For Her Protection(72)

She pulled her handbag from the floor and dug out her keys then slid her nail into the ring, prying it open. She tugged off her spare key and offered it to him. His hand opened and she placed it in his open palm.

“We’re home,” she whispered.

He closed his fist around the key. His eyes flashed, his gaze flickering between her eyes and lips. He didn’t kiss her but his body changed. Told her that when he touched her there’d be no stopping. Told her how it was going to be the moment they got inside.

She already ached for him. With her body, her heart and more. She opened the door and stepped out of the car. Connor’s footsteps thudded after hers. He climbed the steps beside her, silent as a predator before striking at its prey. His hand hung not an inch away from hers but she didn’t take his fingers, didn’t make contact, not here in the street.

Her heart thumped and her blood felt hot and heavy. He slid in his key and opened the door. She strode down the hall into the kitchen—felt him behind her, felt the anticipation like the sound of a spark before an explosion. It was going to be like the time in the store room—out of control. But this time there’d be a crushing tenderness. Emotion already swamped her from her heart to her toes.

She dropped her bag onto the counter and it happened—contact. His body pressed against hers from behind, he circled her waist and the heat from his body surrounded her. She turned her head and his mouth slanted over her lips. His tongue lashed hers and she met its thrusts, letting him lead. She tasted the need on that kiss, felt his desire in his shaking breath and the hands that roamed over her desperately. Then his lips left hers and he stepped forward, shuffled her ahead of him with his knees pushing against her thighs. The kitchen counter knocked against her abdomen. He bent her over, pushing between her shoulders. His knees hit the ground with a thud that shook the floor under her heels.

He drew her dress around her waist with a sweep of his hands—his fingers hooked in her panties and tugged them over the swell of her ass. Her pussy tingled, squeezed tight between her closed legs. His mouth followed the urgent path of his hands, teeth scraping along one sensitive ass cheek. She jerked against the counter, trying to spread her legs, widen them to show him what she wanted but her panties held them closed. His thumbs dug into her thighs just below her cheeks, kneading, prying her open. He left her panties there, just below her exposed ass, trapping her legs.

Sharp jolts of desire batted her insides, seized her lungs, flooded her pussy. He spread her cheeks wide, the heat of his breath the only warning before his mouth descended on her vagina. He sucked her, rubbed his hot, hard tongue against her opening then drove it into her. She gasped and her stomach tightened with pleasure.

Her clit throbbed, desperate for his touch but he wasn’t trying to get her off. This was preparation—preparation for the way he was going to take her. He opened her wider, licked his way from her pussy to her rear entrance. She twitched but his tongue didn’t touch her there again. He rose behind her, foil tore then a moment later his bulging head drove against her slick entrance.

Air flooded her lungs as he stretched her, filled her with the sweetest sting. He thrust deep, pumped hard. Each thrust stoked the pleasurable fire building in her core. He took her without restraint, using irregular, out-of-control movements. She bucked into him, needing more, needing all of him.

He hunched over her, slid his hand under her chest and pulled her back against him. His lips pressed into the curve of her neck and he crossed his arms over her breasts, driving harder with each surge.

Heat flooded her face, her eyes squeezed closed, the pressure built. Slapping thighs, driving cock and the tremble of his breath against the sensitive skin on her throat, a tsunami of sensation.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

She didn’t think, knew what he needed to hear. “I love you, Connor,” she cried.

His whole body tensed along her back. He bucked, squeezing her breasts in his hands. “I fucking love you, Charlize,” he groaned against her neck and pushed deep.

He rocked against her, buried his face in her hair and spasmed. Inside her his shaft tightened and swelled, pushed her so close to ecstasy it burned. The breaths in her hair slowed and his cock tugged out of her. Her pussy clutched him, not wanting to let the fullness go. He released her slowly, giving her a chance to balance herself on her own feet.

He lifted the folds of her dress over her head, tossed it to the ground then trailed his hands over her shoulders. The clasp on her bra snapped and a split-second later he tossed that too. She rubbed her sore nipples—so tight they hurt. He pushed her panties down, let them fall to the floor. His palms ran over her back like salve over a burn. Her skin ached, needed, wanted.