On a muttered curse, he reached a hard hand out, hooked her behind the neck, and pulled her closer, bringing her face near to his. His breath was harsh against her cheek, but even those agonized puffs meant something. They confirmed that he did want her.
“I want to help,” she finally managed to eke out, breathless and hoarse. “I’ve never… I didn’t know men did that. Will you show me?”
His hand started rubbing audibly up and down his…his… She didn’t have a word for this. No words for the motion she could hear, could imagine but couldn’t see. She was dying to see. “What do I do?”
Touch me, she wanted him to tell her.
His face, when he finally spoke, was a picture of reluctant submission, as if she’d forced his hand somehow. “Take off that shirt.” The words zapped her, lit her up, made all the soft parts of her body feel stiff and painfully alive.
Wordlessly, hands shaking, she reached for the back of the shirt, shook it forward, and let the sleeves slide down her arms. Oh, how odd that showing her body would make her want him more.
This is it. My succumbing.
No. Not succumbing. Overcoming.
The thought was unclouded, her decision self-aware, this descent into depravity utterly hers.
And oh, that got her wetter, screwed her up tighter, and made her ache for more.
Eager now, she flung the fabric away. He stopped moving and exhaled audibly, his jittery eyes flicking over her.
“I want…” he started, one hand frozen in midair. A glance down showed her braid, a thick rope draped over one breast. “Take it down for me? Please?”
She pulled the strands apart, letting her hair cascade over her shoulders, and he started moving again, slowly, the sound of his palm rough and explicit in the fire’s warm glow.
Just as she opened her mouth to ask what was next, he grated out words, raw and vulgar and almost incomprehensible to her ears.
“Pinch your…”
She frowned in those few moments before she understood. The sizzle of shock worked its way from those two sharp points, all the way to that unbearably empty place between her legs. She lifted her hands, almost afraid to touch herself. She was so sensitive, so needy. But his rasped “Do it,” in that voice, with that accent, and that look on his face, compelled her.
She tweaked her own nipples as Luc looked on, his eyes somehow watchful and lazy all at once. As she moved, she couldn’t even begin to picture the other times she’d been touched. What she’d done before—even with Benji—had absolutely nothing in common with this ocean of sensuality. It felt deep and limitless in a way she couldn’t begin to describe. This felt inevitable, natural.
Right.
She moaned, the sound as tortured as the man before her, and he stopped. But Lord, why did he look so angry, still, as if she’d cornered him and made him do horrible things?
And I haven’t even touched him.
“What do you want me to—”
“Would you…take the pants off?”
Oh. Oh no, she couldn’t do that, be completely unclothed, and wet to boot. Goodness, what would he think of all that wetness between her legs? He’d think she was—
“You don’t have to, Abby.” Funny how those words made her want to.
“You’re right. I don’t.” But she did want to. Lord, wasn’t having a choice the most addictive thing in the world? Their eyes caught and held, shared something profound.
It lit her up as surely as her fingers on her breasts.
Shoving away the doubt—not easy when there was a lifetime of shame to get through—she stood before him and pulled off the pants he’d loaned her.
He let out a breathy groan that sounded like it hurt. When her eyes went to his, she saw exactly what had brought it on. That place between her legs was glistening with need, her hairs curled and visibly damp. She hurried to cover herself, but Luc, fast as lightning, moved to still her wrist, just grazing her in the process. That wisp of contact—barely a breeze over the light hairs there—was enough to still her. It also broke through the wall he’d built between them. The wall that had allowed them to talk and move and touch themselves but hadn’t even hinted at this connection.
Oh, but they’d known about the connection. They’d felt it before, every time they’d touched. Only now it went from thrilling to something bigger, more electric, harsh and almost unbearable in its intensity.
He didn’t make a move. Abby, mesmerized by her outrageous desires, slid her wrist into that sandpaper hand.
It took him a while to grasp her. Long, slow seconds, thicker than heartbeats. One…two… With a twitch, his hand tightened.
He’ll do it now. The thought came out of nowhere. He’ll put it in me. All business, like Hamish.
But no—with Hamish there’d been no zinging and need and emptiness. There hadn’t even been a discussion when he’d done it.
This time, she wanted it. This time, it was her doing it. The two of them.
She let him coax her up and over his reclining body, too far, until that wet place hovered directly over his face. He eyed her hungrily before grasping her bottom and urging her back down, right onto his face.
She screamed when his mouth hit her there. Not a breathy sound, like the others, but a tormented ah that had Le Dog lifting his head by the fire.
He pulled back. “You want me to stop?”
“Stop?” she gasped. “No! Goodness no! Show me what’s next.”
Like a starving man, he dove back into her body. If she’d thought the sensations were too much before, now they were… Oh Lord, it was sheer decadence, what he did, his face in her…in her… Oh, goodness, what was it called? It was too much, too much.
