She didn’t want him to see to every detail; her reddened eyes, her blurry mouth that couldn’t stop trembling. She couldn’t do the barbarian queen act with the light on. It wouldn’t be convincing.
And she just couldn’t get used to how big he was. Extravagantly gorgeous. Those thick, powerful shoulders, that chest that went on forever, dusted with glinting hair, those muscular dips and curves in his hips that she wanted to explore with her fingertips, her lips, her tongue. And his erection—rising bluntly from a thatch of dark blond hair—her gaze skittered away, face crimson, even though she’d already felt it, touched it. Tasted it. She huddled against the headboard, trying to hide from him. As if she were afraid.
But not of him. Apart from his excessive charisma overload problem, he was a good, decent guy. She was sure of that.
It was this feeling she was afraid of. She’d never been moved so deeply. Certainly not by Craig, or his predecessors.
She’d never taken guys too seriously, after her early girlish heartbreaks. Men struck her as comical creatures, for the most part; troublesome when they got silly notions in their heads, sometimes a nice distraction, sometimes a lot of fun, and God knows she’d never given up hopes of finding a keeper someday.
But it was silly to get too worked up about them. The sad, awful truth about men was, the more you wanted them, the less they wanted you. It was a cruel formula, but she’d learned to live with it.
Davy McCloud turned her formulas upside down.
“Why are you scared?” he asked. “I thought you wanted this.”
She tried to smile, but her shaking mouth wouldn’t cooperate. “You make me feel shy,” she whispered. “That’s all.”
He kissed one knee, then the other. His lips were exquisitely warm and soft. His hands slid down her thighs. A deep, melting sweetness shivered through her legs in their wake.
“Are you trembling because you’re scared, or because you’re turned on?” he demanded.
“Both,” she admitted.
She jerked with startled pleasure as his finger brushed delicately down the damp divide of her labia. “Does being scared turn you on?”
He was doing it again, looking into her head, delving around in secrets she never knew she was keeping. It made her breathless, panicked excitement sharpen to an almost unbearable pitch.
“No!” she snapped. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not scared. Not at all. Not of you. Don’t think that for one minute.”
“OK. I won’t think that.” His hands stroked the tops of her thighs. “We can stop. If you want.”
His voice had a shaky edge. That made her feel better. At least he was struggling, too. She shook her head. “I don’t want to stop.”
He closed his eyes. “Thank God. You have no idea what it cost me to say that.” He pried her hands out of their death grip around her knees, lifted them to his lips and kissed them, front and back. “Relax.”
She nodded, but couldn’t risk speaking. He slid his arm behind her knees, pulled until she unfolded. Then he pushed her legs open.
She stared up at him, her breath ragged. She’d never felt so naked as she did with Davy kneeling between her thighs, her intimate tender bits spread out for his perusal. Her sex felt hot, tingling. The look in his eyes heated her more than any other man’s touch ever had.
“Christ, just look at you,” he muttered. “You’re perfect.”
The woman she used to be would have said something sarcastic about feeding her a line, but his voice was tense. Not a practiced seducer’s rap. He sounded sincere. Almost nervous.
Hah. Davy McCloud, nervous. She almost giggled. “Thanks,” she ventured. “Hardly perfect, but it’s lovely of you to say so.”
She pressed her hands against his hot, damp chest as he stroked the swell of her belly, her rib cage. He cupped her breasts, circling her nipples, and she arched and sighed at the ticklish, shivering rush.
He poised his big body over hers, bending to press soft, licking kisses against her belly, her breastbone. His tongue dragged over her breast, sucking with tender, ravenous skill. She dug her nails into his shoulders. Her breasts gleamed where his hungry mouth had been, and his mouth went everywhere, a hot, dizzying swirl of pleasure.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and nuzzled his thick, silky hair. “It feels weird,” she whispered. “Being with you.”
“Why?” He slid his hand down to her inner thigh.
