Dangerous Lover

by Lisa Marie Rice

  Jack ran his hands up her back and moved to her shoulders. Slowly, he pushed the open dress off her shoulders and watched it drop to the floor, together with her bra.

  She was almost naked, with only black panties and black lace-topped thigh highs and black heels. It was like some fantasy vision. Jack thought he’d built up his memories of Caroline over the years into a woman too beautiful to be true. As it turned out, his memories didn’t do her justice.

  Jesus, she was so beautiful it hurt the heart. Pale, perfect, so delicately built he was almost afraid to touch her. Something about his expression must have worried her because the anxious look was back in her eyes. Though she didn’t raise her hands to cover herself, her shoulders hunched, as if to somehow hide her breasts. He needed to say something to reassure her.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, then winced. “Ouch. That wasn’t quite how I wanted to say it, sorry.”

  Somehow it worked. He had made Caroline smile. “Thanks. It’s not the most elegant of phrasing but…thanks.”

  What point was she at? He needed to know.

  Jack knelt before her, placed one delicate foot on his thigh and slowly rolled the stocking down her leg. God, this was a fantasy scene, too, calculated to drive any male out of his mind with lust.

  Her legs were long, slender without being skinny, with the smallest most delicate ankles he’d ever seen. In a moment, he’d removed shoes and stockings.

  Jesus, even her feet were gorgeous. Small, pale with an elegant arch.

  Jack had never been adventurous in bed. Once he got the woman in bed, his usual style was to climb on top and put it in. Once he was in, he could stay for hours, but he wasn’t much for the fancy stuff. He rarely went down, rarely was on the bottom. Meat and potatoes sex, that was his style.

  But right now, running his hands along the long, elegant, soft length of Caroline’s legs, he had a sudden urge to kiss her toes, one by one. Suck them. Run his mouth along the delicate arch of her foot. Lightly bite his way up to her narrow ankle.

  His breathing was ragged as he contemplated her pretty feet. No, he finally decided. No way could he start at her toes. He’d come before he reached the knees.

  He ran his hand up her leg, leaning forward, mouth level with her belly button. He nuzzled her flat little belly while cupping her slender calves, running a finger behind her knees, around to the inner thigh and up until he was cupping her mound, moving his hand gently back and forth in a silent signal to widen her stance.

  “Open for me,” he breathed against her belly. Unsteadily, Caroline took her foot off his thigh and stood with her legs slightly apart. He kept an arm braced around her back so she wouldn’t fall.

  Rose-scented musk rose from her, Caroline’s perfume mixed with arousal. He could clearly smell it, coming from the thatch of soft, light-colored hair between her thighs. Never had a smell been so welcome. Gently, Jack pressed a finger into her and nearly wept with relief and fear.

  She was wet, all right. His finger was coated with moisture as he penetrated her carefully. But not wet enough to take him, not yet. And she was god-awful tight. Her little cunt closed around his finger like a wet, soft vise. He probed gently with his finger, withdrawing so he could spread some of the moisture around her opening. Jack was operating by touch alone, carefully watching her face. When his finger brushed against her clitoris, she gave a sudden exhalation of breath, her mouth rounding in an O.

  “Do you like that?” he murmured, stroking her carefully, hoping the calluses on his skin weren’t hurting her. Everything about her little cunt seemed so delicate to him, the tissues incredibly soft. He ran his finger over the clitoris again, and her legs trembled. If he hadn’t had his hands on her, he wouldn’t have felt it.

  “Yes,” she whispered in the darkness. “I like that.”

  Jack rose slowly from his crouch, wincing against the pain in his crotch as his dick rubbed against the tight, stiff denim, and kissed his way up the center of her chest, up her neck, along her jawline. Soft, reassuring little kisses. Pecks, really.

  With his finger still inside her, he could literally feel what turned her on, and it was just his sheer rotten luck that gentleness did it. With each soft kiss, she turned a little wetter, and his finger could slide into her with greater ease. When he nuzzled the skin under her ear, she sighed and moved against his hand, her opening softer now, and warmer.

