by Amy Andrews
He laughed. “It’s okay, I have another one.”
Relief flowed through her system and her shock was quickly forgotten as his chest filled her vision. And dear God, what a chest. Broad and smooth. Warm and golden. Defined pecs, brown nipples, flat abs. An eight pack, to be precise. She counted to be sure. And no hair except a narrow trail leading from his belly button.
Bodie Webb didn’t need a pocket watch. Not when he could just whip his shirt off and hypnotise every woman in a city block into clucking like a chicken or whatever the hell else he wanted.
She lifted her head and planted tiny kisses from the flat of a nipple all the way to his neck. “Your chest should be bronzed and mounted,” she said against the pulse in his throat.
“Ditto.” He chuckled but there was a rough quality to it as her mouth closed over the thick beat and she sucked.
Desperate for more, Eleanor’s hands delved between their bodies, finding his fly, dealing with his belt buckle and the button, grasping for the zip all while the rough pant of his breathing filled her head.
Her fingers brushed his erection. He groaned but she didn’t linger, just ripped the zip down. She was on fire, eager to get her hands on it in the flesh. Eager to feel it inside her.
With the zip undone, she pulled at his trousers, frantic to get them off. But her fingers were all trembly and useless, and she whimpered in frustration.
He chuckled into her neck, his breath warm. “Slow down.”
She ignored him, managing through sheer frustrated-virgin will to coordinate her fingers, finally easing his trousers off his hips, shoving her hands into his underwear at the back and peeling both his trousers and his briefs down together before doing the same at the front, his hot, hard erection finally in her grasp.
His quick, harsh intake of breath and his long slow, “Fuuuuuuck,” on exhalation was gratifying on levels Eleanor never even knew existed.
He was big and thick and it was tempting to palm him, to take the time to explore every inch of his velvety hardness, but she was too close to her goal to get sidetracked. She could only think of one thing as she rotated her hips again, positioning him in the general vicinity of where she wanted him, where she was hot and wet and needy.
Where it ached and begged and bitched for possession.
She let go of his girth, grabbed his hips, shut her eyes tight and whispered, “Now,” as her pulse hit about two hundred beats per minute and she lectured herself to relax.
The rest was up to him.
He huffed another laugh into her neck. “Patience.” She opened her eyes as he eased up a little, supporting himself on forearms flattened either side of her head. “We’ve got all night and I want to explore all your body first. Maybe even—” He smiled in a very sexy, self-deprecating way. “Take all my clothes off?”
Eleanor didn’t give a fig about his state of dress. She didn’t care that his pants were only half down or his buttonless shirt was still on his back or his shoes and socks were still firmly on his feet. She had all the equipment that mattered at her fingertips.
“Bodie…please.” She licked her lips and his eyes widened and she lifted her head off the bed and kissed him long and deep and as dirty as someone who’d only ever kissed three guys knew how.
He was panting hard when she pulled away. So was she.
“It’s been a…while for me.” A loooong while. Twenty-six years, to be exact.
She hoped like hell she wasn’t about to be struck down for not being entirely truthful. Not before it was over, anyway.
“And all I need right now is to feel you—”
She reached between them again and wrapped a hand around his steely girth. He groaned and shut his eyes momentarily. Eleanor bit back a whimper at the thought of it pumping in and out.
“Inside me.”
He swooped down and kissed her long and deep and as dirty as a man who’d probably kissed more women than they both had fingers and toes for.
So dirty.
He pressed his forehead to hers when he was done, his uneven breath mixing with hers. “Okay then.” He flexed his hips, sliding his erection through the slick folds of her sex. “But only because I want to be inside you so fucking bad.”
Eleanor almost sobbed in relief as she quickly, greedily palmed his exposed ass with one hand and angled him towards her core, notching him against her, pressing into him urgently.
“Wait, wait.” His biceps trembled and he sucked in a breath as if he was fighting to maintain control. “Condom.”
