Extreme Danger (McClouds & Friends #5)(97)

He seized her wrists, tugged until she swayed forward. “Turn around,” he said. “Put your hands against the wall. Arch your back.”

“Nick, I—”

“I want to see what that outfit does for your ass,” he explained. “Don’t argue.” He hesitated. “Unless, of course…you’re scared.”

She made a derisive sound but did as he asked, looking back over her shoulder at him. “You,” she said breathlessly, “are very bossy. And crude. And I should not encourage you.”

“Probably not,” he agreed, staring at her ass. The outfit exalted it, as it deserved to be exalted. The back of the panties nestled tenderly up into the shadowy cleft of her ass, letting the bottom half of her smooth, perfect butt cheeks emerge, to be admired and worshipped.

He leaned forward, and nuzzled the undercurve with his lips. Jerked her thighs wide and tugged on her hips so she bent at a sharper angle, making it possible to press his lips right against the warm, puffy cushion of her soft, silk-covered labia. She gasped, wiggled.

He was sweating, too damn hot for her, so he ripped off the pullover and flung it away, reaching for her again with hands that were hungry for her amazing softness. Soft as goosedown, soft as dandelion fluff, soft as newly unfurled leaves, things so fine and delicate, they were almost untouchable, but he couldn’t stop, even though the rough spots on his hand snagged and caught on the fine fabric. They rasped over her fine-grained, perfect skin. Her breath was fast. Her legs shook. She liked it.

“So,” she said, her voice full of fake bravado. “Does this getup fit your pornographic formerly frigid fantasy?”

He slid his hand between her legs, nudging it right up into that cloud of silky heat. She made an almost inaudible squeak, and her hot, soft thighs closed, trembling, around his hand.

“Actually, this is in a whole different league,” he admitted. “This leaves my fantasies in the dust. You blow my mind, angel. I am humbled by your beauty.”

“Humbled, hah. I hardly think so,” she said, sighing as his hand was drawn in by the shadowy involuted glories of her cunt. “Ohh…if it works for you, it was money well spent.”

“Oh, yeah. It works.” He tugged on the ribbon ties of the panties, and pulled them off, letting them fall. He spun her around again.

Stared up at her glowing eyes, her parted red lips, the rise and fall of her chest, her naked, gorgeous muff.

Wow. He was wired to blow. His hands shook.

It scared him, how raw, how out of control he felt. He had to slow this down. Once he touched her with his tongue or his cock, that would be it. His technique would fly out the window.

He didn’t want to feel out of control. He’d felt that way all evening, staring at that f*cking icon moving across the screen. He wanted to be sure of making her come, screaming. Blow her mind with orgasm after orgasm. He had to time it right. Slow it down. Way, way down.

He wanted to howl with frustration, but he leaned back in the chair, gripping the pads of upholstery over the wooden chair arms. “Showtime,” he said.

She looked wary. “What on earth does that mean?”

“Make yourself come,” he suggested. “Right here. For me.”

“You mean, standing up?” She sounded scandalized. “I don’t even know if I can do that. Women are different, you know. It’s not as easy as you might think. The conditions have to be right.”

“What conditions? Check out this condition.” He popped open the buttons of his jeans, jerked them down just far enough so that his cock could spring out heavily before him, purple and taut, full to bursting.

She stared at him, looking dazed and worried. “I don’t know if I—”

“Not even with me sitting here, twenty inches away? Salivating?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Especially not with you there salivating,” she said haughtily. “I have to be comfortable, to start with, and I—”

“Start somewhere. Do something,” he said bluntly. “Get to it. Put your hand on yourself.”

“But I—”

“It’s OK if it takes a while,” he assured her. “I’m patient.”

Still, she stood there, frozen with shyness and indecision. He seized her hand, moved it to the dark satiny swath of her pubic hair. He loved the way it stayed flush and gleaming smooth to her skin until it got down to her slit, and then suddenly curled out every which way into a dark frill over the hood of her clit.

He pressed her fingertips to it. “Start there,” he suggested.

She stared into his eyes, her gleaming red lower lip caught between her teeth like she’d forgotten it was there, and waited until he thought he was going to die of the suspense…

And then she closed her eyes, lips curling up in a little smile…and did as he asked.

It wasn’t what he expected. Not that he’d had the presence of mind to expect anything, but he didn’t expect to stare at her with hot, burning eyes, humbled. Moved. Aching with lust.

There was something intensely intimate about the sight of her touching herself. It was nothing like porn masturbation scenes he’d watched, numbly, on late night adult cable channels. With Becca there was nothing for show, nothing for the camera, nothing faked. She didn’t undulate, flaunt herself, stroke her breasts. Her vulva was hidden by her fingers. Her energy was turned entirely inward. She squeezed her thighs around her hand, eyes shut, biting her lip. Lost in it.