Free Man of Mystery: A BBW Romantic Suspense by Lorelei Moone Page A

other today then,” he growls, just before diving down into my cleavage for further kisses.
    “Yeah. Perhaps I should get kidnapped more often,” I joke.
    He pauses for a moment and leans up, looking me right in the eye again. “Don’t say that. Something could have happened to you today.”
    “But it didn’t, thanks to you.”
    “Right, but what if I’d been late? What if something had gone wrong? I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I let something happen to you.”
    I press my lips together tightly. I don’t want to consider what might have happened, only what’s happening right this moment. He looks so sad, so conflicted. Here I am, on my back, half naked at his hand, and yet he seems more vulnerable than me.
    “I can’t explain it. I really can’t.” He sighs, and looks down at my lips, tracing their outline with his fingertip. “Tess, there’s something truly special about you. Like you make the world a better place just with your existence. I’ve seen a lot of things most people don’t get to see. Terrible, dark things. In you, I see only light. Does that make sense?”
    I consider his words, the honesty in his emerald eyes. “It does. I feel the same.”
    He smiles briefly, there’s something bittersweet in his expression. I wrap my arms around him and pull him down against me, desperate to shake the gloomy subtext in his words. Now I understand why he gets weird sometimes. He’s got baggage. How could he not with a risky, dangerous job such as his? That’s fine. I’ve got my own.
    Tonight none of that matters; all that matters is how our bodies fit together, complement each other, how our minds find the beauty in one another. How I can make him forget about all the horrors in his world, and he can make me forget about the drudgery in mine.
    He fumbles with his zipper, and I quickly wiggle out of my panties and struggle to unhook my bra, worried he’ll tear that off too. Then he spreads me wide and enters me with an urgency I’ve never seen or felt before.
    We’re in a rush to give ourselves completely to each other. Like anything could happen; the world could suddenly come to an end, and we would be left wanting. Like life is too short, too precious to waste.
    I run my hands over his back, feeling the scarred ridges I’d found during our first time together. Maybe one day he’ll tell me what happened to him, or maybe not.
    He thrusts into me repeatedly, each stroke sweeter than the last. His hands roam my curves; his lips taste my soft flesh. Everything about him, about us, is perfect right now. Tomorrow, we may not be so lucky.
    As little droplets of sweat start to collect on his brow, so do they accumulate on my forehead. But it doesn’t matter, we’re comfortable with who and what we are right now. I guide his lips towards mine for further, deeper kisses.
    Sometimes the first time is the best, because the expectations created by that initial flurry of hormonal emotions cannot be met again. With us, the second time is even better, because we know each other more now. I hope this trend continues with the third, fourth and I-don’t-know-how-many-eth.
    I buck upwards to meet his feverish rhythm, my hips joining his in their quest towards relief.
    They say violence and sex go hand in hand. I’d never thought about it before, but now I know that they do. As scared as I was earlier, and as horrified when I saw the body of the guy who orchestrated my kidnapping, all those negative emotions have vanished and made way for passion unlike I’ve ever felt before.
    A similar thing had happened last time. We ended up sleeping together even though one might think all the terrible stuff that happened at the airport would have killed the mood. The opposite had been true.
    As Liam speeds up towards the final crescendo, heightening my own pleasure with every move, I dig my fingernails into his back. He closes his eyes, as do I, just focusing on the in-and-out, the fluid and regular movement of