  Jack moved his other hand from her waist to cup her neck, his fingers moving in the rose-scented silken strands of her hair. Locks fell over his wrist in a soft cascade. He kissed her softly, gently, and she sighed into his mouth, moving under his hands, coming closer to him, her mouth shifting under his. She showed no signs of actually wanting to get on the bed and get it on. She was enjoying the kissing, the gentle touches, the stroking.

  Was this what gentlemen did? Kiss forever? Didn’t they ever get to fuck? Jack felt like steam was coming out of his groin, and his dick hurt. It hurt to breathe, too. He felt tight bands around his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs.

  The only good thing was that the kisses were working. Jack stroked her tongue with his, and she actually clenched around his finger in a little ripple.

  Yes!

  Would it work with her breasts? Jesus, why didn’t he have three hands? One to keep touching the soft, wet folds of her sex, one to cup her neck, leaving one free to touch those delicate, firm breasts. He only had two hands, though, so he was going to have to take one away. Removing his hand from between her thighs was unthinkable, it would have to be the hand cupping her head.

  Only he loved the feel of her hair spilling over his hand, fingers gently holding her still for his kiss. He pressed her harder against him, as if to say—stay.

  She did, and didn’t pull away even when he probed more deeply in her mouth with his tongue.

  Jack cupped her breast, loving the silky firmness. She was small, and fit perfectly in the palm of his cupped hand. At that precise moment, Jack Prescott stopped being a man who was turned on by big breasts and switched forever to small, dainty, perfectly shaped breasts topped by delicate pink nipples.

  Were they hard yet? Only one way to find out. He gently circled the nipple with his thumb, the velvety texture a soft delight against his rough skin. When he touched her nipple, she clenched tightly against the finger deeply embedded inside her and moaned gently in his mouth. A drop of moisture collected in his palm.

  Shaking, he pulled his hand out of her and lifted his head. It took Caroline a second for her eyes to open, and she looked, dazed, into his own.

  “Undress me,” he whispered.

  “Okay,” she whispered back. He had no idea why they were whispering. Maybe it was the semidark room or the idea of being secluded in the middle of a snowstorm, or just the intensity of feeling that seemed to fill the room.

  Hesitantly, Caroline reached out and touched his stomach. Jack had to stop himself from groaning as she fumbled her way to where his sweater disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans. In pulling it out, the backs of her fingers brushed against his hard-on, and they both jumped. Her hands flew away, as if they’d touched something scalding hot.

  Jesus, he had to clench his groin muscles tightly so he wouldn’t go off.

  “Sorry,” she said breathlessly, looking up at him wide-eyed.

  Jack couldn’t answer. He knew he was a second from coming. If she touched him there again, he’d spill and embarrass himself forever.

  “Maybe I should do this.” Breathing heavily, his skin coated with sweat, he stepped back and crossed his arms to pull the sweater off. A second later, his hands were at the button of his jeans and he was shucking them off, together with his briefs, socks and boots.

  His cock sprang free. Her eyes widened, and Jack looked down.

  He couldn’t blame her for the wary look on her face. Fuck, his cock almost scared him.

  It was dark red and swollen, hard as a club, big veins visible, weeping at the tip. He didn’t let her get m
ore than a glimpse of him. Cupping both hands around her head, he stepped forward and kissed her, more deeply than before, a complete possession of her mouth, while walking her backwards the few steps to the bed. When the backs of her knees met the mattress, he picked her up and laid her gently in the middle of the bed, following her down.

  The feel of her under him was mind-blowing. He was operating on blind instinct now, unable to strategize, unable to think in any way. In a second, he’d opened her thighs with his own, hands cupping her head as he kissed her deeply.

  There was no waiting possible. Spreading her thighs wider to open her fully, his cock slid along the folds of her sex, then he entered her in one hard thrust, his cock parting the tight tissues, the heat and pressure unbearably exciting. It felt like he’d stuck his dick into a plug. Prickles erupted all over his body, an explosion of heat and light went off inside his head, an electric wire raced along his spine, and with the next beat of his heart he was coming in long, hard streams that made him shake.