It came out on some kind of tortured grunt but Jesus…condoms, of course, what was she thinking?
But she needn’t have worried. He was reaching behind him, groping for his trousers and what she presumed was his wallet. Yes, his wallet appeared suddenly and from out of it he pulled a square foil packet. He grinned and said, “Boy Scout,” before ripping it with his teeth and, with a startling economy of movement, rolled it on without breaking eye contact once.
“Now…” He grinned again. “Where was I?” One flex of his hips brought the thickness of his head right to her centre.
Eleanor’s breath caught at the blunt pressure, her pulse skyrocketing. “Right there.” She slid her arms around his neck, the frantic thrum of her heartbeat growing louder in hers as he lowered his body on top of hers.
“Yes,” he muttered, his breathing unsteady, “right there.”
Chapter Three
Eleanor gasped at the thick intrusion as he groaned and said, “God yes, there,” and thrust halfway in.
It wasn’t painful, she was so wet his erection had glided in easily. But it was full—really full. She felt impossibly stretched. In a good way.
If this was possession, she was already a fan.
“You okay?”
Okay? She couldn’t have been any more okay if she’d been in the middle of a nineteenth-century orgy.
“Yes…please.” She fought to steady her breathing as she slid her hands to his upper arms. “Don’t stop.”
His biceps flexed beneath her fingers, and he slid all the way home on a groan that rumbled right down to her toes and back up again. Eleanor eeked out a breath, her body absorbing the shock of being filled so completely, stretched to her limits.
She’d done it. She was no longer a virgin.
She’d been deflowered.
And bloody hell…it had been worth the wait. Not only had she lost it to a man who had kissed her hand, called her a lady, and acted like a perfect gentleman, but he was hotter than a calendar full of naked French rugby dudes.
His biceps flexed again and she squeezed her thighs tight around his hips and ass to keep him still. “Wait, wait,” she whispered.
Bodie let out a half laugh, half strangled groan. “Now she wants to go slow.”
Eleanor chuffed out a laugh, too, sliding her hands under his shirt to his back, anchoring them against his shoulder blades. “Just hold there for a moment.” She needed to catch her breath for a second, to adjust. “I want to feel you.”
And she wanted to remember it forever. The way Bodie felt inside her those seconds after taking her virginity. He didn’t seem to mind, kissing her eyes and her neck and her ears and her cheeks with such sweetness and gentleness she almost wanted to cry.
He kissed her mouth then, long and slow and deep, and she got lost in it, consumed by the glide and play of it. She didn’t know when he started moving, only that she slowly became aware of the rock of his hips, the shift of ass beneath her calves, the steady flare of friction in the muscles that cradled him deep inside her.
A moan spilled from her lips, a groan spilled from his.
“Jesus.” His mouth broke away and he was panting as he pressed his forehead against hers. “You’re so fucking tight.”
It probably wasn’t right how much his language turned her on. But Lordy, it turned her on. She wasn’t a prude about swear words. She’d grown up around a bunch of rough and tumble jackaroos whose cursing was as inventive as it was frequent. She
’d just preferred the art of subtle insult perfected in historical times to more coarse expressions.
Which only proved that, despite years of having her head buried in books, she knew zip about language.
Damned if she didn’t want to tell him she mightn’t feel so tight if he wasn’t so fucking big. But she’d pushed enough boundaries tonight. Plus she wasn’t sure if she could even form a coherent sentence at the moment.
He was withdrawing almost completely now and plunging back in again, and she was so full and tight and achy she wasn’t sure how much longer she could take it.
It was too, too much.
She moaned and shook her head from side to side, agitated by the intensity, overwhelmed by the building pressure, her pulse hammering through her head. She was on the edge of something big, something hovering just out of reach, retreating a little with every withdrawal, inching closer with every thrust.
She could hear the frustrated mewling animal noises in her throat and then his mouth was pressed to her ear, and he was whispering, “I know, baby, I know,” as his hand reached between their bodies and his fingers found her clitoris and stroked hard and sure.
