Emergency Attraction
Samanthe Beck
Release Date: April 17, 2017
Ten years ago when Shane Maguire chose the Marines as his escape from some trouble of his own making, he only regretted one thing—leaving Sinclair Smith behind. Despite his best intentions, she ended up as the one that got away. Now he’s back, determined to reclaim everything he gave up, including Sinclair.
Sinclair is immune to Shane’s charms. She’s immune to stolen kisses behind the gym. And she’s definitely immune to that maneuver he did in the back seat of his car… Okay, maybe her hormones are susceptible, but she has absolutely no desire to risk anything on the bad boy who broke all his promises.
When a little emergency lands her at his mercy, he offers her a deal she can’t refuse. And this time, she’ll show Shane what it means to be left wanting…
“Uh-huh.” Her hands shook as she tugged
his fly open. “I hate it…” And then she was holding it, stroking, relearning
landmarks the years had subtly altered—the smooth, blunt tip, the sensitive
opening that still dragged a groan out of him when she explored it with her
thumb, the flare of flesh marking the transition from head to shaft. It wasn’t
until she’d wrapped her hand around the thickest part, wringing another low
sound from his throat, that she realized the pressure in her chest was building
to match the pressure at her core. Longing took many forms, and all of them
were about to have their way with her. And she wasn’t strong enough to stop any
of it. Gripping his hips for balance, she dropped to her knees. “I really hate
it,” she said again, then put her lips against the tip.
His head dropped forward, and his
fingers tangled in her hair. “Jesus. Show me. Punish me.”
She took him into her mouth, leading
with her tongue, stretching her lips to surround him. Taste and scent unleashed
vivid, sensory flashbacks…the thrill of discovering every mysterious inch of
him, the pride of making him tremble for her, the joy of hearing him say her
name over and over again as he lost control. The memories stung her eyes and
tightened her chest. Then he groaned and gave a rough, potentially involuntary
thrust. The move generated heat, and friction, and raw new needs.
Desperate to satisfy them, she planted
her knees, tipped her head to the most accommodating angle, and offered him
everything. Just the way she’d learned to do during those long spring nights a
lifetime ago.
“Fuck, Sinclair.” He gripped her chin
and stared down at her. “You have no idea how much I missed you. You couldn’t
possibly. Leaving you felt like losing a vital organ.” Then he thrust again,
and again, in rapid succession. She’d braced for fast, and deep. Wanted it. But
he remembered a few things, too—like how easily he could reduce her to a
quivering mess by holding back, teasing her with quick, shallow strokes.
Punishment, she discovered, cut both ways, and could be unbearably sweet as
well as heartrendingly painful. Despite his restraining hand, she went deep,
gorging herself on all of it—past, present, sweetness, pain…him—knowing full
well it was too much, but still would never be enough.
A sob pushed its way into her throat.
She choked it back and hoped he attributed the artless noise to her overeager
struggle to take as much of him as she possibly could. His big hand stroked her
jaw. “Easy, baby girl,” he murmured and then sliced her heart open with one
careful fingertip, running it over her lips, tracing the seam where their
bodies met. How had she forgotten the way he did that? Or how one simple
gesture could make her feel so…cherished?
Except he’d taught her she wasn’t the
kind of girl men cherished, and now he’d come back and undermined the lesson
with a single explanation. How dare he? Because in doing so, he also took away
her justification for distributing blame for what happened that summer to him,
which meant she had to accept it all. “I hate you,” she said, reminding him,
reminding herself, and then lowered her head to finish him. Exorcise
him. Claim one harshly honest moment and be done with him.
But a strong arm hooked under her
shoulder and hauled her up until her face hovered just millimeters from his.
Her lips throbbed from the friction of his cock sliding between them. His taste
coated her tongue. Deprivation set in, sudden and painful, but maddeningly
patient green eyes stared into hers, taking stock, unquestionably seeing the
deprivation, and the need, but looking past them to things she didn’t want him
to see. Didn’t want anyone to see.
“No, you don’t. You wish you did, but
you don’t.”
USA Today bestselling author Samanthe Beck lives in Malibu, California, with her long-suffering husband, their turbo-son, and a furry ninja named Kitty. When not dreaming up fun, fan-your-cheeks sexy ways to get her characters to happily-ever-after, she searches for the perfect cabernet to pair with Ambien.
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