“And you have no idea how much I want to lock you away and throw away the key until I destroy every ass**le who ever hurt you.” He presses inside me, and for a fleeting moment I think about the condom we don’t have, the pills I haven’t taken for fear I’m pregnant. But I don’t resist. I don’t fear. I’m pregnant. I know it. I feel it and I saw it in his eyes on the plane. He knows, too, or maybe he just thinks I’m still taking the pill. I lose the thought when Liam drives deep inside me, buries himself until he can go no further. We stay there as if we are savoring the moment, anticipating the next. The sound of our breathing fills the air, melding together. Seconds pass and I hear the clock ticking, building tension.

Taking me with him, Liam rolls to his back, pulling me over his hips, his hand in my hair. “The many flavors of control,” he whispers. “Now you’re on top. You decide how fast or slow we go.” His voice roughens.“How deep I get.”

The words radiate through me, evocative, erotic, and so much more than sex. One of us shifts on the mattress. Him, I think. Maybe me. The dagger has somehow ended up pressed to the side of my hand, its very presence driving home his message. He’s telling me that no matter how dominant he might come off, he’s willing to share control.

Emotion wells in my chest and I shove it away, pressing my palm to his face. “I’m glad you found me.” I lean in and this time, I kiss him, silently telling him what I still don’t feel ready to say out loud. I am his. I have been from the moment I first met him. His hand goes to the back of my head, holding me to him, but he doesn’t move and I know he’s waiting on me. He’s giving me that control he’s promised. Part of me wants to roll back over and tell him to take it and me. That part of me that feels she’s been alone forever and just wants someone to take care of her. But the other part of me is ready to own my life in a way that makes that decision no longer an option. The fact that Liam understands that I have to embrace who I am and where I’m going matters to me more than I think he can imagine.

I lick into his mouth, a soft caress of my tongue against his and the moan that rumbles low in his chest is so sexy, so utterly arousing, that I squeeze my thighs together and begin to move. Our lips part and for a few moments I stay there, my breath lingering with his, the dark springy hair of his chest teasing my ni**les, but it’s not enough. I lean back, my hands settling on his shoulders, holding me up, the angle shifting his c**k deeper inside me.

His gaze lowers, strokes my br**sts and his hands follow, thumbs teasing my ni**les. I arch into the touch and he sits up, driving himself deeper inside me, one arm wrapping around my waist, one hand cupping my breast. Our foreheads come together, our breaths mingling again, and I like the way it makes me feel connected to him. This is a perfect moment, me on top, but sheltered in the cocoon of his strong arms. Safe to let go, to experience what it is I am with this man.

He kisses me, his mouth brushing over mine, a seductive featherlight touch with a tiny hint of tongue, before he drags his lips over my jaw, down my neck, to find my nipple, licking, then suckling deeply. My sex clenches around the thick pulse of his c**k and I wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to him, tangling my fingers in his hair. The air around us shifts, and we are no longer soft and gentle. We are kissing feverishly, moving together, a wild, frenzied rush of rocking until he falls back onto the mattress, or maybe I push him. My hands are back on his shoulders and I am driving against him, unable to get enough, unable to ever get enough. He’s watching me, his blue eyes riveted on my every move, his scorching gaze burning me alive, devouring my br**sts, watching every expression on my face.

Trying to take him deeper, I arch my back, move my hands from his shoulders to his waist, my long hair draping my face, and my gaze lands on the ‘pi’ tattoo with the inverted triangle. I swallow hard and go still, my fingers splaying over artwork so like the one on my handler’s wrist and yet so unlike it, and for a moment, I feel what I have yet to feel. Fear. I feel fear and I do not know why. Everything around me seems to go black and I can hear my own breathing. I can hear the clock.

“Amy?” Liam whispers, and my gaze jerks to his, and the concern, the deep affection in his stare, tears through me. “What--” he starts, but I don’t want him to speak.

I lean in and press my mouth to his, telling myself that two completely different triangles do not equal the same symbol. His strong arm wraps around my waist again, and I am where I belong. The tattoo means nothing. He means everything. Tangling my fingers into his hair, I slant my mouth over his and I kiss him like I have never kissed him before. I ride him like I have never ridden him. I take him. I make him mine like I have never dared with another man, like I could with no other man. And I drive us to the point that we are shaking, orgasming together, my sex clenching his shaft until we melt together in utter, complete satisfaction. Boneless, I come back to the world draped over the top of him. I don’t want to move. I don’t want this to end, and I think he doesn’t either.

It is Liam who finally shifts us, settling me on the mattress beside him, caressing my cheek. “I’ll be right back.” He moves away and I fight the ridiculous urge to reach for him and pull him back, like once he is gone, he’s gone forever.

Resting my weight on my elbows, I watch him walk in all his masculine glory toward a doorway to my left that I think is a bathroom, and as he disappears into the other room, my gaze shifts to the twinkling city lights of the night sky beyond the window. I have this odd sense of dreaming, and I don’t want to wake up. It hardly feels real that in only a few short hours I’ve gone from a roadside dump to this amazing place with Liam.

Tags: Lisa Renee Jones The Secret Life of Amy Bensen Romance
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