by Rachel Lee
“Kiss me,” she ordered.
If he had a problem with aggressive women, it didn’t show. He started smiling and closing the gap between them. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said huskily.
“Ask?” It had been an order, but even that little quibble vanished as his mouth touched hers. Once again, it was the light, gentle, questing touch, but she wasn’t having any of that. From somewhere deep inside, something more primal burst free. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him against her, deepening the kiss with near desperation. What she needed from this man was something she was no longer sure she could get, but she was damn well sure she was going to try.
He gave her what she wanted, deepening and hardening the kiss, yet he never put his arms around her, almost as if he sensed what she really needed.
As if she even knew that herself.
Their tongues began the eternal duel, hot and hungry, mimicking the ultimate act in a way that caused heat to pulse downward through her, building a throbbing at her center. A demanding throbbing, one that needed more, so much more. Erotic images began to swim through her mind, images of binding him so he couldn’t escape, making him her slave. For once in her life, just knowing what it meant to take pleasure, the pleasure Al had always taken from her.
She started to pull at the buttons of his shirt. When he tried to help, she brushed his hands away.
“My way,” she murmured against his mouth. She felt his hands fall to his sides. Good. Their mouths met again, hot and slick, sliding back and forth, even as tongues tangled. She was panting now, but the sound only added to her excitement.
At last she released the buttons and tugged his shirt down, pinning his arms at his sides in the sleeves. She tilted back just enough to take in the smooth, golden expanse of his chest, a chest that spoke of muscles well used, and a flat belly of the kind most men only dreamed about.
Gasping for air like a fish out of water, she ran her palms over him, loving the feel of skin on skin, delighting when she felt his small nipples pricked hard against her palms. Bending, she took one of his nipples in her mouth, sucking gently, listening to the gasp of pleasure escape him.
Her way.
She sucked his nipple to an even harder point, then bit it. Hard. He jerked and groaned, but she didn’t let him escape. More bites, first one nipple then the other. With his arms pinned by his shirt, his only escape was to flee, and he didn’t even try to as she added pain to pleasure, drawing more groans and quick jerks from him. Overwhelming him. Mastering him.
As shudders began to rip through him in steady waves, she reached for the buckle of his belt, releasing it easily enough. Then she began to push down on his jeans and boxers, wanting to work her way down his body and learn its every secret.
Now he was truly trapped, hampered by the jeans around his ankles, the shirt around his arms. Trapped as surely as if she had bound him. Even if he chose to fall to the floor, he was now truly her slave. The surge of power that rose in her was almost as great as the throbbing need that built and built between her thighs. Part of her listened for a protest, but it didn’t come. She had reduced him to helplessness by dominating him with his own needs.
He let her. The most amazing thing was, he let her. He groaned her name when her hand closed around his stiff erection, when her fingers danced beneath and cupped him and found him perfect. She squeezed, teasing him with the threat of pain. He shuddered again, sucked air between his teeth, but offered not a word of protest. He had become her toy.
Her tongue and fingers danced over him, her nails dug into his buttocks, holding him still. She used her teeth on sensitive flesh until the groans that escaped him seemed to rise from his very depths. Until finally he couldn’t take any more.
“Krissie, please…” The words were guttural, and she could feel him shaking now. Shaking for her.
Then, still fully clothed, she sat back on her heels and looked up at him. He stared down from sleepy eyes, his face a picture of need.
“My God,” she murmured, “you’re beautiful.” And he was. Though his own clothes bound him like ropes, she could still see enough of his nakedness to know how absolutely perfect he was. She smiled, a very self-satisfied smile, because she had taken him to this point all by herself. By demanding he yield to her.
His answer was a sleepy smile, as if her words pleased him.
But he waited, still shaking with the weakness of need, letting her decide what, where, and how much. Power surged in her along with the desire that at once gave her strength and weakened her.
Reaching out, she pushed him to the floor on his back. His arms still locked in his shirt, his ankles still tangled in his jeans. Oh, she liked the way he looked, a helpless offering.
Standing, she faced him and began to remove her own clothes, secure in the fact that he could only watch and want. She had stripped for a man before, but never like this, never when she was in control.
Power fueled her desire like gas on a fire. With each piece of clothing she removed, she saw his gaze grow hotter. She took her time about it, too, running her hands over herself as she bared her flesh. Cupping her breasts and running her thumbs over her nipples. His eyes widened a bit as he watched, and he writhed in his restraints.
Her nerve endings sizzled like the fuses on firecrackers, sending signals throughout her, punching up her desire until it became a full-blown, hard ache between her thighs.
And just as she didn’t think she could wait another second, she kicked away her own jeans. A long-buried imp took charge, and she straddled him, rubbing her bush over his chest, enjoying the way he watched her. She arched her back, giving him a full frontal view. Then he bucked up against her, as if he were trying to get closer to her. Oh, she liked that.
