“I don’t know how to fuck a virgin,” he whispered, shaking his head, confused by the overwhelming need he had to touch her in gentleness; confused by the tremble in his hands. “And I want to fuck you, Heather. I want to fuck you bad.”
He watched her breasts heave on a hard breath. He clenched his fists in an effort not to touch them. He tamped his grin as she frowned fiercely, the evidence of her fight against her arousal telling in her deepening flush, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts.
“You should really wait on an invitation, big boy. And I don’t remember protesting how rough you became before,” she bit out, but he heard the breathy indication in her voice that the idea intrigued her. Just as she had been intrigued before by the small taste of pleasure/pain he had introduced her to.
And it intrigued him. The memory of her pleasure, her unmasked lust as he pulled that long hair, or erotically nipped at the plump lips of her perfect cunt made him insane with his growing lust for her.
“Invite me, Heather.” He moved closer, unable to deny himself. He was weak, he admitted. Damned weak where this fiery little redhead was concerned.
She bit her lip, her eyelids lowering, her breathing fast and uneven now.
“Do I look like a fool, Sam?” she asked him, though her voice lacked conviction.
“Naw,” he whispered with a grin. Damn, she could lighten his heart when nothing else could. “You look like cinnamon candy, baby. Sweet and hot on my tongue, blowing my mind with your taste. “
She watched him carefully, her lips parted now as she fought for air. He knew just how she felt. He was smothering with his desire for her.
“And you look like trouble.” She trembled though, despite her objection as he pulled her leg from its propped position, then moved closer to her.
“Unbutton your shirt,” he whispered as her hands gripped his wrists.
“What?” Surprise flared in her eyes.
“Do it,” he growled almost wincing at the roughness of his voice. “I want to watch you, Heather. Unbutton your shirt, then spread it apart. Let me see your hard little nipples. Touch them.”
“I’m still a virgin,” she reminded him, her bitterness heard and understood.
Sam winced. His last words to her before she left the year before were to lose her virginity before returning. He wasn’t an easy lover and he was terrified of hurting her. Evidently, she hadn’t heard that part.
“Not for much longer,” he promised her. “Now unbutton that fucking shirt, Heather. Don’t play coy, baby, you knew what would happen when you came back.”
Her nails bit into his wrists, biting into his skin as her tongue ran over her lips nervously.
“I didn’t expect anything, Sam,” she told him, and he was surprised at the honesty he heard in her voice. “There were no promises between us. How could I have expected anything?”
Sam took a deep, rough breath as he watched her. She didn’t try to hide her arousal, didn’t care to let him know he would be first. Even knowing what he was, the life he lived, she wanted him. How much more would she want?
“I won’t be easy. I warned you, Heather.” He fought to keep his voice hard, but he heard the vein of need in it. “Now unbutton that damned blouse before I rip it off your body.”
He was almost shaking with the need to taste those hard little nipples beneath the cloth. To suck them into his mouth, nibble at them; hear her cries of passion as he drove her crazy with his mouth. Then his mouth went dry as her hands went to the buttons. One slid free, parting the material minutely. A moment later, the second came undone. His cock jerked in anticipation.
Her fingers went to the third, was slipping it slowly from its mooring when the van door was suddenly jerked open. Without thought, Sam pushed Heather to the floor in a quick movement, his body bracing for danger as he turned to meet the person stupid enough to interrupt him.
He stopped within a second of a blow to the intruder. Tara Glaston stood watching him, her eyes narrowed, her hands propped on her slender hips, her green eyes glittering with anger.
“Heather, do you have any idea what the hell you’re getting into here?” She bit out.
The soft chuckle behind him surprised him. He turned back to Heather, wondering at the knowing glint in her amusement filled gaze.
“Maybe that’s a question you should be asking him, Tara.” She was sitting back up, re-buttoning her shirt and watching Sam with a knowing glint.
“Get out of here, Sam.” Tara bit out, her anger slowly simmering as she watched him. “I think they need you at the house for something.”
He wanted to argue, but he knew Tara, and knew well she was as mean as a blind rattler.
“This isn’t over, Heather,” he warned her. “Don’t think it is.”
She bit her lip again. Damn her, he wished he could do it for her.