“All right, then.” Her eyes went to the condom crushed in his hand. “Why don’t you show me what that’s all about?”
He turned to kiss her palm and imagined—for just one second—how this could be if she stayed. If, one day, they stopped using condoms. He’d build onto the cabin and… No point, though, was there? For her safety. For his.
Throwing off the fantasy, he asked, “You’ve never seen one?”
She shook her head.
“This is to keep you…us…from having a”—he swallowed back another totally misplaced wave of regret—“a baby.”
She blinked. “Oh.”
“Men put it on for birth control. But also against disease.” Was that hesitation on her face? “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want.”
“I’ve never…” Oh hell. What was she going to say? “I’ve only ever done this with the…man on top.”
“But you’ve done it?”
“Yes.” She paused, pursed her lips, and lifted that strong chin. “Or it’s been done to me, I guess.”
He shoved away the anger that brought up in him and focused on the other thing. She wasn’t a virgin. That was a relief. She was a virgin, though, when it came to pleasure. That notion got him riled up again. He could be the one to give her pleasure for the first time. And with that excitement came a sense of responsibility.
“Okay.” He swallowed and rose from the floor to settle onto the sofa beside her. Eyes on her disheveled body. “You do it. You’re in charge.”
“Me? I couldn’t. I’d—” She stopped, her expression a caricature of denial and then…excitement? She smiled. “Really?” Her whisper covered him like a caress, and all he could do was nod and smile back. Had anyone ever looked at him like that? Like he was something to be enjoyed, not just the other way around?
“Yes. You can do it. It does not have to be me.”
Her gaze turned greedy, her eyes more potent than the touch of her hand.
“I don’t…I don’t know how to start.”
“We don’t have to do the condom right away,” he offered, wanting to kick himself. “We can…do whatever you want. What do you want, Abby?”
* * *
Abby was finally doing what she’d once been accused of: defiling a man. And it was glorious. This time, she couldn’t seem to dredge up any guilt over it. All she could find was excitement, warm and electrifying.
Never mind that she was sitting naked with a man. Being unclothed was a novel feeling as it was, but to be close enough to feel his body warmth was… Drawing in a shuddering breath, she shifted closer. It was exhilarating and frightening and liberating all at once.
“What do I do first?”
He sounded breathy when he asked, “What do you want to do?”
“I want you to take off your shirt. I want to see the rest of you.”
“Help me do it,” he said, the words sharp spikes of need between her legs. “Undo my shirt. Please.”
With trembling hands, she leaned over, reveling in the brush of her breast against his arm, and undid one pale button at a time, until he sat there in a tighter, long-sleeved top.
“Will you help me with this one?” She pulled at the fabric.
Almost impatiently, he yanked the cotton over his head and—
“Oh, goodness.” Abby was without words. She let her eyes take him in. The warm humanity of him was so different close up—breathtaking and a bit intimidating, but above all, real. She’d underestimated his size, somehow assuming that layers of clothing added to him. Instead, he was bigger, more physical than she’d imagined. His wide chest was packed tight with muscle, so vital that she ached to taste it.
“Good or bad?” Was that insecurity in his eyes?
“Oh, heavens, you’re lovely.” That made him laugh. A rough bark of a sound, loud in this enclosed place.
“Can I…” She lifted a hand.
“Go on.”
Heat simmered off him, palpable before their skin even met.
First, she touched the hair she’d seen from afar, sprinkled across his skin in a pattern whose perfection was no doubt dictated by God. She brushed over it lightly, expecting it to be coarse.
“Soft,” she murmured before bending forward and setting the side of her forehead against the center of his chest. His heartbeat thumped against her temple, connecting them somehow even deeper.
He let out a strangled noise but made no move to touch her, which was both a frustration and a relief.
Slow as syrup, she nudged him with her nose, drew him in—here, where his smell was potent and addictive—and let her lips rest on skin that was burning up. His heartbeat turned frantic, the rise and fall of his lungs fast, his breath shaky.
“Is this good?”
“Yes,” he breathed.
Abby pulled away, eyeing his tiny, brown nipples.
“What do I do next?”
“You tell me.”
“I want to do the bottom, too.”
Standing, he helped her pull down his trousers, baring long, muscular legs, with a sprinkling of black hair that she wanted to feel…against her face, if he’d let her. Lord, Isaiah was right. She was utterly licentious.
That made her smile, the guilt softened by the firelight and the affection in this man’s eyes.
Shifting back gave her the chance to take him all in, everything from the broad expanse of his shoulders, down over arms sculpted out of something harder than flesh and blood, to those hands, every inch of him taut and full of energy. But oh, those hands. What could they make her feel? She imagined how it would have been if she’d been given to this man in marriage instead of Hamish. Would she have felt differently, then? Would climbing into bed at night have been a pleasure rather than a chore?
“It’s too dark in here,” she said.
“For what?”
“I can’t…see you properly.”
With a half-strangled chuckle, he went over to turn on the lamp, casting more light on his body, along with a good dose of hesitation.
“What am I supposed to do next?”
“You’re asking me, Abby?”
“I don’t understand how this works,” she said, frustrated.
