Page 47 of Blind Attraction

Her reaction only made him hotter. He moved to her other breast, paying it the same attention while his hand slid up her waist to cup the one he’d just been savoring.

She arched her back, moaned her pleasure, yet it still wasn’t enough. He needed her as hot as he was, as needy, as crazy with lust and adoration. He tweaked her nipple with his fingers, relished her gasp, and then released her. Slowly, he ran his hand down her belly, over her abdomen, and through the patch of curls at the apex of her thighs.

Her breathing increased, the pants of her breath brushing over his face as he moved his mouth from one breast to the other. He teased her pussy, gliding his fingers around her swollen lips, back and forth, until she was undulating against him.

“Mitchell...Mitchell.”

He glanced up to see the darkened beauty of her face.

She nuzzled into his neck and tasted his skin with her tongue. “Please. Oh, god, please.”

“What, sweetheart?” He applied more pressure to the fingers circling her clit. “Tell me what you want.” He craved the words, hungered to hear the disorder in her voice. “Tell me what you need.”

She ground into him, scouring her nails up his back. “You,” she whispered into his ear, sending a shiver down his spine that pooled in his balls. “I want you, Mitchell.” She sucked on the skin of his neck. “Only you... Please.”

He stroked his fingers down the center of her pussy, straight through the juices of her arousal.

“I want you inside me now.”

He couldn’t wait either. Leaning back, he grabbed the condom from under the pillow and sheathed himself. Gently positioning his body on top of hers, he rested on his forearms so she didn’t take his entire weight. He settled his erection against her wet folds, his stomach pressing into hers. The room fell quiet as her hands lay at his shoulders and for long moments they just stared.

Her eyes were too dark to make out, too shadowed to see the light green irises he loved so much. Her heart beat hard against his chest, the rapid succession matching the pounding which echoed in his ears.

Damn. He had it bad. Even in shades of gray, she was beautiful. And never before had he wanted to make love. He couldn’t remember ever having slow, emotional sex. As a teenager, he’d concentrated on his mantra of “this is a marathon, not a sprint. This is a marathon, not a sprint,” and spent his time concentrating on getting his partners across the line, one way or another. Then Reckless Beat became famous, and women flocked to him. They didn’t care if he pleasured them or how the situation ended as long as they had the opportunity to tell their friends they’d screwed a rock star.

He’d never sought the intimacy of the missionary position, yet right now, he wanted nothing else. To feel her breath, the touch of her breasts against his chest, to see the dark outline of her face.

With a slight tilt of his hips, he rocked into her, the head of his cock finding her slick entrance. Her hands gripped his shoulders tighter, and he closed his eyes to press his lips against her. He pushed into her sex and groaned over the tight ecstasy.

Their kiss was lazy and deliberate, soft strokes of tongues, tender pressure of lips, and he mimicked the rhythm with each gentle thrust of his hips. With each slide, he gave his heart and soul to her, and his insides crumpled under the weight of love.

I love you…I love you…I love you.

He couldn’t say the words aloud, but he showed them with every touch.

Her thighs parted further, and her legs rose to encircle his waist. With the next pulse of his hips, they groaned in unison, the deeper penetration driving him so close to the edge he thought he would go over. He broke the kiss, paused, and leaned over on one elbow to break the connection his soul seemed to have made with this woman.

The pleasure didn’t just pool in his usual zone of awesome, it rushed along his stomach, through his chest, clenching his heart. She consumed him from head to toe, mind and soul.

“Don’t stop.” She pulled him back down to her chest.

“Just give me a minute.” He rested his forehead against hers.

“No,” she whispered and lifted her hips, making his cock sink deep inside her core. “I’m so close.”

“Christ,” he moaned, biting his lip to control the orgasm threatening to explode. He kept his movements slow, deliberate, but hit harder, sinking to the hilt. Each time he retreated, he paused to take a breath and rebuild his restraint.

“Mitchell.” Her plea was his undoing.

He reached around to cup the back of her neck and smashed his lips against hers. This kiss wasn’t soft, it wasn’t sweet. It freed his passion, his weakness, and left him raw and vulnerable. Her thighs gripped him to the point of pain, her back arched, and with each hard thrust of his hips, she panted.

“Mitchell, I’m coming.”

His release hit in an instant, her pussy milking him harder with every slide between her tight walls. He shot his seed and moaned with each rhythmic pulse, until his legs burned with tension. Burying his head in her neck, he let the feminine sounds of release wash over him with the last bursts of paradise.

Her thighs began to relax, their grip loosening from his waist, to fall back down on the bed. His mind was a frenzied blur, caught between his desire to make Alana his, and his conscience battling to let her go. The struggle tore him apart as he panted into her neck.

He wished he had all the answers and knew which path to choose, the one that was right for both of them. But as exhaustion settled in, pulling him into slumber, he realized no matter what happened between them, even if he did leave her, he would never truly be able to let her go.

---