Janelle Denison - Wilde Thing

She'd been running late this morning and hadn't made her bed, and the rumpled sheets felt wonderfully cool and crisp against her backside as she reclined against the pillows. She watched Steve remove a few foil packets from his pocket and toss them on the bed before ripping open the front of his jeans. He skinned the denim and his briefs down his legs and kicked them off, then straightened, giving her the first full-frontal view of him.

Completely, unabashedly nude and all hot and aroused for her, he stole her breath in a way no man ever had.

Her fantasies of this particular bad boy didn't compare to the real thing. She knew he had broad shoulders, but they appeared so much wider in comparison to his lean waist and narrow hips. And then there was that tattoo on his biceps that she found so fascinating, a mark of a rebel who seemed to live by his own rules and did whatever he pleased. The man was tough and virile, from the dark stubble of his beard to the intense look in his eyes, to the hard, square set of his jaw. Everything about Steve Wilde was powerfully, incredibly male.

She took in the light dusting of hair on his chest, followed the narrowing path down to his rippled belly, and lower, to the most prominent, impressive part of him. She swallowed hard. His thoroughly erect cock was parallel to his stomach, pointing straight up to his navel, impossibly long and hard and thick.

"Spread your legs for me," he ordered gruffly.

As she parted her thighs to make room for him, he grabbed one of the condoms, tore open the package with his teeth, and rolled the latex down his shaft. Sheer, primal lust shimmered off him in waves; she could detect his need in his quick, efficient movements and witnessed the hunger in his eyes as he swept a heated look up the length of her.

A muscle in his cheek clenched in barely controlled restraint, and his nostrils flared like an animal scenting his mate. "You do realize that this first time isn't going to be slow and gentle, don't you?"

There was a subtle warning in his tone, and while she appreciated the chance he was giving her to say no, he'd already given her slow. What she needed now was something just as untamed and uninhibited as he was suggesting. "I know."

From the foot of the bed, he crawled up onto the mattress and knelt between her legs. Hooking his fingers beneath her knees, he dragged her toward him until her widened thighs were draped over his and her pelvis was tipped up in offering. He eased over her, using his thighs to push hers up higher on his waist, which also effectively trapped her beneath the weight of his body. His forearms came to rest next to her face, and he shifted his hips, lodging the thick head of his penis against her very core.

Staring into her eyes, he pushed into her an inch, letting her feel the size of him, teasing her with the promise of more. "Once I'm inside you, it's gonna be hot, hard, and fast." His voice deepened into a rough growl.

She touched her fingers to the stubble along his jaw, the prickling sensation heightening her arousal. "I'm ready for that," she said huskily. "I'm ready for you."

"Then take me. All of me." He plunged into her, strong and deep, impaling her to the hilt with that first unbridled thrust.

Despite being primed for him, she sucked in a startled breath as her inner muscles clamped tight around his shaft. His eyes flared wide in response, giving her a brief glimpse of passion, heat, and something else warring in their hot blue depths. Before she could analyze that last emotion, before she could dwell on the initial discomfort of being thoroughly consumed by him, he began to move, his body undulating and grinding against hers as he increased his rhythmic pace.

A low, throaty, on-the-edge moan escaped him, and he crushed his mouth to hers, kissing her with a desperate, fierce passion that caught her off guard. His tongue swept into her mouth, matching the rapid, pistoning stroke of his hips and the slick, penetrating slide of his flesh in hers.

Tremors radiated through her from the sensitive spot where they were joined so intimately. She felt thoroughly possessed by him, body and soul, in a way that defied their impersonal bargain and the simplicity of an affair. In a way that aroused feelings that had no business being a part of this temporary relationship.

Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she concentrated on the pleasure he gave her, and how alive he made her body feel. Running her hands down the slope of his spine, she curved her fingers over his taut buttocks and locked her legs around his waist to pull him closer, deeper, and abandoned herself to yet another stunning orgasm.

This time, he was right there with her when she reached the peak of her climax. Groaning, he broke their kiss and tossed his head back, his hips driving hard, his body tightening, straining against hers.

