by Teresa Hill
But it scared her a bit, too. How could it not? A woman who didn't want to feel too much would have to be threatened by it, at least a little bit.
She definitely felt threatened now, because this was so much more than anything she'd ever felt with a man. The pleasure was so intense it was almost painful. His hands were firm and sure, urgent and just a tad rough and reckless, cupping, holding, rubbing at those nipples begging for his touch. Her blouse came undone and then her bra, and then they were skin to skin, those strong, sure hands of his on her flesh.
She'd never thought of herself as a terribly responsive woman. Her sense of reserve was too strong for that. Surely she could maintain some sort of detachment here, she thought, let him do what he wanted, what he needed, and still keep some sort of wall between them.
His hot, eager mouth slid down the side of her neck. He used his teeth, just hard enough that the touch sent a thousand sensations shooting down her body. Involuntarily, she pressed herself even closer, shivering from head to toe, like her body wasn't her own anymore, but his to do with as he wished.
He was too good at this. Some men just knew how to touch a woman, how to hold her, how to kiss her, when to linger and when to push onward. She'd seldom found one who did, had run in the other direction when she did, coward that she was. Or maybe sometimes two people were just in sync with each other, instead of being hopelessly awkward and out of tune.
His lips were at the base of her neck, his hands lifting her breasts, his mouth moving over the tops of them, and she knew where he was going. It was like she could already feel his mouth closing over her distended nipple, knew just how good that would be.
"Zach," she said, because she was still thinking on some level. She ought to tell him to think about whether he really wanted to do this.
Sad, lost people did this, just reached out for the first person they could find. She doubted he'd ever made a habit of it, and it wasn't the smartest thing either of them could do at the moment. One more mistake to add to a long, long list of hers, and one that would likely have him feeling even worse in the morning.
"Let me," he begged, his mouth opening over her breast, taking it inside, sucking hard, using his teeth. "Let me do this."
She shuddered, sheer pleasure shooting through her, all the way to her toes. She bent her head, so that it rested on the top of his and let him hold her body up when she might have simply collapsed onto the floor.
His mouth... how could a man create such havoc in a woman's body with nothing but his mouth on her breast? She felt the pulling sensation deep down inside, heat, wetness, spiraling down inside her from the point of contact with his greedy, talented mouth to a pool of awareness settling between her legs.
She thought about just letting him go ahead and do whatever he wanted, honestly thought about whether he was so lost, so far gone, she couldn't stop him now even if she tried. She wondered, even as she whimpered and cried out and held his head to her breast, her whole body throbbing, feeling so much it terrified her.
No, she wasn't going to stop him.
He would never really hurt her, and what did it matter anyway?
It was just sex, and not even that, really, she reasoned. It was a lost, desperate man reaching out for someone, drowning his sorrows in her body. Much better for him than a bottle. He could use her for that. She'd certainly let him.
Except it didn't feel like she was being used. It felt like he needed her. She blocked out all thoughts that any willing woman lying beneath him would do.
He stripped her body of her blouse and tugged off her bra. His mouth settled over her other breast, as greedy as ever. That wonderful tugging sensation started up again. It was like he'd hot-wired her body. Sensations were zipping. She couldn't control herself anymore, couldn't pretend, and no longer thought of protesting.
She couldn't find any kind of mental distance, rationalization. She wanted him to touch her, everywhere, all at once. She wanted his big, powerful body stretched out over hers, and wanted to open herself to him and take him deep inside. She wanted him straining and groaning and pushing her up and over the top, never letting up, showing no mercy in his quest to make her come apart in his arms.
That was pretty much the way it went.
It was awkward, there on the floor with the sofa on one side of them and the coffee table on the other, but there was no way they were going to take the time to find a more comfortable spot.
He stripped her bare and then shoved his pants and briefs down, and she found herself beneath him, just where she'd wanted to be. The carpet dug into her back, abrading it, but she ignored that, because the feel of that hot, hard, perfect body of his on top of her was every bit as magnificent as she'd imagined.
She'd been aware of his erection, heavy and pulsing between them, for some time. How could she not be? And then he freed himself from his clothes, and she let her thighs fall apart, her hands on his hips urging him forward.
"Let me," he said again, his body poised over hers.
She felt him at the entrance to her body, felt the width and breadth of his cock pressed against her. There was heat and wetness and a scary kind of need.
"Yes," she said, and he slid inside just a bit.
It was a tight fit. She whimpered a bit, and he withdrew.
"No." She grabbed his hips, wanting him back there anyway.
"You're not ready."
She could not imagine being any more ready for anything, and if she could have formed the words, she would have told him that. She didn't get any more ready.
But all she knew was that he was suddenly pulling away from her completely. She grabbed at him, catching his arms, ready to beg him to come back. But he merely eased himself down her body, kissing hungrily, licking the skin of her abdomen and finally settling his mouth between her legs.