His tongue slid along her center, then up, up, so soft and—she let out another sound, this time darker, the sensation so sharp where he was that she knew she’d go there. To that place she’d been once or twice with her hand between her legs. This would be with Luc, though, humming into her flesh, consuming her in a way that was earthy and demanding and inexorable. She’d die, she knew, if he pushed her too far. So, hands scrabbling at his head, she yanked at his hair. “Stop, stop, no, stop,” she begged.
He pulled back with a groan and shifted her down a few inches, his face lost and hungry and shining with wetness. Her wetness, she knew, the thought as thrilling as it was mortifying. He let her wipe him off with a swipe of her hand, and then he trapped her hand and held it while he ran his tongue from her palm to fingertip.
He’s licking my juices. The realization hit her hard in the gut, and her womb clenched down.
“You ruin me, Abby.” The words sounded puzzled and a bit lost.
Abby opened her mouth to apologize and froze. She could never go back to the lies and denial—to that life she’d been bred to believe in.
Her answer, when it came, was from deep down inside—that bright, little heart of a sinner.
“What do we do next?”
* * *
This was Luc’s problem. This uncontrollable yearning to feel things—things he’d gotten away with avoiding these past couple of years. He didn’t just want to touch and feel this woman’s body—he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and ransack her. Not just experience her, but consume. He’d held on until tonight, but then he’d gotten his mouth on her, and he was gone.
There were women who wanted this sexual voraciousness, he knew, but not Abby. He would never do that to Abby. He’d rather shut himself down, tie himself up…disappear.
But then she sat back, eyes glittering, and asked for more. What do we do next? A siren’s song of pleasure.
“What do you want to do?” he asked. “What do you feel like?”
“How do I… I don’t know.”
He swallowed, taking her in where she sat astride him—those breasts that were soft and warm and heavy, her skin lighter than
he’d imagined, her nipples sharpened by desire. Her smell was different from any other woman he’d been intimate with—pure in its humanity. She was sweet musk, unadorned—unadulterated by the chemical stink of perfume or fancy shampoo.
Face crinkling, she asked, “If we were normal—and I know we’re not,” she added with a smile, “what would you do?”
He half shrugged and swallowed. “I’d touch you, probably. Find out what you like.”
“Do that, then.”
“I like this.” He worked his hand out from under her and ran it over the underside of one breast. It was plump and pale and so soft. From there, he let his hand slide away and ran his knuckles down to the slight swell of her belly, around to one lush, freckled hip, and then did a slow, rasping drag up her arm, over her shoulder, to her neck.
Christ, this neck had haunted him—so slender and sweet, untouched by the sun. He shifted her down so their crotches lined up, with just the blanket separating them. From there, he sat up a bit, bringing their torsos close and letting him breathe her in.
The sounds that she made spoke of undeniable pleasure, arousal, and surprise. When he caught her eye, she shook her head and looked away.
He wished, in that moment, that he was a different sort of man. One who knew the right words, could spout a line or two of poetry.
“Qu’est-ce qu’il y a, chérie? What is it?”
His hand cradled her throat as she swallowed. “I didn’t know.”
“Know what?”
“What I was missing.”
“This is good? When I touch you?”
“Better than good.”
His smile was satisfied as he ran his hand from her nape, along that braid, and down her back, where it brushed a bandage.
Everything stopped.
Everything except for the pop of the fire and the crazed whimpers she made while she rocked against him.
He blinked, reality setting back in. Her scent and her taste and the sight of her eager and open had made him forget those marks on her back.
He sat still, upended and suspended—on the cusp of so many things.
Breathing hard, he waited, cock pulsing, painfully close to that tight, hot promise.
He wasn’t sure he actually wanted to know when he asked, “Will you tell me what they did to you?”
“Right now? That would kind of ruin the moment, wouldn’t it?” She gave him a forced-looking smile.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Abby.”
She shook her head. “You won’t.”
“How can you be su—”
Her weight shifted, and she leaned into him, hands tight on his shoulders, face inches away. “I know what it’s like, Luc, to be taken without an ounce of excitement or desire. I know how it feels to be a duty and nothing else. To be used for my body in the worst possible way.” Those strange animal eyes caressed his face. “Could we stop talking about this? I want to do something for the sheer pleasure of it. At least once in my life.” God, how could she be so innocent and yet not? He couldn’t get his mind around that.
“But what of”—he grazed her shoulder with his thumb—“what of your back?”
“Can we do…” She paused and looked to the side, awkward for the first time since they’d started. “When you…licked me. It didn’t hurt.”
On a hot exhalation, Luc reached up and tweaked her nipple—just a little. “Does that hurt?”
She shivered and shook her head, her gaze glued to his hand as it slid down to cup her sex, where his fingers found her clit and circled it. He watched the goose bumps perk up across her skin.
“What about this?” he whispered, entranced by her reactions. She was so pure in her pleasure.
A low oh emerged from her half-open mouth.