  It was totally unstoppable, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Every muscle in his body clenched, and he shook and groaned as he exploded inside her. Though he was incapable of thinking clearly, at some deep level he realized he could bite her in his excitement, so he took his mouth from hers and buried his face in the cloud of hair, the smell of roses prolonging his spasms. It felt like he came forever, shuddering and groaning, as every drop of liquid in his body came spurting out of his cock. He was holding on to her hips in a death grip, pushing with his toes, grinding into her so he could be as deep in her as he could, and simply hung on while he exploded, heart beating double time, breath pumping in and out of his lungs like at the end of a fifteen-mile run.

  Sweat poured out of him and plastered her to him.

  It took ages before he was able to settle. When he got his breath—and his brains—back, and took stock, his heart sank.

  Jack lay sprawled on Caroline, making no effort to keep some of his weight off her, though he outweighed her by a hundred pounds. She was sticky everywhere from his sweat and the gallons of come it felt like he’d poured into her. Their groins were wet, and he knew come had seeped down to stain the pretty flowered sheets.

  He was known for his stamina but tonight it was as if he was fifteen again and green. He hadn’t even lasted a minute—he’d come the instant he’d entered her. The explosive climax had wiped out most of his memory, but he knew one incontrovertible fact.

  Caroline hadn’t come.

  Man, he’d fucked this up, but good.

  Six

  Summerville

  Well, she’d asked for it.

  Caroline lay under Jack’s heavy weight and tried hard to breathe without wheezing. The man weighed a ton. She tried to quietly expand her lungs and contemplated the etiquette of the situation. She needed oxygen and some space. How could she do this? Would it be okay to push at his shoulders to hint that he should get off her? Would it be rude?

  How soon after sex was it okay to cuddle? And of course, the big question—was he a cuddler?

  He actually didn’t look like much of a cuddler. He’d been grim and mainly quiet all evening. Most cuddlers were warm and chatty. Maybe he was the kind of man who had sex, rolled off the woman, then got up, the saddest kind of lover there was. The kind who left solitude and melancholy behind in the bed. She’d known a few of those.

  What Caroline liked most about sex was the sense of closeness. The feeling that, for this small moment in time, she wasn’t alone. She liked touching and being touched, affectionate words whispered in the ear, even if they were only true for the moment. Even a little human warmth was better than none.

  That was basically what she had wanted from Jack, though she knew sex would have to come before. She’d never really enjoyed sex all that much—though the last time she’d slept with a man had been so long ago she almost didn’t remember what it was like. But she did enjoy the afterwards. Quietly lying in the darkness with a man’s arms around her, listening to the comforting thump of another human heart.

  Right now, his was thumping triple time. It must have been a doozy of a climax because he’d shaken and groaned and panted, almost as if he were in pain. He was also as hot as a radiator. If nothing else, the quickie sex had rid her of the deep chill she’d felt. Jack Prescott was like a huge, heavy, hairy electric blanket.

  Hesitantly, Caroline lifted her hand and placed it on his shoulder, wondering if she’d have the nerve to push at it.

  She was instantly distracted by the feel of him under her fingers. There didn’t seem to be any give in him at all. The shoulder muscle was dense, ridged, hard as steel. She stroked the heavy muscle uncertainly, and was surprised when he took her hand off his shoulder and pressed it to his mouth. He kissed her palm first, then the back of her hand, as if they were at a ball instead of lying together, his penis still inside her.

  She shifted slightly and—

  “You’re still, um…”

  “Hard?” he supplied. He was lying with his cheek on her hair, close enough that the hot puffs of breath against her temple ruffled her hair. His mouth was an inch from her ear, and the deep voice, so close it felt as if he were speaking inside her head, sent shivers down her spine. “Yeah. Oh yeah. I haven’t begun to be finished with you.”

  He levered himself up on his muscled forearms and looked down at her. His features were blurry in the dim light, the whites of his eyes and his teeth light against his dark skin. His big hands clasped the sides of her head and he bent to kiss her, lightly, mouth moving gently on hers.

