“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Going for a ride,” she said, smiling.
“Not just yet.”
He angled his head up and took one nipple deep in his mouth, sucking hard. A sharp groan volunteered to be the soundtrack to her pleasure, and there was nothing she could do to stop it as his hand teased her other nipple, while he slid his other palm down over her ass, his fingertips delving into the elegant line there, sending a shock wave of sensation through her.
Then he gripped her butt hard, tugging her into position, lowering her down onto his arousal, every thick inch filling her slowly. Perfectly.
“I’m supposed to be in charge here,” she said, when he was buried in her to the hilt.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice rough. “Missed that memo.”
“No, you didn’t.”
He slid his hand over her bottom again, squeezing her. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Ride you until you can’t speak anymore. Until you don’t have the energy to challenge me.”
“We could be here all night,” he said.
“Oh, I hope so.”
He gripped her face, tugging her head down so he could kiss her hard, his other hand still firm on her bottom, keeping her pressed tightly against him as he flexed his hips upward, stealing her control, stealing her breath.
He was amazing. Perfect. Everything.
And never before had she assigned those adjectives to a man.
But they fit him, just like he fit her.
She pushed her hips forward, butting up against his, sensation rocketing through her. He released his hold on her chin, his head falling back, his hands moving to a more relaxed position on her hips as he let her take the lead.
She braced her hands on his shoulders, moving in time with his breathing. Slow and measured at first, then faster, harder, more intense. Her orgasm started to build, a low ball of pleasure and intensity in the pit of her stomach, pulsing down to her core, her internal muscles tightening around his hard length.
She squeezed his shoulders tight, her nails digging into his skin. She hoped he felt it. The pain and pleasure. She hoped she marked him, because he was damn well marking her. This didn’t feel like a game now. Not the light power struggle it had been. The fun flirtation. This was something raw. Pleasure walking a knife’s edge. One wrong slip and it would cut deep. Wound. Destroy. And scar forever.
She closed her eyes, her heartbeat pounding against the backs of them, blood roaring through her ears. “Oh...Eli...”
“Not yet,” he said, his voice harsh, pulling her through the haze, pushing her climax back.
He removed his hand from her hip and put it between her legs, just near where their bodies were joined, his fingers tracing her clit, sharp, hot need assaulting her as he did.
“I want to give it to you,” he said, his eyes intense on hers as he continued to stroke her. The combination of his touch along with the feeling of him inside her was almost too much to bear, but now she was fighting her orgasm.
Because she wanted to stay like this. On the edge. In this moment of beautiful torture.
He took his hand away and she gasped, then lifted his fingers, the tips touching the edge of her lips. Then she looked at him, leaned forward and sucked both deep into her mouth.
He swore, short and hard, never looking away. She ran her tongue along the edge of his forefinger and he pulled her down, hard, thrusting up inside of her as he did. That was enough. To push her from the edge into the abyss.
She shuddered, leaning forward, palms braced on the bedspread as she rode out the climax, waves rolling through her, leaving her breathless, shaking and on the verge of the kind of emotional breakdown she never allowed herself. Ever.
He let out a harsh breath, his grip on her tightening, his muscles shivering as he found his own release, his stomach muscles contracting and expanding beneath her.
She waited until it was over. Until he was relaxed. Then she rolled away from him, lying on her back, her arm over her face, her eyes shut tight behind it, trying to gain her balance. Trying to find her center or whatever. But she was firmly...off center, so that just wasn’t going to happen.
He’d tromped all over her center. Left his big, standard-issue boot prints all over it.
She was wrecked.
He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close and she moved her arm, blinking, shocked by the fact that he was touching her, that he wasn’t halfway out the door. But no, he was leaning in, his head pressed to her breasts, his breath hot against her skin.
She lifted her hand and traced his jaw with the tip of her finger, his stubble rough. There was something undeniably male about it. Undeniably sexy.
What was it about him? Why did he make her feel so much?
She shook all that off, trying to catch her breath. Trying to pull herself out of the emotional well she’d fallen into. This wasn’t like her. She didn’t get moony and weird. And she didn’t sleep with guys after sex. She was too busy getting dressed, saying goodbyes and getting back to her own space. Or pushing them back to theirs.
Well, she wasn’t going to sleep with Eli. She was just going to rest for a second while she got her bearings, and then she would remind him that he needed to get back to his place stat.
He moved his hands over her curves until she could feel herself melting into the sheets like a candle pressed into a flame.
Man, she was pathetic.
And all she wanted to do was sleep. Or turn over and lick him. All over. Oh, yes, that was what she wanted to do. Lick every inch of Eli Garrett until he was shaking. Until he was hard again. Until...
There was a fearsome-sounding scratch and a sound that was closer to a caterwaul than a meow at the door.