"Liz." Her name hissed out between his clenched teeth as his body convulsed with the force of his release.

When the shudders subsided, Steve lowered himself on top of her and buried his face against her throat. His ragged breathing was hot and moist against her skin, his heart racing just as unsteadily as her own.

A smile drifted across her lips as she trailed her fingers back up his spine, all the way to the damp, silky tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck, savoring the delightful feel of him inside her, draped over her. She'd never felt so utterly satisfied, so sexually, physically content.

Undoubtedly, Steve Wilde was a fantasy worth waiting for, in every way. One she planned to take advantage of until their time together was over.

Steve slipped back into Liz's bed after a quick trip to the bathroom, ignoring the little voice in his head that told him he ought to get dressed and go. It was late, and he didn't make it a habit of spending the night with the women he dated. Too many expectations were assumed from that particular intimacy, and actually sleeping with a woman meant taking the relationship to a whole new level. One that included lazy morning sex, shared showers, and breakfast together. It was a set of emotional complications he'd avoided since his divorce, and he'd never had any desire to break those personal rules of his.

Tonight he was sorely tempted. Liz was the first woman he'd been with in all those years who made him wonder what it would be like to wake up spooning himself against her soft, giving body, to start the morning with slow, leisurely love-making. To eat breakfast in bed with her and join her in a fun, playful shower before heading off to work-with his mind and body rejuvenated and a big smile on his face.

The notion beckoned to him, strong and undeniable. Damn. He would leave … in just a few minutes.

With a soft, replete sigh, she turned her head his way, her eyes dreamy as they met his. A mellow smile lifted her lips, which were pink and puffy from his aggressive kisses, and he responded with a lazy, knowing grin of his own.

She'd pulled the sheet up to her chest in the few minutes he'd been gone, in an attempt at modesty, which he found extremely amusing after everything they'd done and how brazen she'd been. But he could still see the outline of her breasts and nipples and the enticing swell of her hip against the thin covering. Her skin was flushed with warmth and ravishment, and her blond hair was tousled around her head and against her pillow in a soft cloud of silk.

She looked beautiful, besotted, and blissfully sated. Like a woman well and thoroughly fucked.

His cock twitched and tightened in renewed heat and awareness. He wanted her again, which was unbelievable since, just minutes ago, he'd felt wrung dry. Then again, just remembering how hungry and insatiable she'd been-so needy-was enough to energize any red-blooded guy for another go-around with someone so sexy and uninhibited. Fortunately, she was all his, as was all that wild, tempestuous passion of hers. She'd showed him tonight that he could do anything he wanted to her, that she was eager and willing to explore dark desires and forbidden fantasies.

Which was a good thing, since he had plenty in mind.

Not bothering to cover up his own nudity, he stretched out on his side, propped his head in his hand, and asked the one question that had him very curious: "How long has it been for you?"

She groaned and winced, and glanced up at the ceiling in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. "God, was I that obvious?"

He chuckled, finding her chagrin too endearing in the aftermath of such wild, hot sex. "Maybe just a little," he teased, and gently touched a finger to her chin to make her look at him again. "You were very enthusiastic-not that I'm complaining, since I reaped the benefits of all that pent-up desire."

She grinned wryly. "Sexual frustration will do that to a person."

"Trust me; I know. I've been feeling that same way myself since I first laid eyes on you," he said meaningfully-a month in which he'd lusted after her, and no other woman would do. Despite all those restless, erotic dreams that had left him hot and bothered and moody at times, Liz had been well worth the wait. "Now, fess up."

Her fingers absently bunched and pleated the sheet between her breasts. "You really don't want to know," she murmured.

"Sweetheart, if I didn't want to know, I wouldn't ask." He meant that sincerely. "So what are we talking here? One year? Two years?" he guessed.

"Almost three years," she admitted with a slight grimace. "Since my husband died."

That revelation raised his brows. "Wow," he said, stunned that she'd denied herself that long. Stunned that no other man had persuaded her into bed sooner.