I Brake For Bad Boys by Lori Foster Page A

condom.
    Erica lay there, limp, a little sweaty. Smiling.
    Damn, he loved her. In record time he had the condom on and had settled between her thighs. “You’ll take me deep, won’t you sweetheart?”
    Her smile of contentment faded as he again hooked her legs and held them high. He outweighed her by a hundred pounds easy, was big and hard where she was slim and delicate, and still he settled against her.
    â€œTell me, Erica.” His cock nudged against her sensitive lips, swollen from her climax. In this position, she was completely vulnerable—and they both knew it. “Tell me you want all of me.”
    She lifted her hands to his chest, a futile effort to hold him back. Her nails bit into his pectoral muscles as he began pressing inward.
    â€œTell me.”
    She panted. “Yes.”
    Her compliance, combined with the wet velvet grasp of her body on the head of his dick nearly forced him into an early release. He gritted his teeth. “Then relax for me.”
    She gave a choked laugh. “Can’t.”
    He pushed in another inch and heard her inhalation of discomfort. Biting off a groan, he said, “You’re gonna have to, babe.” He felt himself sweating, felt his every muscle quivering with the effort it took to hold back. “You’re clenching. Relax and let me in.”
    She took three shallow breaths, then one long, deep one. She closed her eyes, loosened her grasp on his chest, and nodded.
    Through his intense concentration, Ian summoned a smile for her. “I love you, Erica.”
    Her eyes popped open again, huge and stunned, and he thrust in hard, filling her up and obliterating his last trace of control. He was so deep, a part of her— his woman —that holding back became impossible.
    Alive with acute, burning pleasure, he stroked in and out and just when he felt his stomach coil, felt his balls tighten and knew he was about to lose it, Erica began countering his thrusts. He heard her raspy breathing, saw the heated rise of pleasure on her face, and he came, aware of Erica joining him, of her body milking his. Aware of the perfection of the moment.
    He slumped on top of her, replete, boneless. His weight wrought a moan from her, reminding him of her position. “Sorry,” he murmured, then carefully lowered her legs. Turning his face inward so he could taste the salty warmth of her neck, he rumbled, “You okay?”
    She grunted, making him smile again. Damn, from the day he’d met her she’d amused him even while setting him on fire. They were both damp, sticking together, and he never wanted to move.
    â€œGive me a second,” he said, “and I’ll make love to you.”
    This time she choked, but the sound turned into a low laugh. Her limp arms came around his neck and she contrived a halfhearted hug. “You’re something else, Ian Conrad.”
    That perked him up. “Something better than what you’ve known,” he agreed. “Someone you can trust.”
    â€œMaybe.”
    He lifted his head to growl at her. “Your second’s up.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIt’s time to make love to you.” She started to protest, to laugh some more, and Ian kissed her quiet—then went on kissing her for a long, long time. When she tried to wiggle out from under him, he flipped her onto her stomach and kissed her spine, the small of her back, her dimpled bottom.
    By the time he finished with that, Erica was again squirming with need. He turned her over, cradled her gently, and this time he took her slow, cherishing her body and showing her that she not only made him crazed with lust, she overwhelmed him with love and tenderness too.
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    After nearly two days of uninhibited debauchery, Erica was badly rumpled, lazy, and still so sexy Ian wasn’t sure he’d ever stop wanting her. It was nearing ten o’clock on Sunday morning, and he still couldn’t glance at her