“Hein? What, Abby?” he teased, taking hold of her hips to line her up with the outline of his cock and slide against her, up and back. The movement was so wonderfully sexual that it made him want more—he wanted to see.
“It’s good. So good.” As if reading his mind, she reached for the blanket separating them and tugged it down, lifting herself up to shove it out of the way. When she sank back down, her bare, slick heat slid against his cock with explicit perfection, and he thought he’d die. The woman needed no direction. She put her hands on his chest and slid up and back, up and back, each slide bringing him closer to coming.
He eventually tore his attention away from the silky glide of their sexes long enough to take in her face.
“You’re beautiful, Abby. So beautiful.”
“I want…” She was out of breath, her eyes vague.
He let his hands guide her hips for a few beats, marveling at how she soaked him down there. “What, cherie? What do you want?”
“Oh Lord, I can’t say it.”
“Then how will I know?”
He continued to move, even when she slanted forward and hid her face in his shoulder. “I’m not…I’m not even sure how to…” They both made a low sound when the head of his cock notched right at her entrance, stopping everything but the beating of their hearts. She turned her head into the crook of his neck and whispered, “I’m so bad. I shouldn’t want this, but I do.”
“Yes?” He was practically gasping when he spoke now, his control a pathetic, frayed thing. No surprise after years of abstinence. Looking at her, he amended that thought. It wasn’t the years without sex that made him lose it. It was this woman. Unfettered desire, utterly unashamed. She was perfection, sexier than anything he’d seen in his life. “Tell me what it is that you want, ma belle.” For a man who had no time for words, he suddenly wanted them badly. What would she call this? Would the descriptions sound dirty tumbling from her perfectly curved lips?
“I want you to”—she swallowed, the sound dry in the quiet room, and the rest of her words were a barely audible whisper, just a hot puff of air against his earlobe—“put it in me. Please.”
His balls, hot and tight, came close to exploding at those words. It was the most delightfully filthy thing he’d heard in his entire life.
He’d just reached down to take himself in hand when a thought cut in. Condom. How had that escaped him? What was he thinking? That would be ruination of an entirely different sort.
This woman stole his breath away and shut his brain off.
“We need a condom,” he said, squeezing her hip. “I have some in the bathroom.”
“I don’t…I don’t know what that is.”
“No?” For some reason, that made him laugh—just a soft chuckle of affection that turned into a kiss, languorous and warm as the fire.
How the hell am I going to survive once she leaves?
He pushed back the thought as fast as it had come.
Finally, he extricated himself from her embrace, ignoring the chill as he shifted out from under her, and said, “I’ll show you.”
He stood and pulled his pants back up before walking to the bathroom.
It was too bright while he rooted around in the medicine cabinet for the box he hoped hadn’t expired. He’d bought them shortly after arriving here, although even then, he’d figured it would take a miracle to actually find someone with whom he’d use them. He almost laughed at that. It had taken a miracle, hadn’t it? A woman literally falling—if not in his lap, at least on his land.
After what felt like an eternity, he found them, closed the medicine cabinet door…and there he was, his face in the mirror an ugly thing.
Strange how many thoughts could race through a person’s mind at the same time. A picture of her on his sofa, wanton and wanting, immediately transposed by that feeling he got when he had to deal with too many people at once—a flash of something close to panic. But he wasn’t sure if it was because of those lunatics over the hill, just waiting to destroy her—and him—or if it was the idea of her leaving after this.
&n
bsp; Staring hard at himself—through the sun damage and the scar from that last fight with Olivier—he wondered what the hell she saw in him. A savior, probably. A doorway out of here.
In his hand, the condom crinkled, and he blinked hard at it for a second or two.
Leaving the bathroom door open for the swath of light it offered, he returned to stand in front of where she still sat on the sofa, condom package in hand and heart in his throat. Something about the way she watched him from under the blanket, eyes fogged up with incomprehension and lust, made him stop.
“Is it me you want?” he asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Or is it just sex on your terms that you need?”
Something in her shifted, and she ran narrowed eyes over him from top to bottom and back up to his face again.
“Would it make a difference?” she asked, her expression hard.
“Yes. Yes, I think it would.”
Gathering the blanket to her chest, she leaned forward, crooking her finger for him to get down to her level. He squatted.
“I could ask the same of you, couldn’t I, Luc?” He blinked. “Am I just a convenient happenstance? Naked and ready and in your house?”
“God no. You’re…” He sucked in a breath and admitted what he’d been trying to deny since the moment he’d laid eyes on her. “You’re everything.” What he’d meant was “you’re innocent perfection,” but that wasn’t right either, because he didn’t care about virginity in a woman. He wanted a different sort of purity. He wanted her because she’d never play games, and he’d had enough of those for a lifetime. He wanted her unadulterated beauty, her guileless desire, her truthfulness.
She huffed out a disbelieving laugh and slid a hand down his scarred cheek, while something inside of Luc loosened, maybe even disappeared entirely.
In His Hands Page 20
