Page 56 of Devil in Disguise
He swore. It was dirty. And then he was dragging himself up her body, grabbing her by an inner thigh in each big hand, lifting her high, and slowly pushing inside.
She was gasping. It didn’t hurt, not this time, because she’d been practicing alot,and because he went so slow. She just hadn’t expected to feel so … stretched.He stopped halfway in and asked, “OK?”
In answer, she ran a hand down his back, gripped an incredibly muscular butt cheek, and pulled him into her.
When he got all the way there, he groaned, then stopped there for a long moment. He was so much taller, she couldn’t kiss his face, so she kissed his chest, wrapped her legs around his waist the way he liked, stroked her hands down his spine, touched him at the base of it, and moved her hands on down. Touched, and rubbed, andfelt.
He said, “Too … tight.” In a voice like anguish.
She stilled. “I am?”
A strangled laugh. “No. It’s good.” And started to move.
Long and slow and deep. Owen, not pushing her. Owen, holding back. Grinding his way into her, one hand in her hair, and holding her hips against him when he was all the way in like he had to feel that. Shifting position, then, making the grinding better, and she was gasping.
And then he got one hand behind her thigh and shoved her leg slowly overhead, and it got more intense. He said, “Tell me if it’s … too much. If it hurts.” His voice a groan.
It wastight.He was so big, and so hard. And now, he was saying, “Touch yourself. Show me.”
She hesitated, and he said, “Come on, Dyma. Do it.” Not sounding one bit sweet, and he was moving faster.
The friction. The heat. Her hand went down there, hesitated some more, and he took away that hand that had been holding her ankle, grabbed hers, and said, “Please. Do it.” ‘
Oh, my God.
* * *
He shouldn’t push her.Hecouldn’tpush her. And he couldn’t help it. He had his hand over hers, was making her move it, telling her, “Do that. I need to … feel you … come while I’m inside you.” And because she was Dyma, she did. Never mind that he had her ankle in his hand again, that he had that leg shoved all the way up, that he had her on the floor, and that he wasn’t asking her anything at all about how she was doing. He wasfeelinghow she was doing. Also, he hadn’t had sex without a condom since Ashley’d left, and oh, shit, he’d forgotten how it felt. She was hot, she was wet, she was tight, and more than anything, she was Dyma.
Dyma, gasping as he drove into her, one hand on his upper arm, gripping it like she needed him. Dyma, rubbing her face into his chest. And, ohhellyeah, Dyma starting to squeeze him even harder, making him lose every thought in his head.
She rocked his world, so he rocked hers. He kept it up until she came, and then he did it some more. Until his muscles were straining, until her gasps had turned to moans. Until she said, “Owen. Please.Owen.Oh, help. Help me.”Her voice anguished, her body tense with need, then starting to shake. And finally, he was there. Up the mountain and over the cliff. Leaping into space and, at long last, letting go of the discipline and the struggle and the pain.
Falling free.
25
Moving Mountains
They madeit to the bed eventually, because he carried her there. He cradled her against his body, pulled the covers back, and put her in there with all the gentleness he hadn’t shown her before. Then he climbed in with her, pulled the covers up again, got his arms around her, kissed her with some sweetness for once, and said, “Hey.”
“Hey,” she said back. He couldn’t see her, because it was still dark, but he could tell she was smiling. “So I guess I have to lie to Pavani’s mom now.”
He laughed, and then he laughed some more. It was the last thing he’d thought of her saying. “Yeah,” he finally said, and hugged her hard, which she took as an invitation to crawl on top of him, take his head in her hands, and kiss him, with some tongue action for a little added spice.
She said, “I feel like such a badass.”
You couldn’t have stopped him smiling if you’d tried.
“Also,” she said, “I don’t have any clean clothes.”
“See, now,” he said, “here’s the thing. You don’t need any tonight. Because I’m happy to keep you naked.”
They ended up in the bathtub, eventually. He didn’t really fit, but she did. Right in his lap. He washed her body with a thick white washcloth and some body wash that smelled like honey and ginger, taking away the salad dressing and the soup and the humiliation, and she lay back against his chest and let him do it.
When he got to her belly, her thighs, he asked, “You sore inside?”
“Mm.” She sounded so sleepy. “Some. It burns a little.”
