Reviving Haven Page 15

  “How long has it been, Haven? No judgments. I don’t want to hurt you.” He moves closer to me, twisting a lock of my hair around his finger.

  “Seven years,” I whisper as I stare at the floor.

  If Latch is surprised, he’s hiding it well, which makes me feel less embarrassed. He’s worried—I can sense it in his posture.

  “If I fuck you the way I want to, I’ll hurt you. I can’t, and I won’t, do that. Not a chance,” he states adamantly.

  I suddenly feel panic racing though me. I need to fix this right now or Latch might have second thoughts about ever having sex with me. Maybe my lack of experience has made him nervous and cautious. This is much more than just lust . . . Latch is my salvation.

  I move closer to him, running my hand along his erection. He shudders.

  “Touch me again, please. I’m so ready . . . I think I’ve been ready since the first night I saw you,” I whisper as I continue to run the back of my hand up and down his hard length.

  His fingers gloss over my black panties, grazing my sex. A soft moan leaves rushes past my lips and I close my eyes, silently begging him to continue. As if Latch hears my wish, he eases his hand into my panties. He runs his finger along my swollen sex and then pushes it into my needy core. I almost jump out of my skin at the abrupt and intense feeling, and I can’t help the small cry that escapes my lips.

  “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he whispers in awe.

  He slides a second finger in while rubbing my nub back and forth with his thumb. My legs feel weak and my knees begin to buckle. I sway toward him, feeling unsteady.

  “Baby, relax . . . let me take care of you.” He presses his lips to my cheek, kissing me lightly.

  “Please, Latch, I need you inside of me, please,” I plead.

  I don’t have to say anything else. He rips my panties away, and—holy shit—I feel another rush of arousal seep out of my core and trickle down the inside of my thighs. My eyes snap open wide as the sound of foil being torn pierces my ears, and I tilt my head towards the sound in time to see him putting on a condom. I didn’t even realize he had removed his briefs. I’ve never seen anything as vivid or salacious as him standing naked before me with his shaft upright, the tip bouncing off his belly. All I can think about in this moment is reaching out and wrapping my hand around his cock. I want so badly to feel it, to taste it again. I reach out to touch it and Latch grips my wrist.

  “If you touch me now, I’ll come. I’m so close that I’m not sure how long I’ll last. Please, baby, just do as I say, just this time,” he demands. I nod, not daring to speak a word. “Put your hands around my neck and wrap those gorgeous legs around my waist.” His arms are already draped around my waist.

  I blink. Huh? What? Is he really planning to lift me? Can he hold my weight? Is he going to take me here in this kitchen? I almost snort.

  I reach up and put my arms around his neck. He lifts me without hesitation and I secure my legs snuggly around his waist. With his hands on my ass, he adjusts my pelvis so it fits into his like perfect puzzle pieces. I close my eyes and bite down on my bottom lip as I feel him enter me slowly, easing in a little at a time. He steadies himself, adjusting both of us. Then he takes me in one deep thrust.

  “Fuck, baby . . . you are so damn tight,” he grinds out. A loud groan escapes his lips when my core muscles clamp down on his cock.

  I feel a slight burning of discomfort because he’s generously endowed and I’m so very taut. I try to will the burn away, and I bite the inside of my cheek until I draw blood. He goes still for what seems like minutes, and I think it’s to stretch me to accommodate his girth. Grunting, he pushes forward, moving, slipping into me further, and then he’s there—all of him—filling me all the way until the tip of his cock bumps up against the opening of my cervix.

  Oh, dear Lord . . . this feels too heavenly to be sinful.

  I begin to move with him, trying to match his rhythm. The pain subsides quickly and euphoria takes over. Latch is whispering words that I simply can’t hear—the rhythmic sounds of intense sex have overwhelmed all of my senses.

  I’ve never known this kind of pleasure before, and it awakens a part of me that I never knew existed. I tighten my grip on his neck, kissing and sucking on his skin, ravenous for his taste. I try pressing myself further into him, wanting him to immerse himself as far as he can go. He suddenly slows down, almost to a complete stop, and brushes his lips against my ear.

