“Don’t talk.” She dropped her purse to the floor, and began undressing. In a matter of seconds she would be in his arms, and he would make love to her. And he’d make damn sure she knew it wasn’t just sex.

He held his breath, watching as she revealed the pink sheer bra he loved so much. Her nipples, plump and rosy and beautiful, puckered at the combination of the cool air-conditioning and his hot inspection. Next came her slacks and then her thong—also pink and sexy as hell. His eyes traced her long, toned legs and settled on the tiny V he fully intended to explore with his tongue before this night was over. His cock throbbed, pulsed, demanded to be touched.

“Don’t move,” she said.

His gaze lifted to hers, lingering a moment on those beautiful breasts, before he said, “Whatever you say swe—Meagan.”

She inhaled, her expression flickering with an instant of emotion. She didn’t like that correction, and that pleased him. She sashayed toward him, but he didn’t miss the slight limp. She paused at the window beside him and yanked two curtain straps free, and instantly he knew she was after total control.

He let her climb on top of him, straddle him, teasing him by settling her perfect little backside against his erection. She held up the straps. “I know you don’t mind giving me control.” She leaned forward, pressing her hands on the headboard, her nipples so close he could almost taste them, her breath warm near his lips. And then for just an instant, pain flickered over her features, and she turned her head, discreetly shifting her knee before turning back to him. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

The pain, her pain, did him in, and he acted on pure instinct. Sam wrapped his arms around her and slid his hand up her back to her neck. “Meagan,” he whispered, the feel of her in his arms removing any reserve he’d pretended to have. “I’ll let you tie me up. I’ll let you do anything to me. But not if you’re trying to hide from me. Not if you’re using it to hide from what’s real. And that’s us. Us, Meagan. We’re real.”

“I’m not hiding,” she rasped.

“Yes, you are. You are and we both know it. What happened to telling me your story?” He leaned back and looked at her. “Or creating one together?”

“Sam,” she whispered, relaxing into him. “I’ve just dealt with this alone for so long. It’s attached to a lot of pain.”

He slid his hand down her arm. “That I’ll share with you if you let me.”

She shifted slightly, and he felt the tension ripple through her body. Sam rolled her over beneath him, settling between her legs, elbows resting beside her head. “You’re in no shape to be on top or to tie me up tonight. I expect a full dominatrix routine when you’re okay—including leather.” His voice softened. “Sometimes you have to let someone else carry some of the burden.”

She reached up and trailed her fingers along his jaw. “I’m afraid I’ll forget how to be without you.”

“I’ve already forgotten how to be without you.”

Her eyes teared up. “Sam.”

He kissed his name from her lips, a slow sensual kiss that deepened slowly, before becoming something far more passionate, far more wild and emotional. They clung together, tongue against tongue, body against body.

Sam slid inside her, and he felt her fear disappear, felt it fade with every touch, every kiss. He buried himself deep within her, felt the warm wet heat of her body consume him, just as she had him in every possible way. He loved this woman, he loved her with all that he was.

A slow, sweet rhythm formed. Neither of them wanted it to end, but neither could resist the build up of sensation that was leading them into a frenzy of thrusts. Their need beckoned them to get closer and closer, yet they never seemed close enough. To touch each other everywhere, yet they were never touching enough. Until finally, finally they couldn’t take anymore. She held tight to him, tensing with release, her body contracting around his cock, demanding his satisfaction as she had his heart.

When they stilled, sated and relaxed, he pulled her against him, and didn’t speak, finding he was holding his breath, afraid she would withdraw.

Long seconds ticked by and then she said, “I was at Juilliard. The teacher I told you about helped me get in.”

Sam kept silent, afraid he’d ruin her confidence their intimacy had brought her.

“I was one of the few students to get a full scholarship, which I needed since my parents disapproved. One day during practice, I was doing a lift with another dancer, and we fell. He tripped and I tumbled and…well, my knee went in the wrong direction. I tried to recover and return to school, but I just couldn’t compete at that level. So I transferred home, and gave it a whirl at the University of Texas, still dancing, still struggling with the injury. But they had a film school there, and I gravitated in that direction and ended up in news, like I told you.” She laughed, but not with humor. “My parents, at least, found that choice acceptable, if far from perfect.”

Tags: Lisa Renee Jones Stepping Up Romance
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