Her Bull Rider's Baby Page 12

  He didn’t speak for several long moments. He kept moving her around the dance floor, still as graceful as before, but there was a tension there. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she sensed it anyway. He moved his mouth closer to her ear, the barest hint of stubble brushing along her cheek, the scent of him filling her senses.

  “There’s this guy on the circuit.” Deliberate, measured. He was telling her something important here. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, urged him on. “He always makes comments. Nothing too serious, just digs meant to get under your skin. And sometimes when he makes them, I pretend I don’t understand.”

  There was a hint of shame, a dab of self-loathing there. If she turned her head just so, she could brush her lips across his cheek, tell him she understood and sympathized.

  Instead, she said, “But you do understand. And it does get under your skin—his comments and pretending you don’t know.”

  The same had happened to her when everyone had said she shouldn’t be breeding bulls. She’d smiled and done as she pleased—but the barbs had remained embedded, no matter how she pretended they weren’t.

  “It does,” he said. “Better that though than punching him in the face. Which would get me kicked off the circuit.”

  “Don’t do that. Then I won’t be able to brag about my handsome Brazilian bull rider baby daddy.”

  He laughed, spun her out and back again with easy grace. Man, he was killing her tonight with all the laughing and sharing of confidences. They should meet in a bar more often if he was going to act like this. She could fall in love with this Adriano Silva.

  But he’d still leave for his home, taking their daughter with him and breaking Lil’s heart.

  She sighed and let her head droop a bit.

  “Hey.” He gave her a little shake. “No frowns on the dance floor.”

  She forced a smile, because it was nice to dance with him. She ought to enjoy the moment while she could. “I thought you wanted to get out of here right away.” She grinned at him. “But get you out on the dance floor and you can’t seem to stop.”

  He shrugged. “I can’t help but dance with a beautiful woman.”

  “Why, Mr. Silva, are you flirting with me?”

  He spun her around, pulled her back in close, tucking their hips together. “No. Seducing you.”

  Whoa. Was she dizzy from the spin or from his confession? Maybe both. He was seducing her with movement, holding her so close, cheek-to-cheek, their bodies pressed together.

  “What about our bargain?” Breathy, stunned. She couldn’t pretend not to be knocked for a loop from that.

  They’d agreed—No sex. Meant to not complicate matters, but things felt pretty damn complicated anyway.

  “You’re unhappy.” Unhappiness twisted through his own voice. “I’m clearly failing on my end.”

  A lump formed in her throat. She couldn’t deny it. It wasn’t his job to make her happy, only to show her that he could care for the baby… But he was making her happy tonight, and she wanted it to go on. To keep this Adriano and send his evil e-mail twin away forever.

  “I think we need to renegotiate,” he said. The unhappiness was gone, replaced with rough heat.

  Her entire body pulsed in response. “Yeah. We do.” Oh God, she really, really wanted to. “But probably not in the middle of a dance floor.” Common sense and all. It was one thing to have gossip about her pregnancy going around, but gossip about humping a dude in the middle of the Stampede was something else entirely.

  “Perhaps we could renegotiate one key thing soon though?”

  She knew exactly which one he meant. Yes. Yes. Yes.

  “How about we work on that one tonight?” She turned her head, skin sliding against his, her lips brushing the tiniest of kisses on his earlobe. “In my bed.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  In the end, there wasn’t any negotiating about the no-sex clause. They silently agreed to drop it, which suited Lil just fine.

  She and Adriano stumbled out of the Stampede with barely a wave to Bea, Penny, and Beau—although Lil did catch the shock on Bea’s face—and raced for the truck. They kissed madly at stoplights, Lil cheering every red light and cursing every green. When they arrived home, they stumbled lust-drunk through the hall, hands and mouths and limbs tangled, tasting, exploring.

  At the hallway he went left. She pulled him right.

  “My room,” she said. “It’s this way.” All breathless and dazed. She felt like he was still spinning her on the dance floor.