  He lifted his mouth for a moment and tilted her head slightly so he could kiss her from another angle. Sweet kisses. First-date kisses. A postsex cuddling kiss except it wasn’t post sex. They were still having sex. Sort of.

  He was still iron-hard inside her, but he wasn’t moving. The only thing he was moving was his mouth on hers. His kisses were warm, deep, a soft gliding of his mouth on hers. It was easy to lose herself in them, particularly now that she could breathe again.

  He lifted his head once more, his gaze piercing in the dimness. “Are you okay?” he whispered, mouth an inch from hers. “Did I hurt you?”

  Caroline smiled at that, pushing back a lock of black hair that had fallen over his face. “You seem to think I’m some kind of cream puff.” She shook her head, her hair rasping faintly against the pillowcase. “I can assure you that I’m not.”

  He blinked. In an instant his expression changed utterly. The faint lines of kindness and anxiety around his eyes disappeared and his face tightened, nostrils flaring. The heat in his eyes was visible even in the semidarkness. “Oh, but you are.” His voice was husky, pure sex. “You’re a beautiful little cream puff, and I could eat you right up. All over.”

  There was no mistaking his meaning. Unbidden, an image shot straight to the most primitive part of Caroline’s brain. She saw herself spread out on a bed, Jack’s dark head between her thighs, big hands holding her thighs apart. The image was unsettling. No, not unsettling—arousing. Unmistakably. Her vagina tightened around his penis at the thought. Immediately, he thickened and lengthened inside her.

  Her startled eyes met his. “You like that thought,” he said, voice deep and low. Deep grooves bracketed his mouth. “It turns you on.”

  “Yes, well…I—I must like it.” Her voice was breathless. She was completely distracted by what was going on in her body. Each pulse of his penis brought a little tug of her inner muscles tightening around him.

  Amazing. That had never happened to her before—that intimate link so intense she could feel the changes in the man’s body inside hers.

  Caroline was not only turned on by the thought of Jack Prescott going down on her, she was turned on by him. While her head had whirled with her neurotic, grief-stricken thoughts, and she’d been reticent and hesitant—her body had raced right on ahead without her and become aroused all on its own. There was no question of it. Now that she was really paying attention, and her hea
d had caught up with her body, she realized she was more turned-on than she’d ever been in her entire life.

  Jack Prescott might be grim-faced and not the world’s greatest conversationalist, but her body didn’t give a damn because he was perhaps the sexiest man alive. The most…male man she’d ever seen.

  Everything about his body was a source of intense, bewildering pleasure. The sheer size of him, the hard muscles, the thick mat of dark, wiry chest hair brushing her nipples with each breath they took, the thick, iron-hard penis buried inside her…

  God, just the feel of him…

  “I’d love to go down on you, honey,” he said in that dark, smoky voice, “but I’d have to pull out first, and they’d have to hold a gun to my head to make me do that right now.” His big hands slid down her sides to hold her hips as he began moving inside her. Long, slow, deep glides that filled her with heat. “No way,” he whispered. “That’s for later, when I can think of something besides this.” He lunged into her, a heavy thrust that took him even more deeply inside her.

  Caroline’s arms had to stretch to hold him. Her hands slid over the sleek hard muscles of his arms without finding a grip. Frustrated, she hooked her hands under his arms, palms flat against his massive deltoids, and held on. She could feel the intense play of muscles as he moved on her, in her.

  His long, hard body was one huge erogenous zone, from the hair-roughened legs holding her own legs open to the big hands holding her head still for his kiss. Everything about him was so utterly different from her that every touch, every kiss was new territory.

  The kiss deepened, turned biting and hard. She gasped for breath as her vagina fluttered again. He felt it. He felt everything that was happening to her. He knew what was happening to her body almost before she did.

  Jack levered himself up on his arms, lifting his upper body away from her completely. His chest was so wide it seemed to fill her entire field of vision, the pectoral muscles sharply delineated. Caroline stared hungrily at the massive biceps, hard and perfect. Her hands itched to touch him—touch all that hard, sculpted muscle. She reached out tentatively to stroke his chest, and his entire long frame shuddered. His eyes burned into hers.