  “Don’t move. If you do, I’ll lose it right now. You feel so tight—too good. I need to watch you come, Haven. Let me see you, leannán,” he whispers as he nuzzles my ear.

  His voice, his tongue against my skin, his breath on the shell of my ear—all of these sensations send me close to the edge. My sex clenches and tightens around Latch’s cock, making him groan again. He backs me onto one of the counters and eases away from me slightly, and I take that sliver of room to get a good look at him. Just the sight of him naked, glistening with a light sweat has me teetering on the brink of orgasm. I nip his bottom lip and kiss his neck, lightly licking the outer edge of his ear.

  “Fuck, Haven, stop. You’re killing me here.”

  Latch’s control suddenly snaps and he grips my breast, kneading and plumping it, suctioning my nipple and areola into his hot mouth. His breathing is uneven and desperate as he sucks my nipple into a tight peak, then he lashes the hard bud with his stiff tongue, teasing it mercilessly until my eyes roll into the back of my head. He releases my breast with a loud pop, only to repeat his oral ministrations on my other breast.

  Each pull on my aching nipple sets off a chain reaction in my body. My nerves are jumping with the snap, crackle and pop of the kind of pleasure that can only be described as otherworldly. He might as well be sucking on my clit, because that is where all the sensation has settled. It is almost too much to take, and I writhe and moan with the overload on my senses. That only increases his hunger, and now I’m trembling in his embrace, my cries and pleas filling the air.

  “Please, Latch . . . I need you . . . Oh God, please . . .”

  He releases my swollen breast and raises his head. His feral gaze traps me—his eyes are so dark that he only has a thin ring of color surrounding his dilated pupils. The low growl in his throat is almost as stimulating as each stroke of his steely cock in my dripping channel.

  “Yes . . .” he manages to say through his tightly clenched jaw. Now he really starts to move inside me, picking up a faster pace. Since I am right up against the counter, I can feel the force of him buried deep into my core. It hurts so bad, yet feels so exquisite. I try to bite back a cry, but it’s no use, and I let go of all my inhibitions to give a voice to this power, this pleasure, with my loud cries. He picks me up from the counter as he rocks into me, never losing his rhythm as he crosses the floor and presses me up against the nearest wall.

  Oh, blessed leverage.

  Latch thrusts in earnest now, and the sounds of items falling off the shelves echo faintly against the walls as copper pans swing back and forth. I lock eyes with Latch, and his face is lost in concentration as he pounds into me, hurtling me towards the edge of the unknown. I feel like I am running full tilt towards the edge of the cliff, and as I arch into him, I grind my clit into his pelvis and then take that running leap over the edge, soaring into the greatest feeling ever known to humankind. My nails score his back and thousands of tiny stars explode in front of my eyes. My body ignites with a fire that races through my blood, sharpening my senses even as I’m drowning in the sweetest rapture. My sex squeezes around Latch, forcing my body to convulse, spasm, then completely release all of the tension that had my coiled tighter than a spring. A scream tears from my lips just as a guttural cry comes from Latch. His eyes never leave mine as he empties into me with a frenzied thrust, throwing his head back and dragging air into his heaving chest.

  His body relaxes, becoming one of sated delirium, and this helps me to come down slowly after that seismic release. He kisses me deeply while still in
side of me, and we both wait for the aftershocks and slight tremors that assault our bodies. My legs are still wrapped around him tightly, but I really don’t want to break my connection to him—it just feels right being wound around him like this, and not even a well-placed crowbar could tear us apart.

  Dammit, though—we can’t just stay like this. One of us has to dig deep down and make the first move. “You know, you can set me down now,” I whisper.

  “I actually kind of enjoy you like this. I feel very connected to you right now,” He grins.

  “Okay, funny man, put me down.” I’m so self-conscious about my size that having him hold me like this makes me feel uneasy.

  “This must be done very slowly, no sudden moves. My cock is still sensitive and I need the condom intact.”

