Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(61)

"It's bad for your big fat ego!" she flared.

He shook with laughter. "We'll worry about my big fat ego another time. Like, after I make you come. Then you can tell me what a controlling bastard I am. All you want."

She flung her head back against his shoulder. She shook with confusion. "This is not OK with me," she said. "I am not a submissive person."

"Of course you're not," he soothed. "And thank God for it. You're a beautiful, regal intergalactic princess, and you drive me f*cking nuts. Now open up, baby. Let me pay tribute to your surpassing beauty."

In your dreams, buddy, she thought. Meanwhile the wanton nympho who had taken over her body obeyed him, spreading her thighs wide. The glistening, flushed folds of her labia pouted out of her thatch of pubic hair, splayed wide for him to see, and touch, and toy with.

She stared into the mirror, astonished. For so long, her sexual life had been limited to solitary experimentation in the safety of her own narrow bed, tinged with shame and loneliness and wistful longing. It was there that she had spun all her romantic dreams of Connor—and tried not to think about Bradley. Whenever Bradley came into her mind, any tension or heat she'd managed to generate drained away, leaving her more depressed and lonely than before.

The woman she saw in the mirror was another person entirely.

Her pose was aggressively sexual. Pornographic, even. Arms pinned back, face flushed, breasts jutting out. Connor's muscular arm was clamped around her belly. His other hand fondled her, spreading her nether lips gently, murmuring with pleasure at how slick and wet she was. He spread the moisture everywhere while his thumb circled her clitoris, pushing and coaxing her into moaning, shivering madness.

Her real-life Connor was so much harder and rougher and more problematic than her fantasies. Aggressive and demanding, and yet so tender, so ruthlessly skillful. And his appetite for her was voracious. She had never imagined anything like it. She still couldn't.

He slid his longest two fingers deep inside her, hooking them under her pubic bone, and pressed against that sweet hot spot inside her sheath as he pressed his palm down against her mound. He squeezed and circled, his strong hand sliding in her swollen, quivering flesh. She clenched around him, writhing against his pumping hand. The power grew and swelled within her until it became a heavenly torture. She screamed when the tension finally broke.

It throbbed violently through her, charging her with shimmering warmth. When she opened her eyes, she was still sprawled on his lap. He held her limp body securely in place while he petted and stroked her lazily between her legs. Like he was petting a kitten.

She turned her face up to him. He gave her a long, clinging kiss and smiled into her eyes. So smug and satisfied with himself.

She clambered off him, extricating her arms from the nightdress and shimmying out of it. Her desire to cover herself was completely gone. She looked the nightdress over. "You ripped it," she observed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Can you fix it?"

"I think so. It's on the seam. No biggie." She flung the garment in the general direction of her suitcase and looked down at him. She'd left big wet marks on his jeans, and she was not the least bit embarrassed about it. Her inner thighs and bottom were slick and wet. She was thrumming with readiness, and the thick length of his erection was clearly visible against his jeans. She reached for his hand, the one that had pleasured her, and pulled it up to her face. His fingers were still glistening with her juice. She suckled them. Tasted herself.

His eyes widened. "Whoa. Jesus, Erin. I thought you said you were tired. You said you didn't want to."

The feverish heat was burned into her face. "I'm OK."

"OK's not good enough. Do you want me to f*ck you?" he demanded. "Don't dance around it. Don't play games with me."

She laughed in his face. "Oh, you're a fine one to talk about games."

"Just say it," he snarled. "I want to hear the words."

She seized a condom from the bedstand and ripped it open with her teeth. "Take off your pants, Connor. Is that clear enough?"

He nodded, and stood up, unbuckling his belt. "You got it."



He stepped out of his pants and stood in front of her, his cock bobbing in front of him. He should be feeling guilty as hell. He had maneuvered her into this. She had to be sore, because he was. But he couldn't resist. She had that wild, sex goddess glow of arousal in her eyes that brought him right to his knees.

She plucked the condom from the foil package, and attempted to smooth it on him. He reached down and covered her fumbling hands.

"That's backwards, sweetheart," he said gently. "Turn it around."

She made a huffy noise and leaned her hot forehead against his chest. She was so cute when she tried to act nonchalant. Her efforts to roll the latex over his cock were driving him nuts.

Ah, mission finally accomplished. She stepped back, gripping him with an authoritative hand. "Just one thing," she said. "Don't drive me to the edge and leave me all alone there. Don't do that to me again."

She punctuated her statement with a tight squeeze of her hand, milking him from root to head. He struggled to remember what she'd said. "What the hell are you talking about, Erin?"

She stabbed at his chest with her finger. "Don't play dumb. You know exactly what I'm talking about. If you make me lose control, you've got to come with me. All the way. I can't take any more of your dominating, calculated power trips. At least not today."