My Control Read Free

not going to hurt her, too.
    Her hand settles on my chest, over my heart that I know is thundering. “Because,” she says, her voice even, confident, “sometimes what someone is going through speaks to you on a level you can’t ignore. And because of that, people who’re completely wrong for each other are completely right in a certain moment in time. Like us right now.”
    I’m kissing her before she finishes her last words, my mouth slanting over hers, my tongue licking against hers in a hot stroke, followed by another. Turning her onto the couch, I lay her down, resting on top of her, and I’m no longer thinking about all the reasons this is wrong or the way it’s nothing like what I normally want or need. But I do need. I need this woman here, now, and with the kind of abandon I rarely allow myself. No amount of booze will stop how deep the burn runs. How intense the rush of desire.
    This moment. This woman. It’s what I need. She is what I need.

Part Two

    Lost

Mark
    I all but tear off Crystal’s blouse, ready to have her naked, to be inside her. Impatiently, I shove down her bra, exposing her pretty pink nipples, stroking them with my thumbs. She moans and I feel that sound in the thickening of my cock, the heating of my blood. I caress her skirt up and over the lace of her thigh-highs, spreading her legs and ripping away her panties.
    She gasps, her hands pressing to my shoulders with a reprimand. “I liked that pair, damn it. That’s twice you’ve done that to me. Stop it.”
    “I’ll buy you a new pair,” I promise, settling my hips snugly between her thighs, my tongue lapping at her nipple, teasing it to a stiff peak. “I’ll buy you a hundred pairs.” I reach beneath her and work to free the clasp to her bra at her back, ready to be rid of anything that stands between her body and mine. I pull it down and away from her, cupping her breasts in my hands.
    She, in turn, cups my face in her hands, leveling me in a stare. “I’ll buy my own,” she says, and the message in that declaration is clearly not about her panties. It’s about independence, about her unwillingness to belong to me. While I should revel in the freedom this gives me, some part of me rebels.
    I answer her with a kiss, a hot, possessive claiming that says she is mine, right here, in “our moment” as she’d called it, and there is nothing else. She knows, too. I feel the way she stiffens, the way her fingers lift from my shoulders, but her palms stay. As if she can’t force her hands away from me, but her mind is screaming she should. Her resistance is fleeting, and with a low moan, she wraps her arms around my neck and clings to me. Her fingers find my hair, a soft touch that is enticing and erotic and when her leg wraps mine, hips lifting, pelvis pressing into my thick erection, the rise of desire in me is swift and intense. Everything else fades but her, and how she tastes and feels. I’m suddenly hotter, harder, out of my mind with need for this woman the same way I had been the night we were together in the club. This is not who I am, but I don’t care. This is exactly what she’d said—a moment in time when what’s normally wrong is right.
    It’s all I can do to tear my mouth from hers to undress, and I intend to stand but only make it to my knees and she follows me, rising to hers as well. I pause, my gaze raking over her high, full breasts, fingers tugging on her nipples. She moans, biting her lip, and damn, I want to bite it, too. Tentatively, her delicate little fingers find my tie, and the very fact that I’m not grabbing it and using it to tie her up is a statement about where my head is, and that is nowhere familiar. She starts unbuttoning my shirt and I reach forward and unzip her skirt. A frenzied rush of movement follows as we both undress.
    We’re quickly naked in that heated rush, and I stand above her where she sits on the couch, the thick jut of my erection between us, a condom in my hand. She