Secrets and Sins:Raphael

By: Naima Simone



He tore his mouth away, swore, then as if unable to help himself, crushed another kiss to her lips. “My house is a twenty-minute drive. I’m not gonna make it that long.” He cupped her cheek, pressed the pad of his thumb into her tender bottom lip. “You live closer?”

She nodded. “Yes,” she breathed. “Back Bay. Not far.”

“’Kay,” he murmured, brushing a kiss across her forehead. “No second thoughts? No what-the-fuck-was-I-thinking?”

Regrets?

She regretted spending her entire life trying to make up for being damaged goods to her father. She regretted wasting so much time stifling her passion and dreams in order to conform to an unobtainable image of perfection that she no longer recognized who she was anymore. She regretted devoting five years to a man she’d trusted and believed to be a friend but who saw her as nothing more than a lucrative career move.

Oh, yes, she had regrets. Plenty of them.

But this?

“No,” she whispered. “No what-the-fuck-was-I-thinking.”

He studied her face for another long moment. “Good.”

Nodding, he dropped his hand from her face, enclosed her fingers in a gentle but firm grip, and led her away from the bar. Not far down the street he paused in front of a large black SUV. With a short beep and double flash of his headlights, he opened the passenger door and boosted her into the seat. She shivered against the chilled air as he jogged around the front end and joined her in the truck. He jabbed the keys in the ignition but didn’t crank the engine. His fingers fisted the metal, and she waited, confused, as he bowed his head and muttered something under his breath.

Before she could question him, he jerked the keys free and fell back in his seat. He turned to her. Shadows shrouded the vehicle’s interior, but she could make out the wild tumble of hair around his face, the compressed line of his full mouth, and his eyes… Her breath snagged in her throat. She couldn’t make out the color in the dim light, but the intensity behind the unwavering stare? If he’d reached out and pressed his hands to her shoulders, he couldn’t have more effectively ensnared her.

“Tell me, princess, have you ever made out in the backseat of a car before?”

Stunned, she could only shake her head.

“First time for everything. C’mon.” With lightning speed, he snatched her hand from her lap and guided her between the tight space separating the driver and passenger seats. Grip firm, he steadily maneuvered her toward the rear of the vehicle.

“Wait,” she objected, finally locating her voice. Even if the breathless quality dampened the power behind the protest. “We can’t…someone could see—”

“Tinted windows,” he muttered, settling on the farthest row, grasping her waist, and tugging her across his lap. He swiftly adjusted her legs until she straddled him. The pleated skirt of her dress flared over their thighs and his hips. “No one can see a thing. Now kiss me.”

She cast a furtive glance to the large side window. Uncertainty warred with the desire clenching her stomach and gathering in the throbbing flesh between her legs. Through the dark film on the glass she could make out the shapes of the closed businesses, but not any details. Still…

“Trust me.” His low voice brought her attention back to him. He grazed the backs of his fingers down her cheek, drew them down her neck to cup her nape. “I wouldn’t risk exposing you like that. Get wild with me, princess.”

The dare in his challenge was unmistakable. Get wild. With him. Fear flashed through her. She was as familiar with “wild” as Hugh Hefner was with celibacy. She closed her eyes and a sigh shuddered from her lips. She wanted to be that carefree, reckless woman. Even if only for tonight.

She lifted her lashes, met his hot gaze, and slowly sank down until the hard ridge of his erection pressed against her sex. Twin groans echoed in the quiet. She gasped at the delicious pressure—the pleasure that satisfied and aggravated the needy ache deep inside her.

“I need…” She didn’t finish the thought. Couldn’t assign a proper description to the hunger that pounded inside her chest and echoed in the grasping emptiness centered in her sex. It exceeded anything she’d ever experienced. So instead she dug her nails into Raphael’s shoulders and rolled her hips, undulating in a slow grind over the hard flesh that—thank God—would be buried inside her tonight. She tried to relay without words what she desired from him—what a part of her knew only he could give. A soft cry tumbled free, and she dropped her head back, repeating the erotic dance.

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