It was exactly what she needed. The sudden stimulus was like a pin to a balloon, popping all the pressure in one almighty rush.
She cried out, gasping for air, her short, neat nails raking hard down his back as she trembled beneath him, freefalling through a rainbow of pleasure, colours washing over her in waves, flaring bright and tangible, stroking like velvet over her body before rippling away to be taken by another, more intense than the last.
“Jesus, yes.” Bodie groaned in her ear as he pounded into her, his shoulders hunching into the action, tossing her higher and higher into the rainbow with every thrust, ripping a long continuous moan from her mouth. “Christ…” His buttocks clenched tight beneath her calves, the muscles in his back and biceps trembling. “I’m coming.”
The announcement was torn from his throat as was his shout of release, splintering over her into a thousand shards of pleasure, prolonging her orgasm. The quiver of his muscles and his ragged pants were like a chant in her ear as he drove them both to their completion before finally collapsing on top of her.
Bodie’s breath rushed noisily in and out right near her ear. “Fuck. Me.”
Eleanor laughed huskily as she struggled for her own breath under the weight of a six-foot rugby forward. She doubted Jane Austen could have put it better. It had been fast and furious, more grunt than finesse, but she was no longer virgin territory.
And what a way to raise a flag!
Was sex always like that? Something more than physical? She’d expected it to be a bump and grind. A meeting of bits. A genital party. She hadn’t been prepared for a total body experience. To feel it in her heart, her mind, her soul.
Eleanor stifled a gasp as he eased off her, sliding from her body. She felt surprisingly bereft at his departure, despite it being easier to breathe. But then he settled on his back beside her, his fingers twining with hers, and her heart did a funny little giddy up.
“I hope our neighbours aren’t in because I reckon we’ve got about five minutes before the cops kick the door down to check you haven’t been murdered.”
Eleanor laughed at the absurdity. So did he. She rolled her head to the side and inspected his profile, admiring the hard blade of his jaw and the sharp line delineating his three day growth from the hollow beneath his cheekbone. “Sorry. I was kinda loud, wasn’t I?”
He rolled his head to the side, too. Her heart did another little giddy up as their gazes met. Her cheeks heated, suddenly shy despite what they’d just done. “Don’t be sorry. Nothing like a bit of vocal appreciation to make a man feel like king of the world. Besides…” A slow smile spread over his features. A smile that stroked right between her legs. “I wasn’t exactly mute.”
That was very true. His loss of control had been extremely gratifying.
He raised his head off the bed, looking down at clothes that looked like they’d been through a cyclone. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” He kissed her quick and hard. “We’re not done here.”
Muscles that had clamped tight around Bodie as he’d thrust inside her tightened again at his sexy pronouncement. The glimpse of his ass before he yanked his trousers up didn’t help.
Prior to having her world rocked, Eleanor would have been more than happy to gather her clothes and leave after the deed had been accomplished. One and done. But she really wanted to do that again.
It’d been far too good not to repeat.
She did get up, however, and pull back the bedclothes. An unfamiliar ache down low reminded her she’d used some new muscles tonight, and she smiled to herself in secret delight as she shrugged out of the fluffy gown and crawled between the bed sheets.
Nervous suddenly at his return, she wasn’t sure how she should present herself. How should she lie? On her back? On her side with her hair down and her lips all pouty?
Sheets on or off?
The wedge of light spilling from the bathroom flicked out and Eleanor quickly lay back, pulling the sheets to her shoulders. Her pulse leaped as Bodie appeared, gloriously, completely, unashamedly naked.
He clearly hadn’t had any issues deciding on presentation.
She tracked his progress as he crossed to the bed. Her stupid cheeks heated again as she tried desperately to be cool and not ogle the man like a sex-starved nymphomaniac but good Lord, he was magnificent, how could she not?
His bronzed skin, his well-defined quads, the eight perfect pillows of his abs, his long easy stride. And his…member.