“What?”
“There’s this impulse in me, like an itch I need to scratch. What do I do with it?”
Now she was the one pleading.
Dropping his chin, he seemed to gather himself, the muscles along his shoulders such a solid frame for his indecision. But when he looked back at her, something in him had changed. His eyes were bright, his jaw tight, his next words a bright, red flag in the air.
He sat back down beside her. “Use me.” His voice was low and eager. “Use me to figure it out.”
She didn’t need a second invitation. Life was moving too fast as it was. She needed to get Sammy out and disappear, so this could be her only chance, over in the blink of an eye. She swallowed back the lump of regret that formed in her throat.
Funny, though, because the progression to this moment had actually been long and slow. She’d watched him for years, memorized his shape—from far away, at least. Above the neck, she knew every line, scar, and freckle. Every frown, every questioning curve of the brow. But she knew only one facet—like smelling a meal and never getting to taste. She wanted more. And Lord, wasn’t that just her in a nutshell? More, more, always more, Mama would say.
Now, she was assailed by the prospect of tastes and smells and the feel of him under her skin. All of the experimentation and discovery she could do with that body at her disposal.
She voiced her last remaining fear. “What if I do it wrong?”
“There is no wrong.”
“And if you don’t like it?”
He smirked. “I’ll like it. What does your body tell you to do, Abby?”
Everything! her skin screamed, nerve endings so alive that even the burns truly hurt for the first time after being numb for hours. But it didn’t matter. The pain was sensation, and that was key.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she scooted closer to him, subconsciously licking her lips, as if admiring a feast spread out. From the top of his windblown hair to the bottom of his toes, she wanted this man.
He patted his knee. “Come here.” She hesitated, and he went on. “Put your leg up and over.”
With alacrity, she hooked one leg over him, straddling him so that their sexes fit snuggly together, with just the fabric of his underwear between them. The need to rock her hips and rub against him was too strong to resist, and she shuddered as pleasure ran up her spine, something like an ache settling in her belly.
Her body took over, leaving her mind behind to watch in shock from her perch above him. The noise she made was primal and ugly as her hands tore at Luc’s hair. Luc, instead of being offended or hurt or angry, as she’d imagine any other man would be, seemed just as hungry. His eyes ate her up, and his hands guided her, urging her this way and that, all the while fulfilling his promise to let her do the doing.
He shifted below her, his movements almost frenzied as he rubbed and rubbed. She answered in kind, her body making the decisions her mind hadn’t yet considered.
But my body is me, she recognized. She took the idea and owned it, letting it light her up from the tips of her fingers to the depths of her soul.
It shimmered inside, that sensation, high and floating and spinning in the air. It settled into her limbs until they grew limper with every new shift of her hips, every lifting of his. All the while, he watched her with those deep-sea eyes. Playing her, accompanying her, coaxing her body for more, until there was nothing left to give, and she slumped forward against him. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, but something was still missing.
“Luc, I want…”
“What, mon coeur? What?” He was breathing hard, his face tense and concentrated, the look of him… Goodness, was there anything more lovely than the expression on this man’s face? So serious as his gaze flicked to hers, then down to his hands on her body, then farther to where they connected—or nearly, if it wasn’t for that cloth barrier. Sucking in a breath full of their combined, earthy scent, she glanced down.
In shock, she took in how lewd it all was—that navy-blue cotton stained by her. She couldn’t tear her eyes away.
“Fuck me, Abby,” Luc begged, sounding nothing like himself. The same voice, familiar but lost. Abby blinked in shock at that word.
“I don’t…” She swallowed. “I don’t know how.”
“Up,” he ordered, swatting at her bottom. It was too gentle to hurt, but the sting echoed with pleasure.
Using his shoulders as a support, she pushed up to kneeling and watched as he shifted, pulled down his shorts, and used his hand to lift his…his what? Frustration swept up inside of her. She didn’t even know the words for these things. Manhood, she’d heard, but that sounded stilted and wrong.
“What do I call your…your…” She reached out, gingerly, and ran a finger up it.
“Ma bite? In English, people say ‘cock.’”
“Your cock,” she said, eyeing it on a satisfied exhale, hovering somewhere between hunger and uncertainty. That was what Hamish had put inside of her? No. No, it couldn’t be. This was so much bigger…more imposing, and appealing. She yearned to taste it.
Could she? He’d put his mouth on her, hadn’t he? Could she maybe just…
“It’s big, Luc.” It hadn’t looked nearly that big against his hand earlier.
He stilled, his expression somewhere between pride and uncertainty.
“Oh yes?”
“Can Ic”
It was strange, the things that occurred to her as she took him in hand. It was surprisingly heavy, the skin softer than her own. Every part of him was hard and scarred and callused, but not here. Not this sweet, intimate place. There was no give, which was fascinating. And there, at the tip, was a clear bead of fluid. She ran a thumb over it, then, eyes on his, lifted it to her mouth for a taste. Salty.
