her. His eyes sparked when he felt her arousal against his hand.
My God, she’s just so fucking hot. So wet.
He lifted himself up on her, his erect cock brushing against her heat. She arched under him. His eyes travelled down the length of her body, faltered, then widened in shock.
“Dean?” she said. “What?”
He rolled off her so quickly she barely had time to blink.
“Fuck,” he said, a wave of revulsion and anger rising in him. “Why didn’t you tell me I was hurting you? Why didn’t you stop me?”
She gazed up at him, totally confused. “What are you talking about?”
He gestured. “Your side, Emma.”
She glanced down and saw the mass of dark bruising along her left hip. “Oh. Oh, God.”
“I did that to you last night, didn’t I? When I was on top of you in bed?” He reached out to touch her face, his hand gentle. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t – was I that rough?”
“No. It wasn’t you.”
“What do you mean it wasn’t me? There was nobody else here, and I know that weren’t there when you took off your clothes last night. So if not me, then who?”
“I have anemia, Dean. I bruise easily.”
He stared at her, disbelieving. “Emma. Don’t lie to me. If I hurt you…”
“How can I be lying?” She sat up. “We weren’t drunk last night, so you must remember everything, right? Do you remember throwing me up against a wall or punching me in my side? ‘Cause I have no memory of either of those things happening.”
He paused. She was right, actually. Nothing he had done to her would have caused this. OK, he’d been passionate, but certainly not aggressive or abusive. And yeah, he was a big guy, a strong guy, but in all his years of being with women, he’d never left a mark on a single one of them. Throwing women on the bed, fucking them against a wall, pinning them down and holding their wrists in one hand… he knew exactly how rough he could be without crossing a line.
Still, though. Something’s not right here. She’s holding out on me.
“No,” he said reluctantly. “I didn’t do anything like that. Still…”
She kissed him, her lips lingering on his, distracting him. “No, Dean. It wasn’t you at all, OK? I really do bruise easily. Remember that idiot at the bar who grabbed me and I bruised just from that?”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s true. But have you been to see a doctor about it?”
“Yes.” She ran her hands over the muscles in his upper arms, trying to switch his focus to more pleasant things. “I have. My doctor is totally aware of my bruising.”
“And you’re getting treatment for it?”
“Dean,” she said. “Are you in direct violation of rule number one again?”
“Am I – what?”
“Not too much personal stuff, remember? Now, you asked if you did this to me, I told you that you didn’t. I’m OK, I promise you. It doesn’t even hurt.”
He looked down at it again and winced. “It doesn’t?”
“Nope. It just looks awful.”
“I just – I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t. You won’t.” She took his hands and placed them on her breasts and climbed up on his lap, straddling him. “Now. Can we talk about something else? Or, better yet, stop talking altogether?”
He grinned and lowered his face to hers. Their lips had just met when his cell phone went.
“Damn,” Dean said. “That’ll be Dallas, I bet. I need to pick him up from the hospital.”
Emma nodded and slid off him. He bit back a groan of frustration and disappointment.
Dean grabbed the phone off the bedside table. “You OK, man? Ready to come home?”
“Fuck, yeah,” Dallas said. “Get me out of here. I need a real coffee.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Dean said.
“Make it ten,” Dallas said. “I need a real coffee.”
By the time Dean had negotiated an ETA of fifteen minutes and disconnected, Emma was fully dressed and in the bathroom pulling her hair back. He leaned in the doorway hopefully.
“So – you have this
My God, she’s just so fucking hot. So wet.
He lifted himself up on her, his erect cock brushing against her heat. She arched under him. His eyes travelled down the length of her body, faltered, then widened in shock.
“Dean?” she said. “What?”
He rolled off her so quickly she barely had time to blink.
“Fuck,” he said, a wave of revulsion and anger rising in him. “Why didn’t you tell me I was hurting you? Why didn’t you stop me?”
She gazed up at him, totally confused. “What are you talking about?”
He gestured. “Your side, Emma.”
She glanced down and saw the mass of dark bruising along her left hip. “Oh. Oh, God.”
“I did that to you last night, didn’t I? When I was on top of you in bed?” He reached out to touch her face, his hand gentle. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t – was I that rough?”
“No. It wasn’t you.”
“What do you mean it wasn’t me? There was nobody else here, and I know that weren’t there when you took off your clothes last night. So if not me, then who?”
“I have anemia, Dean. I bruise easily.”
He stared at her, disbelieving. “Emma. Don’t lie to me. If I hurt you…”
“How can I be lying?” She sat up. “We weren’t drunk last night, so you must remember everything, right? Do you remember throwing me up against a wall or punching me in my side? ‘Cause I have no memory of either of those things happening.”
He paused. She was right, actually. Nothing he had done to her would have caused this. OK, he’d been passionate, but certainly not aggressive or abusive. And yeah, he was a big guy, a strong guy, but in all his years of being with women, he’d never left a mark on a single one of them. Throwing women on the bed, fucking them against a wall, pinning them down and holding their wrists in one hand… he knew exactly how rough he could be without crossing a line.
Still, though. Something’s not right here. She’s holding out on me.
“No,” he said reluctantly. “I didn’t do anything like that. Still…”
She kissed him, her lips lingering on his, distracting him. “No, Dean. It wasn’t you at all, OK? I really do bruise easily. Remember that idiot at the bar who grabbed me and I bruised just from that?”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s true. But have you been to see a doctor about it?”
“Yes.” She ran her hands over the muscles in his upper arms, trying to switch his focus to more pleasant things. “I have. My doctor is totally aware of my bruising.”
“And you’re getting treatment for it?”
“Dean,” she said. “Are you in direct violation of rule number one again?”
“Am I – what?”
“Not too much personal stuff, remember? Now, you asked if you did this to me, I told you that you didn’t. I’m OK, I promise you. It doesn’t even hurt.”
He looked down at it again and winced. “It doesn’t?”
“Nope. It just looks awful.”
“I just – I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t. You won’t.” She took his hands and placed them on her breasts and climbed up on his lap, straddling him. “Now. Can we talk about something else? Or, better yet, stop talking altogether?”
He grinned and lowered his face to hers. Their lips had just met when his cell phone went.
“Damn,” Dean said. “That’ll be Dallas, I bet. I need to pick him up from the hospital.”
Emma nodded and slid off him. He bit back a groan of frustration and disappointment.
Dean grabbed the phone off the bedside table. “You OK, man? Ready to come home?”
“Fuck, yeah,” Dallas said. “Get me out of here. I need a real coffee.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Dean said.
“Make it ten,” Dallas said. “I need a real coffee.”
By the time Dean had negotiated an ETA of fifteen minutes and disconnected, Emma was fully dressed and in the bathroom pulling her hair back. He leaned in the doorway hopefully.
“So – you have this
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