Page 32 of If You Come Back To Me (If You Come Back To Me 1)
She cried out in protest when he didn’t immediately press his weight against her but instead leaned over the side of the bed. He rustled for something in his shorts. She realized he was searching for a condom and experienced a brief moment of combined relief and guilt.
She hadn’t even considered protection in the midst of her mindless need.
She watched, mesmerized as he sheathed himself. When he was done, she held up her arms, beckoning him.
He lowered himself. She sighed in relief at his weight pressing against her. His dense muscles were a sensual blessing pressed to her soft breasts, his arousal brushing against her belly and the juncture of her thighs.
She ran her hands over smooth skin encasing dense muscle and bone and opened herself to him. His mouth covered hers possessively as he entered her, her ecstatic cry muffled by thunder.
Rain began to pound on the roof and earth. The elm tree outside her bedroom window thrashed against the side of the house. But that storm was nothing compared to the one happening in Mari’s body as Marc slowly staked his claim.
When he was fully sheathed in her, he dropped his forehead on the pillow next to her cheek, his rib cage heaving. A great tenderness penetrated her arousal. He was the strongest man she knew—male virility personified—but in that moment, he was as helpless with his desire as she was. She caressed his shoulder and ran her fingers in into his hair.
“It’s okay, Marc. It’s okay.”
He rose over her, his facial muscles tight and straining. “I don’t know if I can control it,” he warned in a choked voice.
“Then don’t try.”
He started to move.
She understood him perfectly. She existed at the eye of this storm with him. She clenched her teeth tight as her nerve endings began to fire madly with signals of sensual friction, making her want to purr and scream at once. He slaked himself—demanding and forceful— but she met him for every deep, driving thrust, an equal partner in this greedy consumption, both of them seemingly rushing toward the finish line to assure themselves the moment wouldn’t be ripped away from them as it had in the past.
The headboard began to clack rhythmically against the wall. Their bodies became glazed with sweat as they both raced for that treasure, grasping blindly for it, requiring it like they required that next gasp for air. Marc reached it first. She held him at her core, knowing she’d forever remember him throbbing deep within her and the poignancy of his rough groan as ecstasy ripped through him. Still in the midst of his climax, he reached between their bodies, finding her most sensitive flesh…demanding she join him in that sweet conflagration.
Her back arched as she followed Marc’s silent demand and she shook in a storm of release.
Chapter Seven
Marc propped himself up on his forearms, his neck bent as he fought to catch his breath.
He lowered his head to Mari’s and pressed his mouth to her neck, absorbing her movements as she gasped for air. After a moment, he lifted his head. Her breasts heaved as she panted. Her large, liquid eyes were open, watching him.
He glanced down over her face, neck and elegant, sloping shoulders. Had he really just made love to this exquisite woman with all the finesse of a steam engine going at full throttle? He couldn’t regret it. His need for total possession had been as easily controlled as the storm that raged outside the window. His gaze lingered on the pale globes of her breasts rising and falling. The delicate nipples were still stiff from desire.
He lowered and kissed the tip, lingering to feel her texture against his sensitive lips. He felt himself lurch in the tight embrace of Mari’s body and realized he was segueing rapidly from satiation to arousal again.
“I know you wanted to go slowly, but it wasn’t something I could control,” he whispered roughly near her breast.
He lifted his head. Lightning illuminated the room, allowing him to see the shadow of uncertainty falling across her delicate features.
He sighed. “I’d better…”
He shifted his hips, letting his actions finish his sentence. Leaving Mari’s warm, tight embrace made him grimace. He wasn’t ready to withdraw.
Not even close.
“I’ll be right back,” he told her before he walked into the hallway.
His memory served him in his search for the bathroom. He was once allowed to come upstairs in the Itani summer house when they were little. He and Ryan had been friends, and they had occasionally condescended to hang out with their little sisters, Colleen and Mari.
Until the summer after Mari’s freshman year of high school.
Kassim and Shada Itani had apparently noticed the way Marc stared at their blooming, beautiful daughter, and the rules in the Itani household had changed drastically.
Marc had never really thought much about the Itani’s ethnicity and religion before that summer. But when Mari had become a young woman, Marc was forced for the first time to realize the vast differences in their backgrounds and culture. He could still recall how stunned he was when he learned how rigidly Mari’s dating would be monitored by her parents. They were nowhere near as strict with Ryan.
It quickly became clear to Marc that under no circumstances would Mari be allowed to date an Irish-American boy from a liberal, Catholic family. He may have been acceptable as Ryan’s friend, but, when it came to Mari, he was a pariah in Kassim and Shada Itani’s eyes. Their grins of delight upon seeing him subtly changed over a single summer, replaced by tense, slightly suspicious expressions.