She put one hand over his to stop its bold path, and laid the other against his cheek. The sensual, sandpapery scrape of fine stubble against her fingertips made her forget what she’d been trying to say. She dragged it forcibly back from the depths. “Because you’re so big, I guess,” she said. “I’m a tall woman, not skinny, either, but next to you, I feel like a wee dainty slip of a thing. I’m not used to it.”
He stretched his body out between her splayed legs, getting comfortable. “You’re safe with me,” he insisted.
“Hah. Safe? What’s safe mean, anyway? There is no safe. You know that. Just like there is no normal.”
He slid lower down and answered with hot, sensual kisses against her thigh, then her mound, spiraling slowly and surely in towards the crucial place where she was most sensitive. He took his own sweet time, dragging it out until she was as desperate for his touch as she was afraid of it, and finally slid his tongue between the folds of her labia and flicked it tenderly up, around, over her clit. A tender swirl, the faint drag of teeth, the flick of his tongue, and…oh. Oh, God.
Her pent-up, quivering excitement boiled over into a violent orgasm, almost instantly. She went wild, convulsed. She wasn’t safe. She was terrified, more naked than she’d ever dreamed of being, crying out at the sweetness of every caress of his lips, his tongue, his hands.
Too much. Unbearable. She fought it, pushing him, writhing frantically away from his touch.
He grabbed her flailing hands, pinned her trembling thighs wide with his elbows. “What the hell?” he demanded. “Am I hurting you?”
“No…no.” Her voice broke. “I just can’t…I can’t.”
“You’re scared of feeling good? Why, for Christ’s sake?”
“I don’t know.” She gasped for air, licking her lips, trying to remember how to speak. “Can’t help it.”
“But it does feel good, right? You came, right? That’s how it felt.”
“Yes,” she admitted, panting. “Oh, God, yes. It’s just—too much.”
He stared at her for a thoughtful moment, eyes narrowed, and then slid up, covering her shivering form completely with his body.
“If it makes you come, I won’t stop doing it,” he said.
She tried to think of a coherent response, but she was a shivering mass of electric sensation, uncontrollable reactions. No sense, no logic.
“I think you need to fight,” he said slowly. “Right?”
She shoved against his implacable weight. “How the hell would I know?” she flared. “I’ve never freaked out in bed before. Stop pinning me down. Don’t analyze me. Let go of my hands, goddamnit.”
“No,” he said. “Fight all you want, Margot. I’ll win, though.” He trapped both her wrists, slid down and put his mouth to her again.
It was true. She could struggle all she wanted, and he just pinned her into place with his powerful body and took her apart.
Time and space swirled into a sensuous blur, hot caramel syrup blending in melting ice cream, and he licked it up with tireless appetite. Each sweet shock of surprise was the most intense she’d ever felt, constantly supplanted by the next that was sweeter; an endless unfolding of shivering bliss. Waves of pleasure rocking and cresting over her, one after the other, even while her muscles trembled with the strain of struggling. She couldn’t relax. She would fly to pieces if she let go for a single second. She would disappear.
He slid up over her damp, trembling body and kissed her again as he slipped one long finger inside her, pressing against a spot she’d never known about herself. She jerked a
nd clenched around his hand.
“I don’t know what you’re fighting so hard to defend,” he said. “But the harder you fight, the more I want it.”
She shook her head, struggling to comprehend. “Want what?”
“You tell me, babe. Everything, anything you’ve got. Everything you’ve never given to a man before. I want it all.”
His hand squeezed, probed, and thrust deeper, a rhythmic imitation of sex. Her hips jerked against him, welcoming every stroke, and he shoved her over the brink into another long, shuddering wave.
“I bet no man’s ever really gotten through to you.” His voice was speculative. “You’re a wildcat. Panther woman. Who has the strength to hold you down for that long? Sex with you is a workout, babe.”
“Watch it with the delirious power trips, pal,” she warned him. “Keep it up, and I’ll have to knock you back down to size.”
“Sure, babe. Go ahead, keep me on my knees. I know just what to do to you down there.” He slid back down.