Desire hammering in her veins, she shifted forward and for just a few moments, brushed his face with her womanhood, feeling the enticing heat of his breath against her. She felt him struggle to kiss her there, but she was not ready for that. She pushed his head down, and continued to brush ever so lightly against him, teasing herself with sensations so fine they drove her even crazier with need.
“Just a sec,” he whispered raggedly. “For heaven’s sake…just a sec…let me…”
And finally she did. Off came his shirt. They struggled together with his jeans and boots, but just as she was about to mount him again, he defied her. She knew a moment of consternation, but forced herself to wait.
It was almost too long as he pawed in his pants, but when he drew out a condom, she understood. She grabbed the packet from him, ripped it open, then rolled it onto his member, taking her time, loving the way he groaned at each touch. “Smart man,” she whispered, running her fingers over the latex and watching his member jump in response.
He was so ready. But so was she.
Then she pushed him back by his shoulders and rose over him, straddling him.
Her way.
He reached down, guiding himself, and then she caught her breath and slowly, slowly, she filled the aching need in herself, filling a place too long empty, feeling the ripples of pleasure spread outward, needing…needing…needing…
She gasped and threw back her head, when she settled fully on him. Her eyes opened a crack and found him looking up at her with the same hunger, the same wonder, the same incredible need.
Leaning forward so as not to hurt him, she braced her palms on the floor beside his shoulders and began to move, pressing herself to him in just the way she needed, his gasps blending with hers, his groans joining hers as the pace quickened, and the hunger grew, as the fuses along every nerve ending sizzled.
And then it happened. In one incredible moment, in a universe that existed only between lovers, she exploded into a supernova of completion. But the pulsing didn’t stop, it went on, driving her into another explosion, and another…
Until the universe went black and she collapsed.
Chapter 11
David pulled the comforter from the air mattress and wrapped them
cozily in it as they lay on the living room floor.
For a long, long time they cuddled close, just content to be. Their lovemaking had created a cocoon that locked everything else out, and neither of them seemed in any hurry to disturb it.
Idly, from time to time, their hands traced one another’s bodies. There was nothing like the sense of freedom that came from being able to lie naked like this with someone, with nothing left to hide, at least in this arena. Yearnings that had been silent, and had held an element of fear, especially fear of rejection, were now out in the open.
It felt wonderful.
It felt even more wonderful to Krissie to realize that she had crossed a major hurdle and had just thrown Al permanently and finally into the trash heap of the past.
David had allowed her to take control. And while she suspected that wouldn’t always be the case, she didn’t need it to be. It was enough, quite enough, that he could relinquish control when she needed it.
“God,” she said suddenly, quietly.
“Hmm?” he asked, nuzzling her neck.
“I was just thinking. I blew through a couple of major emotional blocks today. I should either be celebrating or dying of exhaustion.”
A quiet chuckle escaped him. “We can go get champagne if you like.”
She liked that he didn’t question her about it, didn’t demand an explanation. He was willing to give her room to talk when she was ready.
Come to think of it, David Marcus was a pretty special guy.
If she dared to trust her own judgment, that was, and right now she felt she could.
“No champagne,” she said, turning into him, bringing their bodies even closer. “There are plenty of other ways to celebrate.”
“Not until I get another condom,” he replied, opening one eye. “I don’t exactly carry a box of them with me.”
“Then maybe you should get inventive.”
She watched the slow smile creep across his face. “Are you challenging me?”
“Depends on how you want to take it.”
Another laugh escaped him. “Oh, sweetie, I can get creative. I can get really creative.”
“Then show me!”
He did.
At first he had her giggling and squirming as he teased her with his tongue, trailing it across sensitive places like the inside of her upper arms.
“Hey,” she said between giggles at one point, “didn’t anyone ever tell you that the quickest way to kill the mood is with laughter?”
“Depends on what you’re laughing about.”
And he was so, so right. Gasping giggles gave way to plain gasps, and she stopped wiggling away from those ticklish touches to wiggling closer to them, wanting even more.
He seemed to be painting fire over every inch of her, little embers that glowed and grew brighter and began to shoot off sparks. By the time he reached her nipples, she was so aroused she could barely stand it when he ran his tongue in damp rings around them, but refused to touch them. Finally, in desperation, she reached out and pulled his head closer, guiding him to one nipple.
That seemed to please him as much as her, for a guttural sound escaped him as he latched on and began to suck powerfully in a rhythm that was soon echoed by her entire body, a rhythm that sent pulses of heat to her very center, causing her to cross her legs tightly, trying to find the pressure she needed down there, too….
She left her mind behind, and she didn’t care. This was mindlessness at its best, and for now, right now, nothing existed except exquisite sensation, exquisite hunger.
More!
He settled between her legs, his tongue tracing patterns on her labia, avoiding the sensitive nub that was once again aching, until her hips bucked and rotated in a search for even deeper touches, stronger touches. He was a tease, though, and in the process taught her she had hyper-sensitive places she had never before discovered. Lower he went, past the place he had shared with her only a short while before, nearing a place she had never shared with anyone, still teasing, until she cried out.
