In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(55)

It felt so good. She felt so naked, exposed, with all the glass, all the light, all that enormous space behind her, as if she could fall back into bright emptiness. The cold glass against her bare ass felt good now, against her hot skin. It was pleasure, joining all the other rivulets of pleasure. They all joined into a rushing torrent that crashed and roared, carving brand-new channels of sensation inside her body. Remolding her. Then they rippled out, into a sweet, shimmering endless vastness.

Sam held her steady, his hand splayed against her belly to keep her upright. The other hand was between her legs, fingers deep inside her *. Just holding her. Claiming her.

She licked her dry lips. Groped for words, found none.

Sam found them for her. “You want me to f*ck you.”

It was not a question. She managed only a tight, nervous nod.

Sam pushed her jeans down and she stepped out of them, wobbling so hard she almost fell. Her face burned. She was abashed at how easy it was for him to manipulate her with sex.

She felt helpless and desperately eager. Vulnerable. Weak.

Sam jerked her sweater and T-shirt over her head. A flick of the clasp and the bra followed. She was naked, while he was fully clothed.

Sam’s eyes swept the room. “We need fresh sheets before we use the bed again. Put your hands on the back of the couch and bend over.”

She hesitated, so he guided her into the position he wanted. Arms braced, back arched, ass stuck out. Legs spread. The submissive pose triggered a rush of complicated, conflicting emotions, but nothing trumped that clawing, restless heat. She offered herself to him, shaking.

He let out a harsh, jerky sigh. “You are so beautiful from this angle. That sweet *. All shiny and pink. Mine.”

She moaned as he stroked her from behind, up and down her labia. “Wet and soft,” he whispered. He thrust two fingers inside her, forcing them deeper. His breath was hot against her shoulder. “Arch your back,” he directed. “Dance for me, around my hand. Show me how you’ll move around my cock when I’m inside you.”

She tried, awkwardly at first, but they soon found the perfect rhythm. Every probing stroke made pleasure jolt and swell, wafting her higher, higher . . . until it tipped, and became a crashing inevitability.

She came apart, like a dandelion in the sun. Disintegrated into a frothy cloud by a puff of air, and borne tenderly away on the breeze.

When her eyes opened, Sam withdrew his hand and leaned to tug the bathroom door open, so that the floor-length mirror reflected them.

It made her gasp. Her wanton, blushing face, her dazed eyes, her tousled hair. She jerked up, but Sam’s hands tightened on her body.

“Don’t move.” He wrenched his belt buckle loose, opened his jeans. He freed his cock, staying fully clothed as he prodded himself against her slick folds and forced himself inside her. Sveti pushed back, yielding into the heavy, slick caress of his thick phallus.

He wedged himself deep, then withdrew with agonizing slowness. In again, out again. Each slow stroke a hot, luscious lick of pleasure.

Amazingly, that breathless, terrifying tension was building again. She closed her eyes against it, pressing her face to the couch.

Sam seized a handful of hair at the nape of her neck and tugged her head up. “No, Sveti. Look at me. Look into my eyes.”

She met his gaze in the mirror, and her eyes skittered away from the intensity, as if it were an electric shock. “I can’t,” she gasped out.

“Do it.” His eyes demanded, implacable. “It’s important.”

She met his eyes in the mirror, saw the tension in his clenched jaw, the naked emotion in his eyes. His powerful body thudded against hers, stroking and stroking, demanding, insisting . . .

She came apart again, explosively.

This time, when she floated back, she was on the floor, with no memory of getting down there. No bumps or bruises, though. She’d floated down on a magic cloud. There was a heavy thrum of water from the bathroom. Steam floated from the open door.

Sam came out. He scooped her into his arms. “I ran you a bath.”

She was too limp to protest. He set her on her feet in the hot water, which foamed and roared from the pounding jet. She sank into it with a grateful sigh. He’d found something lavender scented to throw in. Ahh.

He hit the tap to stop the water, and crouched next to the tub.

For the first time, she felt relaxed enough to just look at him, full on. Not just the usual quick, nervous stolen glance, but an all-out, blatant, ogling stare. Enjoying every beautiful detail. It felt wonderful.

Sam grabbed the soap and pulled one of her feet out of the water. She twitched, trying to jerk it away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He grinned. “Call it the audition. You know, for my body servant duties. I’ve never done a pedicure, but I’m a fast learner. I can’t wait to paint those pearly little toenails.” He leaned to kiss her toes.

Her foot jerked, involuntarily. “That’s silly.”

“Is it?” He yanked her foot back and planted it against his chest, heedless of the wet footprint she left on his shirt. He sudsed up his hands and dug his fingers deeply into her quad muscles, massaging her leg. Oh, God. She gasped, as tension released in a shuddering rush. After sex like that, she wouldn’t have thought there was any tension left, but Sam kept squeezing, kneading, releasing layer after layer of tightness and always finding another hiding beneath it. Some of those knots inside her were so old, she didn’t recognize them as pain anymore.