She struggled up onto her elbows and tangled her hands into his thick hair. “You have got to cool it,” she told him breathlessly.
“I do?” He slid his tongue teasingly along her labia, and she gasped and tried to push his face away. “I don’t think so. We’re not done yet. Not while you’ve still got the strength to fight me.”
“That’s kinky,” she told him.
“Sure. Whatever you need, sweetheart. I’ve never done kinky before, but I take my cues from you.”
“But you’re driving me bananas!”
He grinned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not bad. Just out of control. I can’t stop, ah…”
“Coming? I know.” His grin widened. “You’re incredible. I lost count. I’ve never been with anyone so responsive. It’s great.” He fluttered his tongue across her clitoris. “Go on, do it some more.”
She writhed, against the delicious sensation. “It’s not me,” she protested. “I’ve never been like this with anyone. Not even by myself. It’s you. I don’t even know what you’re doing that’s so different—”
“Savoring you.” He pressed a hot kiss against her mound, and suckled her intimately. “Taking my time. Treating you right. Is that so strange? Why does it rattle you?”
She had no good answer for that. She just pushed gently at his face. “Please,” she whispered. “Really. Back off. I can’t take any more.”
He wiped his chin. “Now?” His voice was incredulous. “You want to stop now? This is just the beginning.”
“No. I mean, yes,” she stammered. “I just need a moment to get myself together. I won’t leave you high and dry. I’ll make you come. I love making you come. But I can’t stand crumbling to pieces anymore.”
Davy fished around the sheets for the condom, ripped it open with his teeth and spat out the chunk of wrapper. “No fucking way.”
His tone alarmed her. “Don’t be mad. I just meant—”
“I know exactly what you meant. You think I’m falling for that bullshit? Pull back now, and give you a chance to put all your barriers back up?” He rolled the condom over himself. “Then you’ll do your tough chick routine, and pretend you don’t need anything or anyone.”
Her jaw dropped. “But I never said…I only meant…”
“I’m onto you, Margot.” He shoved her down against the pillows. “I’m not backing off. You had your chance to change your mind. I gave you more than one. So forget it.”
“You’re overreacting,” she protested. “I never said that I wanted you to—” Her words stuttered off as he pressed the thick bulb of his penis against her soft folds, sliding inside. “Oh, Davy.”
“I’ve got you exactly where I want you. I’d be a goddamn idiot to let you wiggle away from me now. So just deal with me.”
She was overwhelmed by his big, hot body poised over hers, his thick shaft pushing against the resistance of her body. She was drenched with her own juices, and even so, she felt invaded.
He paused, holding most of his weight off her. “Go ahead.” His voice was taunting. “Fight me. I know you want to.”
His tone infuriated her. “You bastard.” She shoved his chest, trying to dislodge him, and suddenly understood his strategy. With every writhing wiggle that she made, he slid deeper until he was wedged inside her, and she was panting with a volatile mix of fury and excitement. Her body clenched around him, and he seconded every move she made. Before she knew it, instead of fighting, she was sliding up and down his big phallus, jerking her hips to meet him.
His smile of triumph maddened her. “You love it,” he muttered.
“Sneaky, underhanded, dominating jerk,” she told him breathlessly. “Get that self-satisfied look off your face right now.”
“I can’t help but notice that you’re not telling me to stop.”
She swatted at his chest. He caught her hands in his and pinned them down on either side of her head. “What does it mean when you hit me? Does it mean you want me to fuck you harder? Like…this?”
She cried out at the sensation of his penis stroking heavily over that mystery spot inside that flushed and glowed with ever-sharpening pulses of pleasure. “Damn you, Davy,” she whispered.
“I just want to get it right,” he said huskily. “I can tell it works for you, because I fit perfectly now. All of me. You hug me. So hot and wet.”
This was all wrong, all backwards. This wasn’t the way she ran her sex life, when she had one. Like being on the bottom. She vastly preferred the top, always had. Feeling squished and breathless made her irritated, and besides which, she had to control the pace and the angle if she wanted a chance in hell of working up a decent climax.