Her only warning before Luc took over was a groan, so desperate it clawed at her insides and made her nipples ache. Apparently, the time for exploration was past. In a frenzy, he grasped her hips and pulled her back above him, took hold of himself, and ran it up against that aching, soaked place in her body. He moved himself—his cock—back down, up and down a few times, lighting her up with every glancing touch against that magical spot. He stroked himself to a glistening shine before notching tightly to her, his one hand squeezing, tight, tight, tight, his eyes flying to arrest against hers, waiting. On the edge.
“Wait,” he breathed, more to himself than to her. “Wait. Hold on. Condom.” His hand searched the sofa, sliding between the cushions and coming out with the foil square. He ripped it open, gripped himself, and pumped hard a couple of times before rolling the ring all the way on. “Okay. Now, you do it. Lift up, and I’ll…” He swallowed audibly. “You can take me inside.”
She glanced up at those words to catch him biting his lip, his eyes concentrated hard on that place where their bodies met, and steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder. Slowly, full of defiance and excitement but not an iota of fear, she lowered her body onto Luc’s.
An animal sound came straight from her chest as he pressed in, in. It felt dirty, but in the best possible way as his body worked its way into hers. There was no pain, though, no cringing hesitation, nothing even remotely resembling duty in this taking. And who’s taking whom anyway? she asked herself as she took him in, swallowed him up. There was a moment when the big, blunt crown of him caught at her opening, that she felt a hitch of something familiar—more of a stretching than pain. But one look at his eyes, so intent and so warm, brought her back to the here and the now, where desire reigned supreme. So she gave in to the pressure of his hand on her thigh and let her baser instincts guide her down, his body easing into hers, filling her and bringing her pleasure like nothing she’d ever felt.
His expression, though—good God, the man looked shocked and pained and suspended, mouth hanging open. His lips were ripe and as needy as her whole body, just begging for a kiss that she couldn’t give him, because she couldn’t move. She was stuck, impaled, waiting for the next tiny advance, the thick, thick reality of her body accepting another.
“Oh, Luc.” She shuddered as her bottom finally settled on the top of his thighs and their chests came together with a different sort of friction, the tingling of her tight nipples like sparks in her veins. Somehow, her insides tightened even further around him. He groaned, bent forward enough to put his teeth on the cord that connected the top of her shoulder to her neck and bit.
He moved, fingers tight on her bottom, lifting and drawing back down, every slide hitting something inside and forcing her tighter, tighter.
“I want,” she gasped, with no idea what the next words would be. None.
Only he seemed to get it, because he muttered, “Oui, c’est ça. Keep moving,” while one of his hands shifted forward, to the place where their bodies came together, and pressed that tiny, wonderful, sharp place.
She screamed, screamed, because the shock of it was electrifying.
Luc met her eyes, looking almost surprised, before concentrating on that place even more, his fingers agile.
“Fuck, Abby, I’ve got to come.”
She looked at his face, all flushed and drawn. “Come?” she asked, bleary-eyed.
“Climax. Orgasm.” The words emerged as quick, staccato shots. They felt perfect and dirty.
“When the…” She swallowed, not understanding any of it, just rolling her hips against his. The sofa beneath them squeaked with every bounce of their bodies, and even that sound made her hotter, weaker, closer to that…thing. “That thing when the procreat
ion happens?”
Apparently that wasn’t right, because he huffed out a laugh, but the sound was more self-deprecating than insulting. She felt the vibration inside her.
“Oh, yes. Procreation. How to… I… My cock… It spurts out fluid. In French, it’s called jouir. Jouissance means…‘enjoyment’ or ‘pleasure.’”
“For me?” She didn’t even understand what she meant by that.
“Yes. Yes, you can do it, too.” He breathed through a particularly tight twist of her hips and worked his hand harder between their bodies. “Jouissance. Joy.”
“Oh,” she said as he hit her in that spot again. Pulling back, she watched him work at her, shocked by the visuals that she’d been missing for years. She was close enough to that climax to feel it approach, rumbling toward her fast and furious and inevitable.
“It’s coming,” she whispered, and he nodded.
“You feel so fucking good.” He looked down, concentrated on what his hand was doing. “You hear that?” he growled, and she did. The sloppy, wet smack of their joining was slightly mortifying and exceptionally arousing.
His fingers tweaked her again and again as they slipped and slid through her. She moved on him, less of an up and down and more an internal clenching as their bodies lost control and the want took over. As her climax arrived, bigger and stronger than anything she’d had to endure, she leaned in and put her lips to his, eating his moans and breaths and uncontrollable joy.
She reached it—that crest—pressing down onto him, his hips straining up to meet hers and tightening against her as she clamped him inside, mouth to mouth, forehead to forehead. Just as she blinked the first wave of pleasure away, the lights went out with a bang, leaving them in total silence and utter darkness. Abby tingled from her fingers to her toes as she sat out of breath, the two of them all alone in the world.
20
“Did we do that?” Abby asked. She was collapsed over him, warm and perfect.
“Make the power go out?” Luc smiled, his cock just starting to soften inside her. He didn’t want to pull out, didn’t want to leave her, but he’d have to. Just a little while longer. “Possibly. Probably,” he managed to say and tightened his arms around her.
In His Hands Page 21
