Make Me Say It by Beth Kery Page B

her in short, staccato strokes that jolted Harper’s body on the mattress. His eyes seemed to blaze as he watched her bobbing breasts for a charged moment, and then he transferred his gaze to her face.
    “I’m going to make you pay for this, Harper.”
    “Pay for what?” she panted as her world shook and her body tensed against his onslaught. The friction was so good. She watched him through a haze of lust, but the sensations he created in her body felt sharp and lancing, almost cruelly precise.
    “I’m going to make you pay for making me want you this much.”
    He plunged, her breasts bouncing as they crashed together. She cried out at the sensation of him swelling huge inside her. He grimaced and lunged slightly, applying pressure on her clit. He unlocked the tension that he’d built in her so surely with a hard, subtle circle of his hips.
    She ignited yet again at the feeling of him coming. She shuddered, the sound of his low, savage growl echoing in her ears.
    She panted in the aftermath. The tension left his rigid body on one ragged exhale of his breath. He slumped over her, still supporting his weight on his hands, his head bowed. Perspiration darkened the hair at his short sideburns and his nape. Harper experienced an overwhelming urge to touch him, to tangle her fingers in his hair, to slick her tongue along his hairline and taste his sweat, to feel his naked skin pressed against hers and their hearts racing in tandem.
    She opened her mouth to voice her request, but something else came out of her mouth.
    “What do you mean exactly, you’ll make me pay for wanting me so much?”
    He looked up slowly. Perspiration glazed his handsome face, chest, and bulging, muscular arms. She was reminded of his physical strength and endurance during lovemaking . . . the power he exerted over himself in restraint. His expression seemed to close off as she watched him. He hitched his hips and withdrew from her. A cry caught in her throat at the ensuing sting in her flesh . . . at the sudden deprivation of him.
    “That,” he said, sounding a little regretful. He leaned down and touched his lips to hers. She inhaled shakily, craning up to brush her lips against his. He straightened his arms and looked down at her solemnly, perhaps reading the question in her eyes. “I’m being very hard on you.”
    “I can take it,” she whispered.
    “Maybe so,” he said, rolling over on his side. He unfastened the restraint of her right hand and reached across her to do the same for the left. “I’m not sure I can, though.”
    What does that mean?
    She opened her mouth to ask the urgent question, but she realized her hands were unbound. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his answer. Besides, she was free now to touch him. Instead of clarifying his enigmatic statement, she reached for him, delving her fingers into his thick hair. His gaze darted to hers. Was he about to emotionally withdraw like he had on the yacht?
    Was he thinking of that other woman, the one she reminded him of?
    “Come here, Jacob,” she dared softly, urging him with her hands.
    Her heart charged in the silent pause that followed. At first, he remained unmoving beneath her pressing fingertips. His hesitation cut at her.
    Finally, he came. Did he seem resigned? If so, even his resignation came with a flash of his singular fire.
    He fused his mouth to hers, and his taste eclipsed her concern. She urged further, coaxing him by caressing and pushing on his muscular, smooth back, and then on his round, dense buttocks.
God help me.
He felt so good. She couldn’t get enough. Their kiss deepened. Pleasure suffused her when he pressed his entire weight against hers and she sunk into the mattress, a pleasure that was different but no less potent than the bliss he brought her while she’d lay there helpless, and he made love to her like a firestorm.
    She lost herself for minutes, indulging in the dark, sweet addiction of his kiss. Why did she feel like