Then back he came, slowly, promising but never giving, holding her thrall as surely as if she were the one bound now. Circling, drawing gasps from her as she tried to bring herself into exactly the right position where he could no longer deny her the touches she hungered for. His tongue dipped into her, again and again, but it still wasn’t enough.
Then, just as she thought the anticipation would kill her, he gave her what she needed. He took the exquisitely bundled nerve endings into his mouth, and nipped, sending shockwaves of heat through her. Only when she cried out again did he begin to lick her in that irresistible rhythm.
Only this time wasn’t a few paltry bottle rockets. No, she got the whole damn fireworks show, start to finish, explosion after explosion of heat and light.
Wrapped finally in his arms, she never wanted to move again.
Later, hungry, they made a small plate of crackers and cheese and curled up on the couch together. She wore an outsize blue T-shirt that she had owned for so many years it was on the verge of becoming see-through. He donned a white T-shirt and boxers. They kept the comforter close, kind of piled around them like a nest, and nibbled at the food while soft music played in the background.
Mostly they talked. She recalled fishing trips with her dad, including one where he swore he was going to lose his mind if all six girls didn’t stop running in different directions in the woods. She told him about the time he’d tried to teach them to fly-cast and had wound up hooking a bird in flight.
“Can you imagine it?” she said with a smile. “My poor dad. He was as distressed as any of us, I’m sure, and had to reel the poor thing in while it was flapping like mad to escape, and he had all of us standing around shrieking at him to save the bird, that he’d killed it, that we were never going fishing again. Somebody, I don’t remember who, even told him she would never speak to him again if that bird died.”
“Ouch.” He feigned a wince, but there was a smile in his eyes.
“Dad got the bird off the hook, though, and it flew away. There didn’t seem to be much blood, so I guess it didn’t suffer much damage.”
“Did you go fly fishing after that?”
Krissie shook her head. “Never. Dad never even suggested it. After that it was all about standing on the creek bank dragging bait on a bobber. That was good enough for me, though. We always caught enough for breakfast or supper, depending, and nothing tasted better than those fish right out of the water, cooked over an open fire.”
“I used to love that, too, although I doubt I went fishing as often as you did. But I’ve got a story just as good.”
“Yeah?” She looked at him expectantly.
“Yeah. We were on a camping trip somewhere. Odd that I don’t even remember where.” He knit his brow. “Oh, well. We used to have one of those pop-up campers, a step up from a tent. Anyway, I was maybe four or five, and I can remember sitting in the dirt and pine needles making roads for my Matchbox cars. I never traveled without them.”
“Really?” She smiled. “That’s cute.”
“Don’t tell anyone, but I still have them all. You could say I was very much attached to them. Anyway, there I was involved in the very important business of building superhighways complete with pine-needle berms when my dad called to me. I turned my head, and he was holding this small snake for me to see.”
“Oh, my gosh!”
“That was my mother’s reaction. She started screaming at him, telling him to put it down, it was a snake. And he said, ‘It’s just a garter snake. It won’t hurt me.’ At that exact moment, it bit him.”
“Oh, no!” Krissie couldn’t help laughing. “You’re kidding!”
He held up his right hand. “Scout’s honor. I can still remember the two holes in his thumb. And my mother still screaming what was he thinking of, teaching us kids to pick up snakes. The funny thing was, after seeing that, I never again had any desire whatsoever to pick up a snake. Even a small garter snake. Lesson learned, d
espite what my mother thought.”
Krissie was still chuckling. “I can understand her point though.”
“Of course. She wasn’t mad at him, though. I can still remember her tone. She was screaming because she was scared.”
“Well, of course, if she didn’t know much about snakes. And I can sure see why she thought he was setting a bad example for you.”
“Yup.” David’s smile broadened. “Afterward, he leaned close and said, ‘Sonny, that’s why you should never fool around with wild creatures.’”
“Sounds like a big man.”
“He is a big man, despite being in his eighties. His heart was always in a good place.”
“So he called you Sonny?”
“Until I got older and wouldn’t stand for it. Sometimes now I miss it, though.”
She nodded and leaned her head on his shoulder, reveling in the newfound freedom to be able to do that. “I was always Krissie to everyone, except once in a while Kris. When someone called me Kristin, I knew I was in deep trouble.”
He laughed at that. “Did you get the middle name thing, too?”
“Of course. I think it must be in the parent genes. Kristin Elizabeth. I’d hear that and want to find a deep dark hole to hide in.”
She could feel him nod against the top of her head. “For me it was David Andrew. You want to shut me up in an instant, called me David Andrew.”
“Dad can still silence me with that.”
“Same here. Although I have to admit it’s been a long while since he felt the urge.”
She nuzzled his shoulder a bit, inhaling deep drafts of his scent. Never had another human being smelled quite so good to her. “How do they feel about you choosing to live all the way up here?”
“They’re okay with it. According to my mom, they’re just grateful they don’t have to worry about me all day every day.”
“That has to be so important to them.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I think families have a harder time of it in some ways.”
“In terms of worry, most certainly.”