  Latch gradually lets me down, setting my feet on the floor. He still has his arms around me, but he finally lets go to take care of the condom. I feel exposed standing in his kitchen with no panties on. I reach over to see if I can salvage what is left of my ripped thong. I hold them up. They cannot be saved, he has destroyed a five hundred dollar pair of panties.

  “I’ll buy you another pair. Hell, I’ll buy you several pairs, I promise.” He winks.

  I advance over to the corner island, trying to hide my nudity. Latch notices and arches a brow.

  “Really, after I just fucked you in my kitchen? You are always trying to get away from me,” He grins as he approaches. He obviously has no issues with being naked; he stands in front of me, perfect, regal, blinding. A blush creeps across my cheeks. I scan the kitchen for my dress; it’s lying on the floor in a crumpled heap. I so want to go get it, but that will mean walking almost naked in front of Latch. He blocks my view of the dress. A wicked smile crosses his face and his tone his humorous but firm.

  “Oh no you don’t—I promised you many more variations of fucking, and I believe I said the others would be slower and with a steady, romantic undercurrent. So, don’t even think about going near that dress.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I’m standing there, half naked, gaping at his audacious words, and then he has the gall to flash me the smuggest smile I have ever seen as he reaches over, picks up his dress shirt that’s lying on the floor, and dangles it in front of me.

  I glare at him and snatch it from his hands. I turn away and quickly throw it on, buttoning all but the top two buttons. It’s quite long and hangs to my knees, but at least it covers my butt so I feel somewhat dressed.

  “Man, my shirt never looked that good before. You look hot. I’m not sure we’ll make it to my bed at this rate,” he says in that hypnotic tone of his, fisting the bottom of the dress shirt and pulling me closer. “You are just all kinds of sexy, you know that, woman?” The look on his gorgeous face is hungry and endearing at the same time, and I’m slowly melting in his arms.

  He tucks his hand under my hair and cups my neck, touching his lips to mine. The kiss is soft and tender but no less devastating, making my pulse quicken and my knees weak. I feel completely and utterly aroused again—I want more. He pulls away and walks over to gather his briefs from the floor and slowly puts them back on, giving me numerous teasing looks.

  “Trust me, leannán, there will be a whole lot of fucking this weekend. I may even tie you to my bed and keep you naked permanently. I believe I promised you a lot of fu—love making, although I’m thinking maybe we should negotiate new terms. A forty-eight hour layover sounds more fun.”

  He flashes a sexy grin while arching both brows. I open my mouth but I don’t have a chance to respond because he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. I let out a squeal.

  “I can walk, you know. Put me down,” I laugh, pummeling him lightly on his back as I dangle.

  “But this is so much more fun, and I wouldn’t want you to lose your way.” He’s taking the stairs two at a time.

  “You’re acting like a Neanderthal,” I declare. Considering where my mouth is, I’m thinking I should take a nip out of Latch’s perfectly muscled ass.

  We come to an abrupt stop in front of a door. He kicks it open and takes quite a few strides before gently putting me on a bed. My eyes dart from side to side and realize that this is Latch’s bedroom—his domain, the place where he does his womanizing.

  God, I am a mental glutton for punishment.

  His room is enormous. Even his bed is huge; it’s twice the size of a king mattress, and looks custom made. There’s a small sofa in the corner of the room with a few chairs scattered around it. A large fireplace is built into the wall, and he has a good-sized flat screen strategically placed for maximum viewing pleasure—with a stack of DVDs piled high underneath it. Two surfboards lean against the far wall, along with a wetsuit and scuba gear.

  My heart warms to what I feel is the best part of his room—each wall has a large bookcase overflowing with books. Their presence in Latch’s most personal and intimate space really makes me feel at home. I had no idea that he enjoys reading books as much as I do. I roll off the bed and walk across the dark, polished wood floors. I pick up a book from one of the bookshelves, and I am thrilled to see that it’s a classic, as are many others he has crammed onto the shelves.

