Page 66 of A Deal With a Notorious Devil
Well, she wouldn’t have put it likethat. “Well…could I?”
“God, yes.” Shifting to brace himself on one elbow, he used the other hand to pry one of hers free of its death grip upon his shoulder and dragged it between them. Her hand wrapped around him, his hot, hard flesh searing her palm. In retrospect, she hadn’t been precisely certain what she had expected, but it had not been this—thisblunt instrumentthat jutted from his groin, the skin smooth and thin. She traced her fingertips along what she thought must be a vein, felt the strange pulse of that male flesh against her fingers. He seemed to swell even as she explored, the thin skin growing tauter by the second.
Somehow, she had thought it would be less daunting than this. “I—well, I—”
His shoulders shuddered, but she wasn’t sure if it was in pleasure or with the amusement that saturated his tone. “Don’t lose your courage now,” he said. “I promise you this: yes, it will fit, and no, it is not going to hurt.” He wrapped his fingers around hers, showed her how to stroke him, how much pressure she ought to use. Her fingers slipped in a drop of moisture that had welled up from the slit in the head of his shaft, and it made each stroke go smoother.
A coarse word erupted from his chest, and he bent his head to hers. The arm he’d braced beside her head trembled, collapsed—and then his full weight was on her, and the maddening pressure of his thigh situated between her legs was back, worse than ever.
Her hand was trapped between them, fingers still wrapped around his cock. “Kit,” she said. “I can’t move like this.”
“I know.” It was a grunt given into the feathery stuffing of the pillow beneath her head. “That’s on purpose. Not going to last much longer otherwise.”
“Really?” She didn’t know if she was meant to be shocked orpleased. On impulse, she twitched her fingers, gripping him just a fraction tighter. Pleased, she decided, when a queer shiver slid down his spine and he muffled groan into the pillow.
“Good God, don’t do that, or I’ll not be responsible for my actions,” he said irritably, his breath whooshing from his lungs. “It’s been a long damned time.”
Curiosity compelled her to ask, “How long?”
“Let’s just say I’ve paid a great deal to keep a mistress from whom I’ve not benefitted in too damned many months.” A wheeze as her fingers twitched again, and he turned his head. There was a tug on her hair, and then the locks slid over her shoulder, unbound.
“Did you just—untie my hair ribbon with your teeth?” she asked, faintly surprised.
“Mm. I can do a great deal with them.” He nudged the loose spill of her hair away from her neck, found a particularly sensitive spot, and bit lightly. Sparks streaked along her nerves, a sizzling heat pooling in her belly. The sound she made in response was not what anyone would have called dignified, but she had come to the conclusion that there was little dignity to be found in this act.
But what it lacked in that regard, it more than made up for in other aspects. She hadn’t thought she could summon the will to relax, but then she hadn’t any choice—tight muscles softened with the advent of that marvelous warmth that rippled out from her belly.
“Phoebe, you’ve got to let go.” The vague amusement in his voice dragged her back from the strange place of pure sensation her mind had wandered off to.
In reflex her fingers tightened again, like a child reluctant to surrender a coveted toy. “But I’m not finished.” Even the words came out slow and languorous, as if she’d been drugged into a stupor. That steely flesh pulsed in her grip.
“Another time. I swear it.” He shifted minutely, sliding his hand between them to peel her fingers away from his cock, shuddering with relief when he’d freed himself. “God,” he said, his voice raspy and ragged. “You’re so wet.”
She might’ve dredged up embarrassment over that intimate dampness if he hadn’t sounded so very pleased. If he hadn’t slid his fingers through the cluster of curls there between her thighs, effortlessly finding the tiny bead buried beneath them with a sort of mastery that dragged a shocked cry from her lungs. Her thighs tensed and trembled, and she grabbed for the stability of his shoulder to steady herself, briefly concerned that she might jolt herself straight off the bed.
A deeper touch, inching lower in firm strokes. He found that vulnerable place where she was open and damp, sliding easily through the moisture as his fingers pressed inward in a gentle invasion that stretched tender tissues.
Phoebe gasped—and gasped again, her nails biting into the smooth skin of his shoulder. She had known this was meant to happen, though she’d had little more than a vague understanding of how. But her body accepted the intrusion with little more than a token protest, the tiniest ache there as untried muscles learned to accept the slow thrusts of his fingers.
“Perfect.” It was a guttural whisper against her neck, and she felt his lungs expand against her breasts as he took a deep, steadying breath. “You see? No pain.”
No pain, but there was the strangest pressure within her as he plunged his fingers in lazy, languid motions. No pain, but her hips fought to catch a rhythm he never quite set, and frustration kindled at the spiraling pleasure of it that he dangled just beyond her reach.
“Kit,” she panted, flexing her fingernails into the muscle of his shoulder. Her hips trembled as she tried to lift them into the strokes of his fingers.
He seemed to know what she wanted without asking. “Not just yet,” he said, and his lips burned against the side of her neck. She whimpered as he withdrew his fingers at last, and her skin prickled at the cool air that rushed over her overly sensitive flesh as he drew away.
There was the slide of a drawer opening, a brief fumbling, and then he drew her hand down between them once more, her fingers slipping over the oiled surface of his cock. Still so hot, even beneath the barrier of the condom. Still smooth and hard, and he shuddered as she explored the silken surface, his breath coming in hard, fast pants.
He knelt between her thighs, slid his hands beneath her bottom to lift her hips. “Now,” he said. “Take me inside you.”
Awkwardly she tried to position him toward that place his fingers had so recently left open and aching, and he slipped through the clutch of her fingers as smoothly as silk, a slick slide that missed the mark but slipped over that tender bud at the apex of her thighs in a searing stroke that made her cast her head back upon the pillow, made every muscle in her body tighten in reflex.
He’d meant to do it, she realized, as a rough laugh echoed around her. And he did it again—and again, until she could hardly catch a breath before it had sailed once more from her lungs. Until her hips lifted of their own accord into the cant of his, until finally he grew impatient with the torture of it. The blunt head of his cock found that moisture-slicked opening and he angled his hips to enter her at last, sliding home.
Deeper than his fingers could have managed. Inexorable and insistent. Phoebe gasped as he filled her in a strong surge, taking up space within her that she hadn’t even known existed. A minor miracle, she thought, that people could simply…fit together. Like two halves of a whole reconnecting.
True to his word there was no pain, but instead a strangesensation of fullness as long-unused muscles contracted around the rigid length of flesh embedded within her.