That was the word that sprung to mind, the terminology she was used to from many, many historical romance novels. But the piece of anatomy in question, still impressively thick despite its flaccid state, was far too conceited for such a genteel euphemism. And penis was too anatomical.
Her brain tripped over other words. Manhood. Phallus? Prick? Dick? Cock. Yes, cock was the word for it, sitting there all proud and pleased with itself. As it bloody should be.
Not that she’d probably ever mutter the word out loud.
She blushed some more as he pulled the sheets back and slid in beside her. “Good.” He smiled at her as he shuffled close, her abdominals jumping as his hand glided onto her belly beneath the sheets. “You didn’t run away.”
Of course not. Did she look like she’d taken leave of her senses? “How could I when there’s so much more knowledge to impart about Victorian hypnotists?”
He chuckled, and she almost sighed in relief. She probably should have said something like would you try and catch me. But she’d never really learned the art of flirting, so she was going to have to fall back on her comfort zone—flippancy.
He settled on his side against her, trapping her arm between them, his leg warm along the length of her thigh, his foot brushing against hers. His cock was pressed into her hip precariously close to her hand, and she curled her fingers into her palm to stop herself from groping him.
He bent his arm up and supported his head with his hand as he gazed down at her. “That was…” He smiled again and shook his head. He seemed to be as lost for words as she was and Eleanor’s heart squeezed as he dropped a kiss on her shoulder.
“Yeah.” Her gaze met his. “It was.”
The hand that had been sitting on her belly slid north until it was free of the sheets, his fingers brushing up her neck to toy with her mouth, tracing her bottom lip. “You have a sexy mouth.”
“So do you.” He had an uptilt to his lips as if he was ready to laugh at a moment’s notice.
Or kiss someone breathless.
His fingers trailed south again, down her neck, onto her chest, slowly revealing more and more of it as he drew lazy circles, his gaze following the progress. Her breath hitched and her nipples grew into hard little pebbles as the sheet inched slowly down, revealing the swells of her breasts.
He lifted his gaze and smiled at her, an index finger stoppi
ng at the dip of her cleavage. “I love this V here.” He traced his finger up the swell of one breast, then the other, before hooking a finger into the sheet and tugging.
Bodie’s breath hissed out appreciatively as the cool air hit her exposed nipples. It took all Eleanor’s willpower not to grab the sheet and cover herself. Having him look at her in the throes of passion was one thing, having him stare at her in the aftermath seemed a little more clinical.
Even if he did look like he wanted to lick beer off them.
His hand moulded first one, then the other, with the concentration of a sculptor moulding clay. He glanced at Eleanor. “I don’t understand why you don’t just lay in bed all day playing with these babies.”
It was said rather reverently but the visual was funny as hell and she laughed. “I can just imagine telling the jackaroos to go on ahead and muster without me because I wanted some quality time with my boobs.”
“Trust me, they’d understand.” He returned his attention to the caress of his hand. “I could look at these all night.”
He dipped his head, running his tongue from one nipple all the way across to the other.
Eleanor moaned. It rose in her throat, full and needy, pushing against her vocal chords and slipping straight out. She couldn’t have stopped it any more than the sudden rush of slickness coating her inner thighs.
Her hand fell to the crown of his head, tunnelling into the longer hair on top, holding him there as he lingered over each nipple. Abruptly, he pulled away, his gaze, satisfyingly unfocused, locked with hers.
“Are you hungry?”
Eleanor’s head was spinning from the sexual storm he’d created, and he wanted to talk food? How could he think about food? Now? “Ummm… No.”
“I’m starving,” he said, his hand absently stroking a fully aroused nipple.
“Right…well.” She shook her head to clear the sexual fog. “I think they do some basic room service.” Although she’d have to leave right now because she knew everyone who worked at the hotel.
Or there was the mini bar. Would expensive chocolate bars and little bottles of alcohol suffice?