Page 43 of Fighting for Scarlett

“All I want right now is sex, to forget, to pretend my world hasn’t been totally destroyed, to feel instead of think,” she whispered.

“There can't be?—”

“I'm not asking for more,” she said, cutting him off again.

“Just sex?”

“Just sex.”

“Just sex,” he repeated, not sounding as happy about that as she thought he would have. When he blinked the regret was gone, and the hands on her hips tightened. “You're injured, so we do this my way.”

“Pretty sure we did it your way all night that night,” she said, heat pooling low in her stomach at his words and the memories of what they shared.

A low chuckle reverberated through her hands, which were pressed against his pecs. “I didn't hear you complaining.”

A shiver coursed through her as she remembered she had spent the night begging for more orgasms, not a single complaint had been uttered. “I didn't have any need to.”

What could only be described as an alpha smile of satisfaction curled his lips up, and warmth blossomed inside her chest. This was the man she remembered. Funny, sweet, protective, attentive … perfect.

“Hands stay on my shoulders, and I do all the work,” he said as one of his hands shifted so it could brush across her center, where her panties and the leggings she still wore were already soaked with the evidence of her arousal.

No one had touched her in months, and already her body was responding to the featherlight caresses.

What was it about this man that drove her so wild?

“Scarlett?” Tate’s thumb found her already throbbing bud and pressed hard against it. “I didn't hear your agreement.”

Because her brain was frazzled and all she could do was feel, not think. “Umm … what … what was the question?”

Another chuckle vibrated through her hands. “I do all the work and your hands stay on my shoulders unless I tell you otherwise. Okay?”

“Okay,” she quickly agreed. Anything so that he would keep touching her.

Keeping her hands still turned out to be harder than it should have been. Tate took his time, stroking her through her clothes, alternating between mere wisps of touch she could barely feel, to working her until she was so close to coming before he eased back again.

She remembered the back and forth from their time together and both loved and hated it. Because as much as she wished he would hurry up and give her an earth-shattering orgasm, she also never wanted this moment to end.

Here, right now, with this Tate who wasn’t cold and hard, she felt safe, protected, even treasured.

Too bad it couldn’t last.

“Lift,” he ordered, his hands on her hips lifting her off him. When she balanced on her feet, he quickly shoved her leggings and panties down over her hips. Then instead of settling her back on his lap, straddling his massive thighs, he leaned her back a little so he could lift one of her legs, freeing it from the leggings, then hooked it over his shoulder. When he did the same with her other leg, tossing the clothes aside, it left her wide open and bare to him.

Maybe she should be embarrassed considering how he’d treated her, but the pure fire of desire burning in his eyes muted everything else.

He wanted her.

Wanted her more than he wanted to breathe, if his sharp intake of air was anything to go by.

Those huge hands of his cupped her now bare backside and lifted her, then his nose was buried against her center, and he was breathing her in. Small puffs of air accompanied each kiss as he pressed one to each of her inner thighs, and then one against her opening.

Then, finally, that hot mouth of his was on her.

He licked, he nipped, he sucked, his tongue plunged inside of her.

There was no hesitation, no holding back now, he worked her higher, and higher, and higher until it felt like she had taken up residence in the heavens themselves.

His mouth latched onto her bundle of nerves and when he sucked hard, and his teeth raked across the sensitive bud, pleasure exploded inside her.

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