  I notice that there’s a balcony through sliding glass doors, and I open them to peak outside. I find a breakfast nook with a kayak leaning against the railing and towels hanging out to dry. Latch probably goes into the ocean every day. I can hear the sounds of the waves below and the air smells of water and salt. I fill my lungs with the salty air and close the doors.

  As with the rest of his home, Latch’s bedroom also has many windows, but these are covered with fashionable California shutters that run horizontally instead of vertically, but the brilliant white wooden boards are mounted on the inside window panes, just as traditional vertical blinds. The results are simple, classic lines that enhance a house beautifully but offer practicality as well. As for the rest of the periphery of Latch’s room, there’s a door on two of the adjacent walls, and I assume one leads to the bathroom and the other to a closet.

  I’m very pleased that his bedroom is different from what I had pictured. This room has been definitely lived in. It says Latch is educated, athletic, and a homebody. I have to admit that I had pictured his bedroom to be more of a single man’s “den of carnal pleasures.”

  I feel him behind me and his arms wrap around me, making my shirt—oops, I mean “his” shirt—rise up my thighs. I lean my head back on his chest and decide that this is the most perfect moment I have ever known. I want to freeze this second in time and savor it. The room smells like the beach, Latch’s soap, and sex. I inhale deeply because I always want to remember how tonight smelled.

  “Bathroom?” I ask, sinking into his embrace.

  “It’s the door on the left. While you do your thing, I’m going to run and grab us another bottle of wine and some provisions. I think we might need sustenance for our future activities.” He grins wickedly.

  I shake my head teasingly and smile as I move toward the bathroom. Holy crap, Latch’s bathroom is the size of my bedroom and it has a Jacuzzi, along with a walk-in shower. My first instinct, as a red-blooded woman, is to go through the drawers and the medicine cabinet, but I bite back a chuckle and fight the impulse. No matter what I would find, I don’t need to know about it because knowing would sabotage my time with Latch. He’s had many other women—I already know this, so finding proof is only going to riddle me with more anxiety.

  I choke down my concerns and discard his shirt. I take a cloth from the linen cabinet, wet it and try to wash up the best I can. I squeeze a smidge of toothpaste onto my finger and rub it across my teeth. Then I wipe the mascara smudges from under my eyes and pinch my cheeks for some color. I’m literally shocked to find a hairbrush lying on the sink next to the toothpaste; I would have been willing to swear that Latch didn’t own one, considering that every time I’ve seen him his hair looked artfully disheveled. As I brush out my hair, I detect his scent on the brush. I quickly remo
ve my bra and shoes, then put his shirt back on. I feel somewhat scandalous with nothing on but his shirt, but it also feels kind of sexy and liberating.

  As I stroll out of the bathroom, Latch enters with a large tray of assorted cheeses and fruit, a bottle of wine and two glasses. He pours some wine into both glasses and hands one to me. I sit on the sofa by the fireplace. Latch picks up a remote and the room fills with sultry music. I take a sip of my wine and a slight smile crosses my lips as I recognize this music.

  “You see, it does work,” Latch announces proudly. He moves over to the sofa and sits next to me.

  “What works?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “The music, I knew if they played it on my balcony, you’d be motivated in my direction,” he replies cockily, self-assured. I laugh.

  “Oh really, Mr. McKay, is that what you thought?” I eye him while taking another small sip.

  “It got your panties off, didn’t it, leannán?” He smirks at me, daring me to acknowledge his infinite wisdom. Definitely cocky and self-assured.

  I set my wine glass next to me on a table. I grab him by the waistband, pulling him into me. The man is wearing nothing but his briefs and a dazzling smile.

  “Why do you call me ‘leannán’? What does it mean?”

  Latch faces me and our lips almost touch. His eyes change from emerald green to ice blue. He’s magnificent.

  “You didn’t seem to like it when I called you sweetheart,” he says casually.

  “Alright, so what is leannán?” My curiosity is peaking.

  He whispers softly as his lips brush my ear, “It means ‘sweetheart’ in Gaelic.”

  I burst out laughing, and by the strange look he’s giving me, I think it surprises him that I find it so amusing.