Blame It on the Bikini(23)
He breathed hard, flicking his tongue to see her through the aftershocks and then he moved quickly. But his fingers were all thumbs as he tried to get the condom on.
‘Damn,’ he muttered. Desperate, the need to drive deep within her the only thing circling in his head.
Now. Now. Now.
His lungs burned, his heart thumped—and he’d not even started. He was going to embarrass himself at this rate.
‘Can I help?’ she teased.
‘No,’ he snapped hoarsely. Instantly feeling bad about biting her head off.
But she laughed. A throaty, sexy laugh as if she knew just how he was feeling.
It was all right for her—she’d had her first orgasm. Finally he was sheathed. He knelt and gazed at her. His gaze fixed on the cherry-red, too-sensitive nipples, lowered to her pink, glistening sex and then he looked up into her glowing eyes.
His heart seized.
Her laughter faded. ‘Brad?’
Her voice lifted a notch, the return of excitement even though she perceived the threat. Oh, yeah, he had plans. He leaned over her, relishing using his size to dominate her. But she wasn’t intimidated. Not her, no—her smile returned. Those wide, uneven lips parted and revealed that sexy-as-hell gap. All petite, fragile, strong woman.
Take. Take. Take.
So he did. Peeling her legs further apart, he took position, his aching erection pressing against her slippery, sweet entrance. So hot for him. Meeting his gaze unflinchingly, her breasts rising and falling fast as she waited for him to finally take her.
And he did—surging forward to encase himself in one swift movement. But he was almost obliterated as he felt her clamp around him for the first time. He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, locked still to stop the instant orgasm before he’d begun any kind of rhythm. That just wasn’t happening.
He breathed hard, pushing back the blissful, delirious fog, refusing his release until he’d seen her too strung out to scream any more. And finally he moved, slow, back and forth, circular. Stopping to caress her breasts, her neck, her lips. Teasing, nipping, sucking—savouring every inch of skin he could access while locking himself inside her. And it was good. So damn good.
‘Please let me come, please let me come,’ she begged him, writhing again, her face flushed and her skin damp.
Victory sang in his veins as he slowly claimed, withdrew and reclaimed his place right in the core of her. Her clenching, soft heat offered unutterable joy as much as it did wicked torment. And he was too ecstatic to care about the implications of the one thought hammering in his head.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Breathless, pinned beneath his marvellous weight, Mya called to him. How could he bear it so slow? Wasn’t he dying inside for the release? How could he hold back from coming inside her so long? Didn’t he want to drive himself into her the way she ached for him to—furious and fast and hard?
Oh, hell—was it her? Was she not good enough at this for him? She certainly didn’t know any tricks or anything much beyond the basics. And this was sex at its most basic, with him above her, no fancy positions or toys. She knew no tricks—was probably the most apathetic lover he’d ever had. All she’d been able to do the past half-hour was lie there and moan.
He slipped his palm beneath her bottom, pushing her closer so he could thrust even deeper into her, and all self-conscious thought was obliterated in the ecstasy of his onslaught. There was nothing she could do but absorb his decadent attention.
She tensed as that unbearably tense pleasure rebuilt in her. He pushed closer, closer. Her body tautened, her muscles, nerves, heart all strung out, locking onto every part of him she could. She was no longer begging, no longer coherent. Just gasping, grasping for that final step into oblivion. And then screaming. He tossed her into that river of delight. Sensations tumbled over and over—bliss shuddering through her in spasm after spasm. And she clung to him through it all as if he were her life raft as well as the source of the surge.
She gasped again as the last tremor shivered through her and she regained enough strength to sweep a hand down his sweat-slicked back. His skin burned, the muscles beneath flexing and rigid. She turned her face into his neck, wanting to hide how raw her emotions were. How close she felt to him in this moment.
