The friction between her thighs drove her to distraction. And all the while the beads teased her breasts, arrowing heat strikes straight into her heart. Her bottom pumped and repeatedly brushed against his cock and she did nothing to prevent the contact. She hoped the friction drove him wild enough to lose some of that control he seemed so determined to hang on to.
“Don’t come,” he pleaded in her ear, his fingers frantic as they kindled a blaze so hot, that she yearned for fierce release with every atom of her being. “Not yet.”
Wind whipped her hair and her eyes teared. She’d never experienced anything quite so breathtaking and elemental. With the horse under her, Grey’s fingers buried inside her and his breath fanning her neck, she almost screamed out in frenzied pleasure.
But then he slowed Samson back to a walk, moved his hands from between her parted thighs to her waist and lifted her above the saddle pad. Dangling in the air above the horse, she immediately missed Grey’s warmth, the contact of his flesh heating her.
His voice—harsh from either the strain of holding her, or from excitement—rasped in her ear. “Put me inside you.”
She didn’t need any coercion, simply wondered if making love on a horse was possible. She’d never thought about such a stunt, but with Grey, the extraordinary seemed not only possible, but all-too-probable.
She reached down to him between her parted legs and, to her surprise, found he’d already encased his sex in a condom. Slick, hard and as ready for her as she was for him, he lowered her slowly onto him. Damn, he felt good, stretching her, filling her. But she hadn’t quite figured out the logistics of making love on a horse. A living, breathing, moving horse.
“Place your thighs over mine, your feet on top of mine,” he directed.
And, suddenly, all the parts fit perfectly. She could ride him while they both rode the horse. With her feet resting on his, she now had leverage to raise and lower her hips with ultimate freedom and abandon.
Moving experimentally, hands resting loosely on her thighs, she tested her position and drew a husky moan from Grey’s throat before he choked out, “You okay?”
“Never better.” She pumped her hips slowly, enjoying the feel of every terrific inch of him, timing her moves with the horse’s natural rhythm.
“Why don’t we see who can hold out longer?”
What? How could she think with myriad sensations bombarding her? He had filled her to her limit, his hardness stroking her softness and creating wondrous excitement. She couldn’t wrap her mind around his suggestion and make sense of it. “What are you saying?”
“I’m…saying…that I can wait longer than you to come.”
“You sure about that?”
Wicked and wild to prove him wrong, she tightened muscles that clamped around his sex. When he let out a gasp of delight, she repeated the movement, enjoying the feel of him, enjoying his enjoyment, too.
“With you,” he bit out in a low rasping growl, “I’m not sure about anything.” She would have grinned at his declaration, but she was desperately trying to hold back, trying not to let her senses overload as she listened to the challenge in his voice. “Why don’t we make this more interesting?” he dared her, one hand caressing her breast, the other reaching for her clit, finding her and teasing her mercilessly.
More interesting? Oh, sure. She was going to explode any second, and he wanted to make this more interesting?
Her ears pounded, the blood rushing to her head in time to Samson’s pace. All her muscles tingled, tight with need. Her breath drew in short gasps of air that didn’t seem to have enough oxygen, while her stomach fluttered madly and her breasts throbbed. Yet, somehow, she dug deep inside and found the strength to hold on to her scrambled wits.
“What do you have in mind?” she asked, sounding boldly feminine to her own ears.
“A wager.”
With his sex dipping into her, then teasingly withdrawing, with his fingers beating their own tattoo between her legs and her throat so tight she almost screamed, she knew better than to make any damn bet. Especially when Grey truly seemed to have the stamina of a Samson.
Biting her bottom lip to keep from crying out as he slowed Samson to a very slow walk, she fought for control. She wanted the horse to let loose and gallop. She wanted to race toward the explosion so close, yet so far, from reach. No doubt Grey wanted to go slowly to draw out the pleasure but the delay was pure torment. She had a suspicion that Grey knew exactly how far he could push her, that he knew exactly how close she was to falling off the edge—indeed, that he could cause her to lose their bet anytime he chose. And the thought that he could play her like a finely tuned instrument, heating her up, only to cool her down, so he could cause her to blaze even hotter, only served to make her wonder how the hell she had gotten herself here.
She wanted to say, I’m not a betting kind of girl, but instead she heard other brash words come from her lips. “I’ll accept your bet.”
He chuckled warmly in her ear.
“Now we need to define the stakes.” Wanting to prove to herself she was up for his challenge, she wriggled and reached between her legs to cup his large, tight balls.
“I like a woman who plays dirty.” His tone was harsh, elusive.
“I play to win.” She rolled his soft skin against her palm, testing the weight of him, searching and finding the tender spots which made him drag in a sharp breath and tenderly bite her earlobe.
“We’ll wager one night of pleasure,” he told her in a voice that was more demand than question.
“Huh?” She didn’t understand, but now that she caressed his balls, she found herself more settled and enjoying her own boldness much more than she’d expected. Exerting her feminine power and skill shot reckless thrills through her.
