She looked up into his face. Stern and strong, the laughter gone, all the surface charm stripped away. Like she was seeing the real man. A man who was way too much for her.
Too bad that too much was exactly what she wanted.
“Yes,” she said, and swallowed. “We’re … clear.”
His hand brushed over her. Her cheek. Her neck. Her shoulder. Her breast. Light as down, and still, she stiffened like she’d been shocked. He smiled and kept it going. Her belly. Her thigh. He stopped there, wrapped his hand around her inner thigh, and said, “Last rule. If you don’t want something, say so. If your foot hurts, if anything hurts, if it doesn’t feel good—tell me. Otherwise?” He wasn’t smiling now, and it wasn’t nice. Her heart was beating like she was in danger. Like she needed to run. He said, “Understand this, because I’m only going to tell you once. Tonight isn’t about you doing what you want, so get that through your head right now. Tonight, it’s all about me.”
27
Following the Rules
Oh, yeah. He’d been right. That was working.
For her, that is. Because you bet it was working for him. Her eyes were amber in the low light, her full lips a little parted, and he’d swear she was panting already just from that. Just from him spreading that robe open, looking her over, and saying a few things.
She was good at fantasy, she’d told him. But making those fantasies come true? That was what he was good at.
It was going to be any trouble at all to get inspired. Her skin gleamed white, except for the flush that was spreading from her chest to her cheeks under his gaze, her breasts were round and full and gorgeously pink-tipped, her waist was the kind of deep indentation that had surely been fashioned for a man’s hands, her hips were more than generous, and those were sure as hell some juicy thighs. White. Rounded. Perfect. He said, “You’re what Dyma said. Like something from another century. And I want my hands all over you. But first …” He got his clothes off in one big hurry, rolled over her, planted his hands on either side of her head, held himself rigid over her, watched those golden eyes widen, and enjoyed the hell out of it. He said, “Spread your legs a little, baby. I don’t want to hurt that foot.” A slow smile, the kind that would let her know what he was thinking. “And I want to look.”
She took a breath, and then she did it, which meant he was, yes, between her legs. Which was a pretty damn good start. He said, “Now slide your arms out of that robe.”
She said, “You can’t … hold yourself up like that, though.”
He lowered himself slowly, until he was a bare couple inches from her face, until his chest was brushing the tips of her breasts, and said, “Remind me. What were your rules for tonight?”
That flush on her cheeks was deeper now, and he spared a moment to think about redheads, and how they couldn’t hide a thing. He wanted to see more of that. He wanted to see her face twist with the force of her orgasm, to see her eyes open wide with surprise and wonder and shock. He wanted everything. For now, though, he’d settle for this.
She said, “That I should …” Another breath in. “Do what you say.”
He lowered himself farther, just enough to kiss her mouth, to feel it opening under his like she couldn’t help it. He deepened the kiss, sent his tongue on a slow, sweet exploration, felt the way she took him in, the way her hands were clutching his shoulders, thought about that other sexual skill of hers, then pressed himself up again and said, “That’s right. You’re doing what I say. So if you want more of that? Take your arms out of there.”
She did. First one arm, then the other, and, yeah, that was what she looked like all the way naked. And waiting. Trembling a little with excitement, too. He let himself stay there and savor that moment. He let her wait a little longer, too. Then he said, “I’m going to kiss you some more. I’m going to touch you. I’m going to explore every single inch of you. Your only job is to lie back and enjoy it. We clear?”
“But you won’t …” She was gasping some now. Nothing but a kiss and a little dirty talk, and he already had her halfway there. “Get enough out of it. I should … I can … If you come up here, I can use my … mouth.”
Some more red in her cheeks. Some more embarrassment.
He shifted his weight to one hand and put the other one over her mouth. “Jennifer,” he said, making it stern, because she loved it. “It’s my birthday. Remember?”
She nodded over his hand, and he sent that hand down and palmed a breast, then let it go and moved down her body. He lowered himself again, and this time, he was sucking on a hard pink nipple. The second he started, she jerked beneath him, and now, he heard the gasp. He let her go and said, “Listen to me. Listen hard. I thought I made this clear, but I obviously need to tell you again. Exactly what you’re going to give me for my birthday.”
“Wh-what?” she asked. Her hands were running over his arms now. Feeling the muscles that would be standing out there, because he’d been up here doing this plank for a long time. It was burning some, and he didn’t care.
He lowered himself again, sucked on the other nipple for a while longer while she shifted beneath him and started to moan, and then he let her go long enough to tell her.
“It’s pretty simple,” he said. “I want to use you like you’re mine. I want to make you come until you can’t do anything but shake, until you think you’re going to lose your mind. And then I want to fuck your brains out.”
He wasn’t kidding. He was taking his time. His mouth, his hands were everywhere. Stroking down her arms, kissing her neck. He stayed on her breasts for a good long while, until she was clutching his shoulders, until her good leg was wrapped around his waist, until she was pulling him into her in frustration.
She said, when she needed to say something, when she needed everything, “Come on. Come on. I’m ready.”
His lazy voice was saying, “I don’t think so,” but he was moving lower. Holding her waist in his big hands, kissing her navel, drifting his slow, leisurely way south. She was gasping, and she was also holding her breath.
He wouldn’t really do all that. Not for long. He wouldn’t want to …
The fire was warm, the light flickering at the corner of her vision. His shoulders were damp, because he was sweating. He smelled like darkness and sin. And he had both hands on her thighs, sliding them down, then up again. He shifted some more and kissed a slow path up her inner thigh, then pushed her thighs slowly apart. And … looked.
She tried to close her legs. He said, his voice a little rough, “What did I say?”
“Ah …” She tried to get her thoughts together. It wasn’t easy. Her head was spinning.
He said, “I’m going to put a couple pillows under you. Leave your legs just like that. We’re not hurting that foot.”
She thought, confusedly, That’s good, I guess. Pillows. Even though the last thing she cared about right now was her head. Or her foot.
He was stretching over her, and she reached for him, ran her hands greedily over his chest, his flanks. His thighs. And, finally, closed her hand around him. He jerked against her and said, his voice strained, “I thought I told you not to do that. I’m going to lift your hips up. Use your good foot and help me out.”