Page 95 of Where the Heart Leads
Inwardly smiling, he drew back onto his knees, grasped her hips, and turned her over.
She flopped over readily, slumping on her stomach, settling her cheek on the pillow. Lips curving in anticipation, he eased her feet apart, and knelt between.
He started with her ankles, lifting each to explore, caress, then nibble. He didn’t touch her soles in case she was ticklish; the last thing he wished at this point was to jerk her to full awareness too fast.
The swell of her calves, the backs of her knees, the long upward sweep of her thighs, he paid dutiful homage to all, and she sighed and let him.
Let him trace the globes of her bottom, kiss and lick his way over their swell and the indentations at the base of her spine. He spread his fingers across the back of her waist, then ran his hands upward, with his lips and tongue tracing the line of her spine, pausing to examine her shoulder blades, until eventually he reached her nape.
Pressing aside the hair he’d earlier released, he touched, caressed, then set his lips to the sensitive skin, and lowered his body to hers.
Covering her.
He nipped, then set his teeth to the tendon at the side of her throat as he pressed his hands into the mattress, sliding them beneath her so he could fill them with her breasts. Closing his hands, he kneaded, then found her nipples and tweaked.
His erection, hot and as hard as iron, rested, throbbing, between the globes of her luscious bottom. From the tension that had flooded her, infusing her limbs as he released her right breast and reached down to lift her right leg, grasping her knee, drawing it up and wide, opening her to him, she’d guessed what he intended even though he doubted she knew exactly how—he could imagine her brain buzzing with questions, ones she thankfully had neither breath nor time to pose.
He made sure of the latter, releasing her knee, drawing back and reaching between them to position the blunt head of his erection at her entrance. Immediately he eased into her—just a little, just enough to answer her first questions.
Shifting so that his weight was more on one arm and he was no longer squashing her into the bed, he returned his hand to its position at her breast, claiming it anew. His weight kept her pinned, kept her other breast pressed to his other palm. Lowering his head, he caught her earlobe and nipped, then pressed his lips to the sensitive skin beneath as he flexed his spine—and slowly, deliberately slowly, savoring every inch, sank into her.
Beneath him she shuddered. Her eyes were closed; concentration had claimed her features.
He pushed deeper, feeling her body give and let him in, then embrace him. She closed around him tightly, wrapping his erection in slick, scalding heat.
His breath tangled in his lungs, strangled in his throat.
Then she moved beneath him, pressing back, instinctively seeking more. Opening a fraction more for him.
He seized the invitation and thrust deep, hard, and heard her whimper—not in pain but in pleasure. The sound slid through him, sank in and set its claws, fraying his reins so he had to stop and close his eyes and hold his breath, until he had some measure of control again.
When he did, he slowly withdrew, then thrust powerfully in again.
Again she caught her breath on a sob.
His lips cruising just beneath her ear, he murmured, “You like that, too.”
Her only answer was a tiny but blatantly demanding wriggle of her bottom.
He laughed, a short guttural sound, and obliged. Drawing back again, he settled to ride her—slowly, each thrust measured both for power and depth, exquisitely tuned to enhance her pleasure. She writhed and begged, tried to urge him to go faster; he didn’t listen, just adhered to his plan, all the time wielding an absolute control he knew better than to let her weaken.
He would much rather have had her on her knees before him, naked, her lush derriere pressed to his groin as he thrust into her welcoming heat, but that, he’d realized, would be going too fast.
She might well have welcomed the novel position, and he was starting to suspect she was unlikely to be shocked—not to the point of retreating—no matter how forcefully he took her, but he had to remember his purpose, his plan. He couldn’t answer her questions all at once; he had to leave the heavier-gauge ammunition in his locker, at least for now.
Just as well—God only knew what she might provoke if she tried to take the reins from him in any more dominant position. Even now, although he had her trapped and more or less at his mercy, she fought him for control, squirming beneath him, and when that didn’t work, using the muscles of her sheath to distract and control him.
He gritted his teeth and increased the pace, using his weight to subdue her and thrusting deep, kneading her breasts as he did—until she climaxed on a scream—the first he’d wrung from her.
The sound snapped his reins; on a groan he buried himself to the hilt within her, again and again, until release poured through him on a searing tide, and swept him, his conscious mind, before it, flooding him with bone-deep pleasure as he let go and pumped his seed into her.
Racked, shattered, he collapsed on top of her, too weak, too exhausted, too sated to move.
As soon as he could summon the requisite strength, he rolled to the side, holding her to him, resettling her against him, her back to his chest.
His hands now loose about her breasts, he could track the swell of her ribs as she fought to regain her breath.
After a moment, she lifted one arm, reached back, and ran her hand down his flank, a gentle, patting, stroking motion that testified to her thoughts—her thanks.