He pushed her thighs apart with his shoulders, his hands palming her hips, as he attacked greedily with his mouth and his tongue. She felt warm breath at her center, and at the first touch of his soft lips, she gasped and rose up off the floor. It was too much, so wet and luxurious, the best of touches. She couldn't stand it, couldn't let it go on. Her body curled into itself, pleasure rolling through her. She'd nearly died from the pleasure of his mouth on her breasts, but this...
Sounds came from deep in her throat that she scarcely recognized as ones she could make. Part of her was scrambling to get closer to him, her hips rising up off the floor, her legs straining, closer and closer, and the other part of her wanted to just roll away. She tried that, rolling to her side to make it stop. What would happen if she didn't make it stop?
He came with her, following her to the left and then pulling her back to center with his shoulders, his hands on her hips. He gave her long, smooth, hard strokes with his tongue, and then sucked hungrily, the stubble on his face rough against her tender skin. Still, it felt so good.
She was coming apart, had no control left, no senses remaining. She was nothing but a body being pleasured beyond belief. Barely, she held back a scream, had to press her hand to her mouth as tears seeped out of the corners of her eyes. He pushed on and on, wouldn't let her up, wouldn't let her get away.
"Zach, please. Please," she cried, but honestly, she didn't even know what she was begging for. For it to stop? Or for it to never end? "I can't. I just... can't."
And then he pressed inside her with his tongue, thrusting in the way he would be any moment now with that big, hard cock of his. He kept pushing inside her until she actually did scream. Her entire body was caught there, within the climax that rushed through her, wave after wave.
Everything went black for a long moment, like she simply ceased to be alive. He took it all away. No worries, no doubts, no fears, no nothing.
The world was nothing but sensation, sheer bliss.
* * *
Ever so vaguely, awareness returned.
She knew he lay heavily between her trembling thighs, his head resting low on her belly, his lips stretched out into a smil
e against her skin. He was breathing as heavily as she was, hot breath rushing across her skin, and she had her hand in his hair once again, holding him to her.
She sucked in air, not seeming to be able to get enough of it, her heart pounding, every nerve ending in her body seeming alive and ultra-sensitive. He raised himself up ever so slightly, so that, as he slid up her body, she felt the drag of heated skin and muscles slide over her. His hard chest and abdomen settled over her, the muscles of his thighs once again pressing against hers, the musky odor of sex and her clinging to his mouth.
She still hadn't recovered from what he'd already done to her when he was back again, the broad head of his cock ready to push its way inside her body, and this time, it was so good, impossibly good. Her body still throbbed with the remnants of that shattering climax, and she was so wet. He was big and throbbing himself and so hard. He pushed in deep in one, long, slow stroke, and then waited there, rocking just a bit, teasing, or maybe giving her body time to adjust to the invasion of his.
Her body clamped down around him, and she whimpered again, giving herself up to the feeling. He could have done anything to her then, absolutely anything at all, and she would have let him. It was the kind of power over her and her body that she'd never given anyone before. She'd never let anyone in this completely.
And this was Zach.
She couldn't quite believe that.
Her and Zach.
She looked up into his eyes, dark and troubled and intense, but there was pleasure, too. She'd given him that, at least. He rocked against her once again, kicking the sensation up a notch.
And then it started again, him drawing her deeper and deeper into that web of sensation, and there were just no half measures with him. He wanted to make her scream again. She knew that.
She wanted to tell him it was okay, that it didn't matter, that what he'd already given her had been so much more intense than she'd come to expect from anyone. But he kept right on, his gaze locked on hers, intent on that one thing—her pleasure.
She wanted to look away, didn't want to think about everything that had happened, and maybe wanted already to start trying to make excuses for it or make it into something it wasn't.
This had gone way beyond comfort and loneliness and need, into territory she simply didn't understand.
Don't make me do this, she wanted to tell him. It's been enough already. More than enough for me.
But he put his elbows on the carpet just outside her shoulders and worked his palms beneath either side of her head. She was going to look at him, one way or another, and she could read in his expression that he was all but daring her to try to close her eyes. Because he wasn't going to let her do that, either.
His dark, stormy, hungry eyes blazed down into hers, and she couldn't look away. She begged silently with her eyes, but didn't dare try to take this away from him.
Did he have to see every damned thing inside her?
It seemed he did.
He was as determined as she'd ever seen him. He kept right on going, pushing and pushing and pushing, so big and hard inside her. She could feel him throbbing there, swelling impossibly harder, the friction making her think again that she just had to get away. It had to stop. She couldn't stand it. It was all too much.
Her nails sank into his back with the only bit of strength she had left in her body. The rest of her was limp with pleasure, exhausted. She murmured a faint protest behind a quick hand pressed to her mouth.
"No," he insisted, staring down at her. "Don't you dare try to hide from me, from this."
He kept thrusting with his body, deep and hard. The sensations went higher, darker, until her mind literally stopped and her body took over. Her world shattered from within. She clung to him, probably leaving marks on his skin, and her body throbbed in time with his, over and over again.
He groaned and shuddered and finally went still, lying heavily on top of her, so that she could barely get breath into her lungs. Not that she cared.
If the sun failed to rise in the morning, she wasn't sure she would care.