  Lil ignored the mess in her room, unembarrassed by the clutter strewn through it. He wasn’t here for the décor.

  As if to prove her point, as soon as she shut the door he had her pinned to the wall, burying his face into her bare shoulder. She dragged her nails across his back as he rubbed his stubble across her neck. Fuck, but that was good.

  He used his hips to pin hers against the wall, his hard cock rubbing against her sex. Her pussy flooded with heat, and she grabbed his face and kissed him with desperation. Faster. Harder. I need you.

  He nipped at her bottom lip, sweet sting followed by the hot caress of his tongue. He slid a hand between her thighs and rubbed through her jeans. “Jesus.” His fingers fluttered as if he were shuddering. “I can already feel how hot you are.”

  She clamped her thighs together and thrust herself against his hand, as shameless as a cat in heat. Too long, it had been too long without him. The pleasure was building crazy fast, draining the blood from her brain, making stars dance behind her eyes. “I can feel how hard you are too. Hurry. Let’s hurry.” She thought she might sob out this last: “I need you.”

  He eased the pressure of his body a fraction, lifting his head but keeping his hips tight against hers. He watched her for a long moment, a torturous moment.

  “Faster,” she urged again. “Harder.”

  Why wasn’t he doing something? She knew he was as turned on as she was. Had he changed his mind?

  Oh God, he couldn’t leave her like this. Her brain would explode with this much lust clogging it.

  He caught one of her wrists, then her other in the same hand. A sharp, sexy reminder of how large and strong his hands were. He dragged her imprisoned hands up over her head, held them there. She was spread and vulnerable for him, her breasts pushed forward even as his hips pushed hers back, putting a wanton curve into her back.

  “No.” He said it clearly and distinctly.

  Shit. He had changed his mind. But why grab her like this?

  “No,” he said again. Softer this time. “Not fast. Slow.” He drew the word out to double its usual length, and she shivered as it ran across her ears.

  “I need you,” she tried again. If he drew this out, kept her at this fever pitch for any length of time, her brain would melt.

  “I need you too.” He rubbed his cheek across hers but ducked out of the way when she tried to capture his mouth. “I want to tear you apart, it’s been so long.” His hand tightened on her wrists, a subtle warning. “But I’m in charge, and we go slow. Understand?”

  Oh, that sounded scary hot. Would she even be able to survive what he had planned?

  She nodded, unable to look away from the gold of his eyes. She’d been well and truly caught by the tiger, and now he was going to take his sweet time stripping every bit of pleasure from the marrow of her bones.

  “Good,” he said, as if she were a particularly bright pupil. “If I let you go, do you promise to do as I say? All of it, without hesitation?”

  Oh boy. He wouldn’t hurt her, but this domination stuff… they’d never done anything like it before. “Are you—?”

  He laid a finger across her lips. “I would never hurt you. You’re always safe with me. Trust me.”

  A new wrinkle. Mind games only then. It excited her, imagining what he might have planned. She nodded. “Yes. Master.”

  He laughed softly. “Don’t overdo it. Besides, I like my name on your lips, especially when you’re screaming it
as you come.”

  Melting. She was going to be a puddle by the end of the night. A very happy puddle.

  “I’m going to release you now. Remember: slow.”

  “Or what?”

  His laugh was darkly amused. “Do you really want to find out?”

  She did… and she didn’t. Perhaps more on the didn’t side. “Okay. I’ll be good. Good and slow.”

  He unwrapped his hand from her wrists one finger at a time, never taking his gaze from hers. Time felt painfully, exquisitely stretched as he did. He had not been kidding about slow. This was positively agonizing.

  She lowered her arms, peeped up at him through the veil of her lashes, all innocent obedience. “Where should I put my hands, Adriano?” She drew his name out as if she could fuck it with her tongue, enjoying the roll of the syllables through her mouth.

  “Around my neck,” he ordered quietly.

  When she did, he scooped her up into his arms. Her body vibrated with lust, but something warm knotted in her stomach at his gesture. Romantic, protective, sheltering—this gesture was everything those e-mails hadn’t been.

