Page 11 of Devil in Disguise
There was only somuch self-control a man had.
He could’ve done some more of that self-talk. If that part of his brain hadn’t turned itself off, he could have. Instead, somehow, he had his hand on her thigh, shoving up her skirt, dragging his fingers along skin he’d never touched.
Skin he’d never kissed.
She was still in her boots, and so was he. He stood back, and she sat there on the shelf, her dress barely on, her hands clutching the edge, her cheeks flushed, and watched him. She didn’t say a word. She just watched.
He got his boots off. After that, he picked her up with one hand under her ass and yanked that dress all the way up her thighs.
She was still wearing her clothes. Technically. That was going to have to be enough.
She said, “Owen.” It was a breath, and then his mouth was on hers again, his hand still under her, pulling her closer, like he wasn’t almost as close to her as a man could get.
Asymptote. A line that approached ever-closer to a curve, but never quite reached it. Into infinity.
Mouths sliding along heated skin. Hands clutching, feeling. His palm sliding inside her bra again. Her hands undoing his buttons, her palm on his chest. His lips at her throat, the sound of her gasp filling his head as he ground further into her.
Asymptote.
Lifting her up higher, keeping her back against the wall so he could get his lips at her breast. The moment when he sucked that nipple into his mouth, and she writhed hard against him, clutched him harder, and called out.
Maybe it was wrong when he slid a hand inside that thong and touched her, and she just about came apart in his hands just from that, so he had to shove her harder against the wall to hold her there. Maybe it was wrong when he put a little more rhythm into it, when he had her bucking. And maybe it was wrong when he was on his knees, his hands against her inner thighs, slowly pushing them open and knowing it was the first time she’d felt a man there. When he’d kissed his way along that little silver chain, and then slowly down her belly. And when he dragged that silky triangle of fabric aside and got his mouth on her, and her hand was in his hair and her other leg was wrapped around his back, and he could hardly hold her still. When she started to shake, and then she started to moan. When he kept going, getting a finger inside her like nobody had ever done before, feeling all the illicit thrill of it, and she started up all over again.
If he was going to hell, he was practicing.
Going up in flames.
* * *
He just keptdoingit.And she kept coming. Over and over again, so much stronger than it had ever been before that it was a whole different experience. She couldn’t think anymore, and she couldalwaysthink.
It was sensation everywhere, like shivers, but so much more so. Inside her, where his finger pressed the spot that felt best of all, and she wanted to squirm away and wanted to get more, all at once. And where his mouth roamed and then settled in again, his tongue dragging out every bit of sensation she was capable of feeling, and she had one hand against the wall, her fist banging, and the other one in his hair.
It happened fast. She was coming again, not knowing how many times that was, and there was acrack.The next instant, she was falling, her back sliding down the wall, her head banging against the wall, all of her ending up in a heap on the floor, and Owen was scooping her up almost that fast, holding her against him, saying, “Shit. You OK?”
She tried to get her wits back. It wasn’t easy. She was still shaking. Still convulsing. She said, “What … happened?”
“We broke the shelf.” A laugh in his voice, and so much strain in it, too.
“Oh, no.” She was laughing, too, and now, she had both arms around his neck, he was on his knees, and they were both grinning like idiots. She wrapped her legs around his waist, because she loved it and so did he, kissed him deep and dirty, rocked into him as much as she could, because she still wanted more, and said, “Good job not taking off my clothes.”
“Yeah. Well.” He was still smiling, but his voice was strangled. “A man does what he has to do.”
“I could do it for you, too,” she said. “Of course, I don’t know how, but you could teach me. You’re a really, really good teacher. Want to teach me how to do one more thing? I’m ready to learn.”
He groaned, but she noticed he didn’t let go of her. “Stop it. You don’t know how hard it is not to …”
“Oh, come on, Owen,” she said, getting her hands inside his shirt and running them down his body. He had so much muscle. So much everything, and she wanted it. “You can say the word.”
“Nope.” He set her away from him, then took a breath and blew it out. Then he was adjusting her bra and pulling up her dress, settling it over her shoulders again and buttoning it up, his fingers a little clumsy on the tiny fasteners.
“What do we do about the shelf?” she asked. She wanted this to keep going. Sheneededit to keep going, but not as much as Owen did. He had to be dying by now.
“Wedon’t do anything.Ilet them know tomorrow that I put something too heavy up there and it broke, and tell them to go on and charge my card.”
“You realize that if they tell Blake, he’s going to have a pretty good idea what that heavy thing was.”
“You know,” he said, “I don’t think ol’ Blake is going to be too shocked.”
