Read Online Buried (Hiding From Love #3) by Selena Laurence - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Selena Laurence
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to control myself. When so much around you is out of control, you realize quickly that self -control is one of the best weapons you've got. As much as I want to press Beth up against the wall of the house right now and drive every part of me into every part of her, I don't. I stand stock-still, hands fisted by my sides, and I gently, ever so softly, kiss her.
It's electrifying. Like someone just took a defibrillator to my poor, shriveled lump of a heart. It surges to life and screams for freedom—freedom from the past, freedom from the sins, freedom to love this woman. I start to pull away, knowing that touching her more will only make the inevitable loss that much harder, but her hands snake up around my neck, and against my lips, she murmurs, "No."
"Beth," I gasp. "We can't."
She opens her eyes, lips millimeters from mine. Her long, dark lashes sweep up and then down once as she says, "Yes. We can."
Before I know what's happened, we're together from knees to lips, her warm, giving curves molded against me in places that haven't felt this in so long they've forgotten just how amazing it can be.
I put my hands on her waist, willing myself to keep them there. Her fingers play with the short hairs at the nape of my neck, and even as my dick swells and turns hard as a rock, some kind of tension releases from me at her touch. Her soft fingers soothe and entice at the same time. My tongue seeks hers, and when she opens her mouth to me, I stroke along her perfect, white teeth. She tastes like the cherry lip gloss and I know that cherry candy will now be my favorite flavor until the day I die.
I can feel her nipples harden against my chest, and I push my hard-on into her, desperate for relief. She groans and stands on her tiptoes, grinding her pelvis against me as she does.
My hands move up her sides, my thumbs finding the underneath of her breasts. If there were a form that was considered geometrically perfect, the curve of that sweet spot where her breasts meet her chest would be it. That curve should represent the most complex mathematical equation there is, and God, how I'd love to be the one man to solve it.
A car on the street honks, and I'm broken out of my spell. I pull back, breathing hard, my eyes searching her face for any sign of what she's thinking.
"I'm sorry," I say, quickly taking a step back. "I shouldn't have done that."
She has that look, the one where she's about to give me hell. If I weren't so embarrassed by my actions, I'd have to smile. As it is, I steel myself for her anger.
"I'm not sorry," she says. " We did that, not you. I kiss who I want, when I want, how I want." Her voice grows husky. "And I want you. To kiss—and a whole hell of a lot more."
I turn and pace a few steps away, running my hand through my hair. "But you shouldn't, linda . And you shouldn't say shit like that to men, especially not dangerous ones."
"You're not dangerous," she huffs out as she folds her arms across that perfect chest.
I feel a surge of adrenaline and stride forward until I’m looking down at her, her defiant stance mirroring my harsh one. "I am, little girl," I tell her firmly. "Not in the obvious ways. I would never raise a hand to you or any woman. But make no mistake—I'm dangerous as hell to you."
We freeze there, in a standoff of wills, and as committed as I am to protecting her, I also know, deep inside, that I can't deny her anything—even when that anything is me.
"Why did you join the RH?" she asks softly, breaking the stalemate.
I blink a couple of times, trying to let my body and my heart catch up with my brain. Shit.
"What?" I ask, stalling.
"Why did you join the RH?"
"You know the answer to that. I didn't want to get deported. They gave me forged papers, if you need me to spell it out."
"You wouldn't have been deported," she says confidently.
I scoff. "You don't know that, and I sure as hell didn't know it at the time."
"So"—she steps away and walks past me onto the patio—"you
It's electrifying. Like someone just took a defibrillator to my poor, shriveled lump of a heart. It surges to life and screams for freedom—freedom from the past, freedom from the sins, freedom to love this woman. I start to pull away, knowing that touching her more will only make the inevitable loss that much harder, but her hands snake up around my neck, and against my lips, she murmurs, "No."
"Beth," I gasp. "We can't."
She opens her eyes, lips millimeters from mine. Her long, dark lashes sweep up and then down once as she says, "Yes. We can."
Before I know what's happened, we're together from knees to lips, her warm, giving curves molded against me in places that haven't felt this in so long they've forgotten just how amazing it can be.
I put my hands on her waist, willing myself to keep them there. Her fingers play with the short hairs at the nape of my neck, and even as my dick swells and turns hard as a rock, some kind of tension releases from me at her touch. Her soft fingers soothe and entice at the same time. My tongue seeks hers, and when she opens her mouth to me, I stroke along her perfect, white teeth. She tastes like the cherry lip gloss and I know that cherry candy will now be my favorite flavor until the day I die.
I can feel her nipples harden against my chest, and I push my hard-on into her, desperate for relief. She groans and stands on her tiptoes, grinding her pelvis against me as she does.
My hands move up her sides, my thumbs finding the underneath of her breasts. If there were a form that was considered geometrically perfect, the curve of that sweet spot where her breasts meet her chest would be it. That curve should represent the most complex mathematical equation there is, and God, how I'd love to be the one man to solve it.
A car on the street honks, and I'm broken out of my spell. I pull back, breathing hard, my eyes searching her face for any sign of what she's thinking.
"I'm sorry," I say, quickly taking a step back. "I shouldn't have done that."
She has that look, the one where she's about to give me hell. If I weren't so embarrassed by my actions, I'd have to smile. As it is, I steel myself for her anger.
"I'm not sorry," she says. " We did that, not you. I kiss who I want, when I want, how I want." Her voice grows husky. "And I want you. To kiss—and a whole hell of a lot more."
I turn and pace a few steps away, running my hand through my hair. "But you shouldn't, linda . And you shouldn't say shit like that to men, especially not dangerous ones."
"You're not dangerous," she huffs out as she folds her arms across that perfect chest.
I feel a surge of adrenaline and stride forward until I’m looking down at her, her defiant stance mirroring my harsh one. "I am, little girl," I tell her firmly. "Not in the obvious ways. I would never raise a hand to you or any woman. But make no mistake—I'm dangerous as hell to you."
We freeze there, in a standoff of wills, and as committed as I am to protecting her, I also know, deep inside, that I can't deny her anything—even when that anything is me.
"Why did you join the RH?" she asks softly, breaking the stalemate.
I blink a couple of times, trying to let my body and my heart catch up with my brain. Shit.
"What?" I ask, stalling.
"Why did you join the RH?"
"You know the answer to that. I didn't want to get deported. They gave me forged papers, if you need me to spell it out."
"You wouldn't have been deported," she says confidently.
I scoff. "You don't know that, and I sure as hell didn't know it at the time."
"So"—she steps away and walks past me onto the patio—"you
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