  He laid her out on the bed, then leaned over her.

  “What now?”

  He tapped her on the hip, sending sparks dancing through her. “Slow,” he reminded her. “I want to look at you.” He ran a hand over the swell of her belly. “The baby is changing you.”

  Her body, not her. She was still the same. The reverence in his voice made her squirm beneath her skin.

  Adriano didn’t notice her discomfort. He stared at his hand splayed on her belly as if it were an old master painting. But it wasn’t—it was his hand, her body, ordinary as ever. She lifted her hips, reminded him of what they were really doing here. And it wasn’t making goo-goo eyes at her stomach.

  His gaze snapped to hers, his eyes wide. Then they darkened.

  Oh yes, he was getting back on track.

  A smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “I told you slow.” He slipped a hand under her shirt, lifting up to expose—“What the hell?”

  He blinked down at the stretchy Lycra covering her bump. Heat flared in her cheeks, pounded in her ears as she snapped up and pulled her shirt back down. Stupid maternity jeans. She’d forgotten all about them. “I can’t fit in any of my old clothes,” she muttered.

  He unpeeled her hands from the bottom of her shirt. She fought for half a second, then let him have his way.

  “Did I tell you to do that?” he purred, as thick and soft as a jaguar’s paw, barely hiding the claws beneath.

  “No.” Her skin prickled with delicious chills.

  “I don’t care what you’re wearing. Because I’m going to have it off you in about two seconds.”

  Hell yes. “I thought you said slow?” She shouldn’t taunt him, but the sooner they got to the naked and sweaty part, the sooner she could forget about him seeing the maternity jeans or the look on his face when he was touching her belly.

  “Greedy,” he accused her softly.

  She shrugged because it was true.

  “Be careful what you demand.” His smile went feral. “You might not like it when you get it.”

  She didn’t think that was true at all. Not when it involved what he could give her with his hands, mouth, body. Lowering herself to the bed, she tipped her head back, pushed her chest forward. Offered herself and her obedience.

  “Good. That’s better.” He slipped off her T-shirt, her nipples tightening when the night air touched her bare skin. And even more when his gaze ran greedily along her. She reached back to unhook her bra—

  “No. Leave it. I want you just in a bra and panties for now.” He sounded like a man with a plan. A sexy plan.

  She relaxed and waited for his next move. When his hands went to her waistband, she lifted her hips, helped him slide her jeans down her legs. Once she was down to her bra and panties, she lifted one knee, canted herself slightly toward him, and let him look his fill.

  His breathing went slow and deep, his nostrils flaring with each inhale as his gaze ran across her for several long moments. The scraps of fabric covering her were hardly anything, yet she felt veiled from him, a thin, gauzy barrier separating him from her.

  Did he sense that barrier too? Was that why he was simply looking?

  She kept very still, wanting him to break this spell. This was his game, and his move should be the first.

  He reached up, long, strong fingers spread wide, and set his hand on her breast. His thumb found her nipple and flicked, the caress muted by the fabric. He climbed onto the bed and straddled her, his denim-covered thighs rough against her while the silk of her bra was soft between her nipple and his thumb. He made no move to remove her bra, just kept up a steady rhythm at her breast that she should have found infuriating, it was so languid. Instead, she was lulled, entranced.

  His free hand slipped between her thighs, found the folds of her sex, and traced her through her panties. Just as unhurried as his hand at her breast, both caresses hushed by the fabric left behind at his command.

  She suddenly realized why he’d ordered her to leave on her underthings: the barrier stretched the sensation, spread it farther, rather than letting the sharp spike of pleasure hit hard. He’d said slow and this was how he was going to do it.

  It was like sinking into the most perfect bath of pleasure, slipping inch by inch with each press and circle of his fingers. She’d never had a climax come on like this, as it crept in on quiet feet, surprising her with the intensity.

