Page 98 of Just One Look
It was like it was happening to somebody else. Her hands on the wheel, shaking like leaves. Like the other day, in the flood, because she was swamped. Her footing was gone, and she was washing away.
* * *
He gother out of the car and wanted to hold her, because she was still shaking. His car was in the middle of the road, though, so he told her, “Wait.” After that, he put his car in the garage, parked her car in front of it, then took her through and into the house.
She was crying, or she was finishing crying, and he was going to ask about that, but she was falling back against the door he’d just closed, pulling his shirt down by the collar, and kissing him. Her arm around his shoulders, her hand under his shirt.
For once, she wasn’t asking him about his neck. She wasn’t thinking about his neck. She was thinking abouthim,and the power rushed through him like a wave onto the shore. He’d kicked off his jandals, had a hand under her arse, another one on her face, and he was lifting her up to her toes, and higher. She gasped, “I’m heavy,” and he took his mouth away from hers for just long enough to say, “I’m strong,” and kissed her harder.
The moment when she wrapped those rounded thighs around his waist, he shoved her back harder into the door, and she made a noise in the back of her throat like surrender. The moment when he started kissing her neck, and she gasped. And the moment when he told her, “Take down your hair,” and she raised her hands and started to do it. And her hands shook.
He watched her pull out the elastics, and then he was kissing her neck again, greedy for her skin under his mouth, for the eager way her hands were stroking up inside his shirt, over his sides, up his back, and the two of them were sliding down the wall and onto the floor. Her hair was still in its plait, and he had his fingers in those woven sections, pulling them apart, letting that dark mass spill down in all its luxury. Then he was pushing her down, and she was on her back.
He may have thought for a moment that the floor was hard, and this wasn’t where he should be doing this, but he didn’t think it for long. She was pulling his hoodie and T-shirt up, and he took the matter out of her hands. His shirt was on the floor, her hands were all over him, and she was rising up, kissing his chest, telling him, “Lie down. Rest your neck.”
“I don’t care about my bloody …” A gasp, because she had her mouth on a nipple now.“Neck.”
“Lie down,” she said. “Carefully.” Stern as a surgeon, or possibly Boadicea, the warrior queen.
He lay down, but he pulled her with him. She got a knee over him, and she was sitting back, astride him, her hair falling around her shoulders. And he started undoing buttons.
He’d swear she’d forgotten to worry about whether it was right, about whether they should. She was holding her breath, and he was fumbling, his fingers too big for the tiny fasteners until, finally, he got the fabric in his two hands and pulled. Little white missiles popped off and bounced against the floor, and she sucked in her breath, then pulled her shoulders back and let the shirt fall down her arms. He pulled it over her wrists, then looked at that serious, hard-working beige bra and asked, “Do you care about this one?”
She said, “No.” And he ripped it off her.
No more beige.
His hands, pulling her down over him until she was sprawled there, holding herself up on her palms, and he was taking a full white breast in his mouth and reaching for the other one while she uttered a little cry, and then kept on doing it. His mouth greedy, feeding, and the silence within the solid brick walls broken only by his breathing and the whimpering sounds she was making.
He stopped, and she pushed herself up and stared down at him, eyes dark with desire and confusion.
He said, “Raise up,” and pulled her by her waist so she was standing on her knees. She pulled off one low heel, then the next, and tossed them. They made aclunknoise against the floor, and he smiled, undid the button on the top of her trousers, and pulled down the zipper. Slowly, but when it was down, he pulled down the trousers with a hard yank, and she tensed.
He said, “Take them off.” And she trembled, sucked in her breath some more, and did it.
Nothing but a pair of high-cut beige undies now, with no lace on them at all. He had a feeling they’d be cut high on her cheeks, though, because there was only so conservative she could be when nobody was looking. He stared into her sapphire eyes, saw the truth of that in them, and got his hands back there.
Oh, yeh. He’d been right. He got his thumbs around the tops of those undies, and now he was draggingthosedown her legs, and she was helping. And then, as if she were coming back to herself, she said, “Oh. Sorry,” and started to pull down his shorts, her face flaming as if she’d done something wrong.
He couldn’t stand it. He had her around the waist, was dragging her up his body, saying, “Get on your elbows and knees.”
The rush, the charge when she obeyed. The power that was grabbing a woman by the arse, dragging her down over you, and pulling her into your mouth. The way she yelped when he did it, and then the way she started to rock.
They were going to get to him eventually. They were going to get to him, and spend some time there, because he needed to bury himself in all that heat, and to watch her breasts bounce with the motion until he had to pull her down over him to feel them for himself. Right now, though, he couldn’t think about that. He was busy making a woman come.
He was holding her down by the hips, but he wasn’t rushing. He was teasing. Playing. Making it last, his tongue lazy on her. Her hand was in his hair, and she might have started out thinking about his neck, but she wasn’t thinking about it now. She was making some serious noise, calling out like a woman who’d forgotten about her dignity and was feeling her power. He was going faster, and she was tensing, and then he was backing off, and she was saying, in a voice that didn’t even sound like hers, “Comeon.Please. Luka, please. I need it so much.”
He stopped a second, just to keep her guessing, and then he did it. And she tensed hard, rode his mouth, and howled.