With a feral grunt he pulled her head back so her mouth met his. A hungry, uncontrollable kiss. His tongue pummelling as fast and relentlessly as that other part of him was. Something broke free within her, that desire to hold onto him. To hold onto him so tight because he’d given her something so precious. She sucked on his tongue the way her sex was—tightly squeezing. Not letting him go. Stroking him back. A slick friction that set fire to her senses again.
He tore his mouth from hers, arching and shouting as his release ripped out of him. Her body quaked as she received it, intensifying her own pleasure to the point where she could bear no more.
It took a few moments for Brad to realise he’d blanked out and was slumped over her. Their bodies were stuck together—hot skin, locked limbs. Hell, could she breathe? He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at her.
‘Wow.’ She nodded slowly. ‘Okay. I can see why.’
It wasn’t quite the comment he’d wanted. That hadn’t been his usual wham and bam and ‘let’s do it three times again, ma’am’. Physical and fast and fun. He didn’t know what had got into him with this so-slow-you-think-you’re-going-to-die-from-bliss intensity.
‘You sure proved your point.’ She swallowed.
He might have managed to laugh that off if he weren’t so winded. Slowly, reluctantly, painfully, he withdrew from her warmth and rolled to lie beside her. He kept his eyes closed, holding back the exposed feeling. Because that had been so far from his usual behaviour that he couldn’t comprehend it.
That hadn’t just been sex. He didn’t really know what it had been, but he knew it was not just sex. Part of him wanted to flee the scene immediately. Another part of him was stirring back to life, hungry for a repeat. How could the gnawing ache be worse now than it had been before?
‘I’m sorry for being so useless,’ she murmured.
He flashed his eyes open and lifted his head. ‘What?’
To his amazement she’d gone bright red, more flushed than when she’d been in the throes of passion and about to come. ‘I just lay there.’
He really did laugh then—and it was all genuine. ‘No, you didn’t.’
She’d sighed and moved in subtle, uncontrollable ways that had nearly driven him out of his mind. And she’d held him. He’d had the most incredible feeling when she’d held him.
He pulled her close. But sleep didn’t claim him as quickly as it did her. Instead he lay still fully attuned to the signals of her body, his embrace tightening as her body relaxed into sleep. He’d never struggled to get to sleep after sex before. But he’d never had sex like that before either. He tried to process it, his body humming, his mind replaying fragments, sending flashes of memory to senses already overloaded and struggling with oversensitivity. Almost an hour later, still nowhere near sleep, he slipped away from her. In the moonlit kitchen he poured a glass of water. He drank, trying to wash away the fever and regain his laid-back, carefree attitude. But the cool water didn’t dispel the growing sense of discomfort and confusion.
The best moment of his life might also have been the biggest mistake.
CHAPTER NINE
MYA woke early, panic clanging louder than an electronic alarm plugged into subwoofer speakers. Warm, sweat-dampened skin where they touched. Time to get out of here. She slipped out from his hot embrace, ultra-careful not to wake him because there was something she had to do first.
Quietly she found her phone and got it ready. Just as he stirred, she threw the sheet back and captured him in all his morning glory before he could blink.
‘Now we’re even.’ She laughed and teasingly waved the phone at him, determined to hide the ache pulling down her heart—from herself most of all.
He blinked and a slow, naughty smile spread over his face—the return of the charmer. ‘Damn, you should have told me.’ He stretched. ‘I could have posed better for you.’
He could never have been posed better. He looked like the Greek god he’d joked about.
‘I’ll delete this when you delete the picture of me,’ she offered. But it was a lie. Even if she trashed it from her phone, she couldn’t ever wipe this image from her brain.
‘I’m never deleting that.’ His laughter rumbled, rippling muscles over his taut, bronzed chest. ‘I’ve sent it to my computer. It looks brilliant on a big screen.’
Oh, she should have known. ‘You’re a perv.’
‘And you’re an amateur. You think I mind you having a photo of me like this?’
‘Well.’ Mya sniffed. ‘I guess half the city’s women have seen you like this, so, really, it’s nothing that personal, is it?’ She had to remind herself who she was dealing with—and all that this had been.