  His thumb found her clit—deliberately, she was certain, as deliberate as everything else he was doing—and she sank several inches deeper at once. A shock to have the pleasure rise so quick and she gasped. He settled his thumb on the hood of her clit, broad and thick. And then he pressed. Millimeter by millimeter, each new increment making her pussy clench. Her panties began to grow damp, all of her slipping beneath the surface now.

  She opened her mouth wide, pulling for air, urgency filling her lungs.

  He took his hands away.

  She took several sharp breaths, blinked hard as the drowning sensation persisted. God, he wasn’t even touching her and she still couldn’t breathe. “Please don’t stop,” she panted. “Please.”

  He wrenched aside the crotch of her panties, finally going fast, and lowered his mouth to her. When he sucked, she screamed. She wasn’t sinking into an orgasm—she was falling, and fast, a cliff diver rushing toward the ocean.

  When she hit the surface, her climax was as drawn out as the lead-up had been, leaving her panting and flushed and dazed for who knew how long.

  Jesus fuck. Not even a real phrase, but her brain was scrambled. Totally scrambled.

  “Lil?” Concerned and a touch scared. Adriano’s brows pulled together as he set a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  “You weren’t kidding about slow.” A bit slurry since her lungs were still working double time.

  His smile was pure triumph. “See what happens when you just listen to me?”

  She’d give him this round for sure. The rest of it they could argue about tomorrow. “Can I move now?”

  “Hmm. Why?”

  “Because I want to touch you.” Her fingertips were itching with the need.

  “All right,” he said, a king granting a royal favor. She went for his shirt and he caught her wrist. “But still slow. And I’m still in charge.”

  Yes, very kingly. “Oh? Maybe we should pick a safe word then.” She wanted to puncture that imperial assurance with some teasing.

  “Safe word? What is that?”

  Huh. Safe word must not translate to Portuguese. “If you do anything I don’t like, I say that word—something like helicopter—and you know to stop.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You could also just say, ‘Knock it the fuck off.’”

  She laughed. “I guess that is more my style.”

  “So you don’t like slow?” Disbelief made his words dry.

  “I loved slow.”
She twisted her hand within his hold, caressed the iron fingers wrapped around her wrist. “I’m only teasing you.” In more ways than one.

  “I warned you about that.” The tiger had returned.

  “Oooh, is it time for my punishment? Remember you’ve got to stop when I say helicopter.”

  He laughed. “Of course. But you won’t need it. We’re going slow.” Oh, he made it sound like such a threat, one that made her clench her teeth in anticipation.

  He stripped off his shirt, the play of his muscles beneath his skin making her mouth go dry. He was so fucking cut, his hours of training written in the power of his limbs. His injuries were written on his skin as well. Her fingertips remembered the feel of those scars, wanted to feel them again.

  His jeans and boxers went next. He was fully erect, his cock as proud and strong as he was.

  She pulled a breath in hard through her nose. Since he was a bull rider, a person might suspect what lay beneath his snap-front shirts and Wranglers, but seeing all that lean, honed muscle in the nude… Her heart took a stutter step left, then right, dancing to the beat of her pulse.

  “Like this, do you?” He fisted his cock, quite deliberately rubbing every inch, putting on a performance for her. And what a performance.

  “Yes.” That crazy pleasure was spiking again, stealing her voice.

  “Greedy woman,” he said with rough affection.

  “Yes.” The only word she could form, so she held her arms out to him.

  He released himself, set one knee on the bed, braced himself with a hand—and stopped. “Do you have any condoms?”

  “Yes. But… do we need them? We just got tested and, well—” She gestured to her stomach.

  He bent his elbow a bit, came in closer. “I’ve never done that.” His breath was warm, slightly spicy.

  “Me either.” Skin-to-skin with him. It frightened her a little, which was silly since he’d already gotten her pregnant. But they hadn’t meant to do that—if they did this, they would mean it.

  “If you want to, then I want to.” His eyes had darkened to bronze. He clearly wanted to very much—but if she said no, he’d respect that.