Waves lapped against the beach and occasionally she could hear a fish jumping out of the water. The horse strode along the shoreline, the Gulf waters up to his ankles. A plopping and sucking sound that was almost sexual accompanied his every step. Water splashed his hooves as he carried his riders down the wide moonlit beach, a shoreline too primitive for a fancy resort brochure but one which suited her high-strung mood.
Grey’s lips brushed, taunted and teased her temple. As she pumped her hips, his sex thrust in and out of her, creating heat that his clever fingers kindled into a raging inferno.
His provocative baritone titillated. “The winner gets a night of pleasure.”
With every nerve ending excited and ready to fire, she couldn’t possibly be thinking clearly. Either that or he was making no sense. He’d said the winner would get a night of pleasure but that couldn’t be right.
He urged the horse into a quicker pace. The beads dangling on her nipples beat faster, as did his fingers rubbing more urgently against her clit, and all the while his cock pumped in and out. She was going to explode any moment.
Still, she gasped. “Doesn’t the loser get a night of pleasure, too?”
“Yes.”
“But—”
As if sensing her hesitation, he pressed. “A sexual wager would certainly be scandalous.”
A scandal. Yes, she’d intended to create a sexual scandal. Oh, Lord. She must have been out of her mind. She couldn’t keep up with this man. She was so ready to come, and he sounded as if he could last for hours.
The horse had angled his way into deeper water, maybe up to his knees. She welcomed the occasional splash like a thirsty woman crossing a desert plain. A few water droplets sprayed her breasts and dribbled down her stomach. She lifted her chin and stared at the sky. Limitless space. Countless stars.
And then she understood the logic of Grey’s circular wager. “The winner and loser get the same thing?”
“Almost.”
She found the big dipper and sighed her frustration to the heavens. “And the difference would be?”
He tweaked her nipple, already so tight that lust zinged straight through her like that first swallow of brandy on a rainy winter night. “The winne
r decides on the pleasure.”
She might not be a betting kind of girl, but she didn’t see how anyone could lose this type of bet. Of course, he was assuming they’d make love again, but that was just fine with her. “Okay, I accept the bet and the stakes.”
She pumped her hips, this time letting her bottom brush against his stomach. The angle caused him to drive deeper into her, stretching her to take his full length. Damn, he was one finely built man. And that he was so determined to outlast her made her just as determined not to give in to the storm he’d created inside her.
But could she resist him?
8
TONI’S SENSUOUS CHANGE from sweetly acquiescent to saucily feminine had stirred Zane into a hissing, seething cauldron of sexual arousal. From the first time he’d met her she’d seemed a combination of innocence and brazenness that both surprised and intrigued him. If his little stalker had any idea of her awesome impact on him, she could have asked for the moon and he’d have given it to her. If he had his way, she could stalk him anytime and twice every other Sunday.
Every other Sunday? What in hell was he thinking? Zane adored making love with women, but he didn’t do long-term, his previous record with one lady might be a few months. And he’d been thinking about Toni in terms that didn’t fit into his idea of perfect.
But then how could he help himself when she seemed both so innocent and so brazen? She appeared to want nothing from him except what he was willing to give—which made her a very dangerous woman who attracted the hell out of him, excited him and inspired him to push her to see how far they could journey together.
He could barely believe that she’d never ridden a horse before, and now here she was riding naked, perched in front of him, her delectable backside rising and falling and taunting him, her blond locks whipping him to wilder exploits as her hand cupped him, her fingers dancing in delicious places. And he dared not move, dared not breathe.
He wasn’t sure when the moment had happened, but somehow she’d wrested control from him. Samson might be his horse, riding along the shore of his family’s island, and making love might have been his idea, but somehow, she’d made the notion her own. She’d gone from vexing to vixen, and now she held him captured between her legs, her core hot, tight and slick. She regulated their pace, she decided how much pressure to apply and when, raising and lowering herself, surrounding him, inflaming him, dragging him tighter and deeper inside her until he thought he would burst.
As he fought to hold back, sweat popped out on his brow and his pulse galloped raggedly. Each raw breath he drew into his lungs both energized and ached. He’d sought to distract her with conversation. But when she’d reached down and squeezed his balls, he’d almost accidentally dug his heels into Samson’s sides. Not a good move.
His horse might be accustomed to midnight rides, but not with two riders, not with one of them raising and lowering herself onto him, causing them both to squirm. When she tightened her inner muscles to clamp down on his cock, he’d almost shouted in joy as the pleasure surged through him, seared him, branded him.
With the stars overhead, the ocean beneath Samson’s feet splashing up the occasional spout of water, and the breeze on his bare skin, the lovemaking took on an otherworldly experience. Being inside her was so much more than sex—but he hadn’t a clue why. And didn’t especially care. Why ruin a good thing with over-analysis?
Sex had never been this perfect. And as her fingers grasped and tugged, as she rode him, he simply closed his eyes and let the sensations take him to a place he’d never been. He had never felt so sensitive that he ached to crawl out of his skin, never been so swollen he thought he might burst before he was ready, never had his head gone numb.
His blood sang, pleading to increase the beat. He’d held back and held back and held back. But he couldn’t hold out against such erotic pressures indefinitely. He was a man, and she was unlike any woman he’d ever come up against.