She lay beneath him, her body a little sore and spent.
Sometime later, he slid onto his side, pulling her with him, draping her body against his, her head against his shoulder.
His arms fastened hard and unyielding around her.
He told her to go to sleep, and she did.
Chapter 6
They slept on the floor, arms and legs entangled.
At some point, he rolled away from her. She protested the loss of the warmth of his body, but he stood up and gathered her in his arms, telling her to go back to sleep, that everything was fine.
She was vaguely aware of being carried, of being tucked into a bed between cold sheets. He settled himself behind her, pulling her onto her side and fitting the front of his body to her back, spoon fashion. His arm was beneath her neck, her head against his arm and shoulder. His other arm came around her waist, anchoring her to him. Their legs intertwined, all that glorious skin pressed against warm, firm skin.
He kissed the tip of her ear and, in what sounded mildly like an order, told her, "Sleep with me."
God, she'd done everything else he'd wanted. Why would she stop now?
And yet, a part of her mind was racing. All that they'd done. That it was Zach, and that she'd let him take what he wanted so completely, leaving her with nowhere to hide. How incredible it had felt. The sounds she'd made, the way her body had reacted to him. What in the world they'd do in the morning. And a part of her simply never wanted to move.
She couldn't go, she remembered finally. She'd promised to stay. No way would she leave him now. So for whatever was left of the long, dark night, she was his.
Julie relaxed against him, not feeling at all like herself, her body not feeling like her own. All her defenses down, she let herself luxuriate in being held this way, in the strength of his arms and in how safe she felt. Honestly, there was nothing like having a man's arms around her. Especially a good, strong man's, like this one's. Even if it was for all the wrong reasons.
She looked down at his arm, stretched out flat on the bed beneath her head, reached out and fit her hand to his. His fingers closed over hers, squeezing her hand, and then she found she really needed to touch him. She had hardly gotten to do that at all. It had been all him before.
So she slid her palm from his and trailed her hand up his wrist, his forearm, to his elbow and the muscle in his upper arm, and then went back down his arm again.
"Are you all right?" she asked softly.
"Yeah," he said, his voice gravely and deep. "You?"
"Yes."
Maybe she wouldn't sleep. It was so nice to be with him like this, hidden in the dark. The night had an unreal quality to it, and this was probably all the pleasure she'd ever have from it. Come morning, they'd both be beating themselves up over it.
So why not stay awake and just lie here with him, soak up the sensation, the sexual lethargy that was pulsing through her body?
She groaned, unable to help herself, her body going boneless against his. It wasn't long before she felt his body start to react to hers. Against the fleshy part of her bottom, he was hard again.
They both went still.
He wanted her again?
Her heart kicked up a notch, nerve endings humming back to life that quickly, that easily. What did it matter if she let him take her again, after what they'd already done?
It was just the night, she told herself, though she was already trying to build her defenses back up again, despite a part of her wanting him very much again.
Leaning over her side, turning her face to his, he looked down at her through the blackness of night. Roughly, he asked, "Let me?"
"Yes," she said against his lips.
His big, hot hands went to work. Holding her on her side against him, he stroked his way up and down her body, light, maddening strokes, leaving her ready to beg. She would, she realized, if that was what it took.
; But neither of them had the patience for that. Not anymore.
He kept her right where she was, his mouth locked on hers, and then with one subtle shift of his body, found his way between her thighs. Her body was still wet and welcoming, enough so that he slid easily and deeply inside her with almost no resistance at all.
He rolled her then, onto her belly, his thighs pushing hers apart, his body pressing her down into the bed, and she felt even more vulnerable than before. He was everywhere around her, the weight and heat of him, the steely strength of his muscles, hard thighs and shoulders and arms, his mouth open on her shoulder.
In this position, he could get so deeply inside her, pushing against the limits of what her body could take. Her hands clutched at the sheets, trying to hold on, and her body rocked up and back with each powerful stroke of his. One of his hands pushed her hair aside, and then held onto a handful of it. He tugged with his fist until she turned her head to give him the access he wanted to the back of her neck, and then her mouth. She shivered and tried to grasp him more tightly with all the muscles deep inside her body, and then, just like that, she was coming apart again.
It was all too much, too intense, the feel of him too big, too deep inside. There was no place left to go, she wanted to tell him. He was as far inside her as he could possibly get. They were joined as closely and firmly as two people could be.
He got an arm beneath her chest and then another, holding her breasts in his hands and searching out her mouth, kissing her and kissing her and kissing her until he made one more strong thrust. She felt a shudder run clear through him, felt it deep inside. He groaned and held her tightly until the throbbing finally slowed, her body seeming to milk his of every bit of pleasure.
As she lay flat on the bed, his body pressed on top of hers, she realized absently that her skin was damp. His was, too. He'd worked up a sweat, and his chest was pressed to her back. And he was kissing her right shoulder again, very, very softly.
His arms pulled her back against him and he rolled them once again, until they were back on their sides, facing opposite sides of the bed. She looked across the tangled mess of sheets and shivered at the memories of the two of them and what they'd done in this bed.