Fair is fair.
Flattening her hands against the door, she forced herself not to hide. Instead, she spread her feet a little wider, letting him see just how wet he’d made her, how swollen she was for him.
A strangled sound erupted from the back of his throat. He fell to his knees as if his legs could no longer support him.
Samantha had no illusions about her body. She had strong arms and a good butt, decent boobs and a stomach that was flat enough. But there was nary a thigh gap in sight. Nor were her legs as long as she’d like them to be. And her hips? Well, let’s just say there was no exercise on the planet she’d found to get rid of her saddlebags.
Still, when she dared to glance at Ozzie on his knees in front of her, she saw nothing but reverence in his eyes. He looked at her and saw something beautiful. And in that moment, she felt beautiful.
“I pictured you like this after I went to bed last night,” he admitted, swallowing hard. “I touched myself and thought about how beautiful you are. But my imagination didn’t do you justice.”
Holy hellfire. He’d thought about her and touched himself? The erotic picture in her head made the ache between her legs almost unbearable. She squeezed her thighs together, hoping to dull the delightful misery.
He grunted as if he knew what she was doing. And maybe he did. Because he lifted his hands and forced her legs apart.
“Ozzie.” His name was a plea in and of itself. But she didn’t think it hurt to add, “Please, touch me. I ache, and—Oh Lord, yesssss.”
He didn’t hesitate to slide one thick finger inside her. Because she was so hot, so ready, her body offered little resistance. Instead, it welcomed his intrusion with a hot rush of wetness.
He made a noise. It was a breathy unhhh of sound. As if he couldn’t stand it a moment longer, he leaned forward and put his mouth on her.
Now, Samantha had never been a huge fan of cunnilingus. The men she had dated, while wildly exuberant, had also been pitifully unskilled. They either lapped at her like a cat with spilled milk or else sucked so hard, she thought her clit might pop right off. But Ozzie…
Oh, he did neither of those things. In fact, she couldn’t say for sure what he did, but whatever it was, it was…wonderful. With his lips and his teeth and his tongue—not to mention the finger inside her—he created a head-spinning, toe-curling hedonistic profusion of sensation. And before she knew it, he had built her orgasm to dizzying heights. Pleasure was a vibrant, pulsing thing inside her. Muscles she hadn’t realized she possessed spasmed and quivered.
“Ozzie!” She speared her fingers into his hair. To push him away? To pull him closer? She couldn’t tell. It was so good. Too good. She couldn’t take it anymore and—
The sound that keened from the back of her throat was one she’d never heard before. And forevermore, she would recognize it as the noise of pure, transcendent physical rapture. Her body exploded. Pleasure pulsed. Stars burst behind her squeezed tight eyelids, coalesced, and burst again.
It was ecstasy. It was agony. And she never wanted it to end.
Chapter 15
Beautiful.
That was the only word to describe Samantha in the throes of release. The smell of her. The taste of her. The sight of her, head thrown back, hips pressed forward, body throbbing in delight.
So beautiful, in fact, that she made Ozzie hurt. Shame formed a lump in his throat. He’d meant to give her the kind of pleasure she would never forget. The kind that would make any man who came after him pale by comparison.
And he had. He was certain that he had. There was no way she could fake her quivering breasts and thighs, her flushed skin, and the fluttering squeeze of her internal muscles around his pumping finger.
But it felt wrong.
He felt wrong.
Because he hadn’t done it with generosity, because there was nothing more wonderful than bringing a woman to the brink of ecstasy and then standing back and watching her fling herself over the edge. He’d done it out of malice, out of hurt and anger. Her pleasure had been her punishment.
But it had backfired.
He had tried to use sex as a weapon, but the only one wounded by the experience was him.
Well, no more, he thought. No more wallowing. No more self-pity.
Samantha had done him the honor of allowing him to love her, to make love to her, and even if it only lasted a night or two nights or ten nights, he swore to himself he would make the most of every second. Because he did love her. It was clear to him now. Loved her the way Boss loved Becky, Snake loved Michelle, the way all the BKI men loved their women, with a fierce, all-encompassing devotion. And even if she didn’t feel the same way about him, that didn’t mean he couldn’t cherish the here and now.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, kissing her thigh when the last vestiges of orgasm had shuddered through her. Her taste was sweet on his tongue, making him think of the line from Warrant’s song, “Cherry Pie.”
