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Neither of her boyfriends had ever done that, either.
His unshaven cheeks chafed her inner thighs. Clutching fistfuls of bedspread, she struggled to anchor herself under the relentless, sensual assault on her sanity. He drove her swiftly to another orgasm, continuing to lap at her even as she collapsed, unable to muster up more than a satisfied sigh.
She wanted more, needed to feel connected to him in the most intimate way. Gripping the material covering his shoulders, she yanked him up to her waiting mouth and kissed him hungrily, tasting herself on his lips. “You’re overdressed.”
Yanking his navy t-shirt from his waistband, her eager fingers found the warm skin beneath. She slid her palms greedily over the well-defined ridges of his abs.
He sat up and ripped the offending item of clothing over his head, sending it across the room, exposing a muscular chest with a light dusting of black hair and sculpted abs. A round metal tag hung around his neck on a silver ball chain.
Her fingers itched to explore the newly exposed expanse of territory. His skin was smooth yet firm, like velvet over iron. She welcomed the weight of his body as he covered her, the metal tag, warm from his skin, nestling between her breasts.
“I need you.” She dug her nails into his shoulder blades and arched her back, telling him without words exactly where she needed him.
“You have me.” Lachlan’s reply was a promise, drenched in sex. She allowed herself to believe his words conveyed more than just his attention to their lovemaking.
He shed the remainder of his clothing with rapid efficiency. His erection, now freed from its confines, bobbed long and thick in front of him. He was not a small man, and it had been a long time since she’d had sex. Her gaze skittered away from the evidence of his desire to the round, puckered scar on his left thigh. A variety of other, lesser scars decorated his warrior’s body.
He bent to pick up his jeans, giving her a prime shot of his spectacular backside. Another, jagged, pink scar line was visible on the back of his left leg. Removing a foil packet from his wallet, he tore it open and sheathed himself before kneeling between her legs.
His lips grazed her cheek, moving to her ear. “Ready?”
“Yes.” She was more than ready. She’d been ready since seeing his photo in the file Admiral Dane sent her. Ready when she realized the shadows in his eyes masked pain that meant he cared too much. When she watched how he cared for a down-on-his-luck veteran. When she realized he possessed the same warrior spirit reflected in the painting of another Scot from long ago.
He thrust forward, entering her with slow, shallow strokes.
She sucked in a breath that had him stilling, a question in his eyes. She arched her hips. “Don’t stop.” She arched again, seating him deeper. Her initial discomfort dissipated, replaced by an erotic feeling of fullness that had her moaning with pleasure.
His hips moved in a steady rhythm. A light sheen of sweat coated his skin, marking her with his scent.
Digging her nails into his biceps, she met each thrust with her own. “Lachlan,” she breathed, everything she felt but was too afraid to put into words echoing in her voice.
His emerald gaze bored into her, a window to his soul opening just enough for her to see fear before his control snapped. Slamming shut his lids, he threw back his head and surged into her, hips churning. Her headboard knocked against her bedroom wall with the force of his thrusts. She slid her arms around his back and hung on, reveling in his passion.
“Won’t…lose…you…too.” Each word seemed torn from between his clenched teeth.
He ground his pelvis against her, sending her straight into another orgasm before his thrusts became erratic, and he stilled, coming with a shout. His fingers dug into her hips, locking them together.
He was beautiful, powerful, and—for one unguarded moment—vulnerable.
Words that were tender but premature formed in her mouth. She held them back. It was too soon to speak them aloud. It would be too easy for her to dream that Lachlan could be the one to love her the way she’d never been loved before. To fill that empty hole in her heart.
He collapsed, chest heaving, on top of her, his hot breaths bathing her ear. “Did I hurt you?” Cool lips brushed her neck. “You made me lose my head.”
She traced the muscles on his back, not caring that he was too heavy and she could barely breathe. “It was perfect.”
He pulled out of her and disappeared into her bathroom. Dampness cooled her skin, pebbling her flesh. When he returned to the bed, she pulled him over her for warmth. She fingered the dog tag around his neck.Barnwell, T.Not his then, someone else’s.
His hand covered hers, stilling her curious fingers. His mouth had flattened into a grim slash, and the shadows were back in his eyes.
“Tell me.” She wanted to be there for him the way no one had been there for her.
Lachlan rolled to his back, his forearm shielding his expression.
“Tell me what put those shadows in your eyes.” She caressed the side of his face. Would he open up to her?
He stayed silent, then stood, stepped into his jeans, and padded to her bedroom window. A remoteness had descended over him like an invisible shield, reflected in the stiff set of his shoulders, his straight spine, his fingers curled into fists.
Sophia gathered the pillow his head had been resting on against her chest, breathing in his scent to try and calm her nerves. “Tell me about Roshan Haider’s sister. About that dog tag around your neck with someone else’s name on it.” She needed to know what had happened that continued to haunt him.