizing pleasure, and he couldn’t push through. The head of his dick throbbed violently, blood pounding at the thick crest, and all he could hear was the whispered sob of a woman who knew only how to love. She had no idea how to just feel good. How to just take the pleasure for what it was, wring every last ounce of ecstasy from each touch, and still survive without hurting.
What he would do to her would go beyond destruction of the innocence in her eyes.
The sob that whispered from her was a sound he had never expected, despite the fact that he should have known. He did know, he amended.
She was a woman who still believed in love.
God help him, no woman could be that good an actress, could she?
“You’re what?” Lowering his head to press his forehead against her trembling shoulder, he swallowed tightly, fighting with every iota of self-control he possessed to pull back, to ease his tortured flesh from the slick, heated entrance of her body.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice shook. The words, so soft they were barely coherent, brought an agonized groan from his chest.
Damn her.
Damn him.
God, he was dying to have her. He couldn’t force himself away from her, couldn’t stand the thought of jacking off another night to the remembered taste and feel of her.
“You think this ends here?” he growled, the heightened lust and agonized need ripping at his senses. “That being a virgin is enough to keep me out of your body?”
A muffled sob sounded from her. “I’m sorry, Graham. I’m so sorry . . .”
“Six months.” He nipped at her shoulder, licked over the mark. “It’s been six months since I tasted you, Lyrica, and I’m so damned desperate to fuck you . . .”
He jerked back, her instinctive cry causing a grimace to tighten his expression. He pulled her around before dragging her to an easy chair and pushing her into it.
Surprise rounded her richly emerald eyes as the position placed her at the perfect height to allow him to push past her parted lips.
Gripping the base of his cock, he stared down at her, daring her to deny him. He was within seconds of begging her not to deny him.
He had to clench his teeth to hold back the broken growl of anticipation when she reached out, fingers trembling, to curl around the thick length, just above his own hand.
How innocent was she? he wondered. How much experience had the redneck bastards sniffing after her given her?
Was her innocence physical only?
Keeping her gaze locked with his, Graham slid his fingers into the mass of black silk at the side of her face, clenched, and held her still as he pressed forward.
—
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
What was she doing?