On the outside, she was pure supple softness driven by an inner core of feminine power, and the combination excited him. She maintained a feminine strength and intuition he hadn’t guessed she’d possessed until now. Seemingly out of the humid air, she’d pulled out the knowledge of how he liked to be touched and where. He was beginning to think of his stalker as pure sorceress.
How else would she know exactly when to tighten her muscles around his cock? How else could she know that pressure under the rim caused his muscles to tremble clear up to the pit of his stomach?
Only determination to outlast her stood between him and a massive climax. Through aching jaws, he gnashed his teeth, frustration and desperation shooting through him like the compression of star gases before a universal explosion. Tilting back his head, he repressed a primitive howl.
Wet up to his knees, then his waist, he savored the cool spray. But when water sloshed over his hands that fondled Toni, he forced his eyes open.
They were a hundred yards from shore. Damn. He’d failed to steer his horse and the animal loved to swim. Samson had set a course out to sea.
Water up to his waist, Zane floundered for the reins. Too late. The deepening water made reaching them impossible as they floated at a right angle. “Samson is set on a swim.”
Before she could answer, he and Toni floated off the horse into the warm late-summer waters of the Gulf of Mexico. As they floated, Toni’s muscles clenched in orgasm and her spasms of pleasure shot him over the edge. He poured into her and held on tight. She gasped in delight and clung to his forearms. For several long moments, he remained inside her, glad that neither of them could have delayed even one more second. But the mind-blowing floating sensation was well worth waiting for.
Satisfied and lazy, he regained his footing on the sandy bottom and wrapped his arms around Toni, sorry when he could no longer remain inside her. “You were wonderful.”
“You weren’t so bad yourself.” Toni’s clear laughter echoed across the water. “Talk about coitus interruptus!”
“I’m so sorry,” he muttered, turning to watch his horse swimming onward without a look back. “He’s not going to stop until he reaches the stable.”
“How far is it?” She didn’t sound terribly concerned and he enjoyed her adaptability.
“No more than a quarter mile of sandy beach. Hope you don’t mind the walk.”
“Let’s see. A walk on a moonlit beach at night. On a private island. With a very naked, handsome and charming Grey Masterson. I think I can handle it.”
He reached to take her into his arms and do what he’d ached to do all evening. Kiss her. Her mouth welcomed him with a fervent ardor that told him more than words how much she was enjoying their evening. She tasted of salt and lemon lip gloss, a tangy combination that once again reminded him there was nothing simple about this woman.
She ducked underwater and came up with her hair flung back, looking as spectacular as a mermaid. Her teeth glinting in the moonlight, she splashed him, then ducked under again, disappearing before he could strike back.
He turned slowly, watching for her to resurface, ready to retaliate. So her hand on his ankle took him completely by surprise and yanked him off balance. He toppled, barely getting a breath before the water closed over his head. He didn’t try to regain his feet but remained perfectly still, listening hard.
From his right side, either he sensed her movement or heard bubbles escape. Sculling with his hands to turn his position, then using a powerful kick off the bottom, he half swam, half glided, his body knifing through the water. Hands outstretched, he caught her shoulders with his fingers, let his hands slip to her waist and they both came up for air, bursting through the gently rippling surface and facing one another.
“You steered Samson out into the deeper water on purpose.” She giggled, taking the sting out of her accusation. “Didn’t you?”
“And just why would I have done that?”
“To win our bet,” she replied blithely.
Perhaps his more competitive twin might
have pulled such a tactic to win, but laid-back Zane didn’t care about winning or losing that much. He preferred to simply enjoy whatever moment he found himself living. Like this one, with a delightful companion who kept surprising him. She was just so different from other women he’d known. Perhaps he’d been choosing the wrong kind of women, or perhaps she was unique because she had seemed to enjoy delaying their pleasure as much as he had, willingly following his lead and pushing their senses to the limits. The wait and anticipation had paid off at a much higher rate than he’d expected. She’d known all the right moves, but responded to him in a way unique to his reeling senses. She was a risk taker. A sensualist. Yet, she was a career woman who seemed to have other priorities than growing her business. She was an innovative lover, as giving as she was needy. But never, ever greedy. If she was the saboteur, he’d bet a month’s interest from his trust fund that she wasn’t motivated by money.
But she’d just accused him of cheating. “I didn’t need to resort to—”
“Oh, really?” She placed her arms around his neck and snuggled close, pressing her lush breasts against his chest, reminding him how responsive those breasts could be. “You were about to lose, dude. Admit it.”
“Seems to me we both lost it at about the same time. In my book, that’s a tie.”
He thought about taking her again right here in the water. Zane might have made love to many women, but never without a condom. And he wouldn’t take a chance with Toni, whom he’d come to admire so much. Taking her hand, he led her toward shallow water and the beach. “Seems to me that we both won.”
“True. And you were terrifically inventive.”
He had to admit that keeping her under suspicion of sabotage seemed silly after what they’d shared, especially since during their time together he hadn’t found even one reason why she’d want to sabotage the paper. But there were still too many coincidences for him to ignore completely the circumstantial evidence against her.
Double the Thrill Page 11