But having orgasms was clearly not a problem with Davy McCloud. The real challenge was to make the orgasms stop for long enough to think a coherent thought. His angle was perfect. His pace was ideal. His big body thrusting heavily into hers was erotic perfection.
She melted softer at every stroke. She didn’t even notice the shift when it happened. When she drifted back from the umpteenth rippling shimmer of delight, too limp to move, her terror of disappearing was gone. She wasn’t fighting anymore. She didn’t remember deciding to stop. He’d won, and she was too exhausted and blissed out to care.
Davy’s gaze was fixed on her, an odd expression almost like longing on his face. She reached up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Hey. Don’t you ever come yourself?”
“Sure I do.” He kissed her, caressing her full lower lip with lingering softness. “Wrap your legs around me.”
She obliged him, and sighed with pleasure as they rocked together, clasped tight. “When?” she demanded.
“When you’re done,” he said simply.
“Oh.” She pulled his face closer to kiss him. “Well, then. I’m done. You’ve proved your point. I’m impressed. You’re the man. OK?”
He nodded. She was vaguely surprised when he pulled away from her embrace and sat up on his knees, folding her legs high and wide.
“Davy?” She held out her arms. “Come back to—”
“No,” he said curtly.
He thrust himself inside her, his face rigid and far away. The fleeting moment of vulnerability was gone. She’d lost him.
She jerked up onto her elbows and clutched his upper arms, bracing herself against the sensual assault of his body. The muscles were corded on his neck, his jaw so tight, he looked like he was in pain. His eyes closed as his hips slammed against hers. He didn’t want to see her, didn’t want to be seen. It made her feel lonely and betrayed. So intimately joined, and yet so far away from him. He let out a choked sound, and flung his head back as his orgasm wrenched him.
She dragged him down against her body, holding him tightly, but he’d already retreated to a place too far away for her to find or reach.
Chapter
14
Reeling back from the brink. That was how it felt, a panicky burst of vertigo, the what-the-fuck-am-I-doing feel
ing exploding in his mind.
He slowly drew his cock out of the tight clasp of her body, and extricated himself from her slender limbs without looking into her eyes.
The feeling was too close to euphoria to be called bad, too similar to terror to be called good. The only way to deal with it was to keep his mouth shut until he got a grip on himself.
He rolled off the bed, his back to her, and pulled the condom off.
Margot sat up behind him. He sensed the question she was too shy to ask, but he had no answer. He’d hurt her by pulling back at the last minute. It hadn’t been a conscious choice, but he still felt like shit.
“Davy?” she asked. “Are you—”
“Got to get rid of this thing.” He fled to the bathroom before she could ask if he was OK. He would either have to lie and say he was fine, which would be tough in the face of blatant evidence to the contrary, or else explain his behavior. And his feelings. Not his strong point.
He had nothing to say. He’d invested years of his life learning techniques to not feel this way, and all his efforts were for nothing.
Margot was perched on the edge of the bed, lying in ambush when he came out of the bathroom. She was so gorgeous stark naked, with her hair rumpled, a sharp, hectic flush on her high cheekbones. Pissed off. About to give him hell, which he deserved. His wildcat.
His cock rose to full salute instantly.
Her eyes widened. “Wow. That was quick.”
He shrugged. His voice was locked in his throat.
It became evident that he wasn’t going to reply, and her soft throat bobbed as she swallowed, hard. “Are you coming back to bed?”
He stared at the high, tight points of her full breasts, the curves and hollows of her body, her soft red lips, puffy from being kissed. If he got into bed with her, he would end up on top of her again in seconds. He’d already overdone it. He had to back off, for both their sakes.
“I’m going to go get some work done,” he said. “Try to sleep.”
“Sleep?” Her eyes narrowed to bright slits. “Are you nuts? You’re blowing me off? Now?”
Out of Control Page 17
