Vows They Can't Escape. Heidi Rice

your legs round my waist.’

      She obeyed the husky command without question, clinging to his strong shoulders. Her heartbeat kicked her ribs and pummelled her sex as their tongues duelled, hot and wet and frantic.

      Her back hit the wall with a thud and the thick ridge in his trousers ground against her panties, the friction exquisite against her yearning clitoris.

      Holding her up with one arm, he tore at her underwear. The sound of ripping satin echoed off the room’s hard surfaces, stunning her until he found her with his thumb. She moaned into his mouth, the perfect touch charging through her system like lightning.

      His answering groan rumbled against her ear, harsh with need. ‘Still so wet for me, Red?’

      Blunt fingers brushed expertly over the heart of her, then circled the swollen nub, teasing, coaxing, demanding a response. Everything inside her drove down to that one tight spot, desperate to feel the touch which would drive her over. The coil tightened like a vice and propelled her mindlessly towards the peak.

      ‘Please...’ The single word came out on a tortured sob.

      Dane was the only man who knew exactly what she needed and always had.

      Suddenly he withdrew his fingers, sliding them through the wet folds to rest on her hip. Leaving her teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

      She panted. Squirmed. Denied the touch she needed. The touch she had to have.

      ‘Don’t stop.’

      He buried his face against her neck, the harsh pants of his breathing as tortured as her own. ‘Have to,’ he grunted.

      ‘Why?’

      Her dazed mind reeled, her flesh clenching painfully on emptiness. Desire clawed at her insides like a ravenous beast as he left her balanced brutally on the sharp edge between pleasure and pain.

      ‘No way am I taking you without a condom.’

      As the sex fog finally released its stranglehold on her brain the comment registered and horrifying reality smacked into her with the force and fury of an eighteen-wheeler. The nuclear blush mushroomed up to her hairline.

      Did you actually just beg him to make love to you? Without protection?

      If only there was such a thing as death by mortification.

      This was now officially the most humiliating moment of her life. The trashy novel swoon had merely been a dress rehearsal.

      She scooped her breast back into her bra, its reddened nipple mocking her.

      She had to get away from here. Sod the divorce papers. She’d deal with them later. Right now saving herself and her sanity was more important than saving Carmichael’s.