Mists of the Serengeti(54)

“They’re just arms.” His fingers trailed slowly up and down my arm. “And legs.” He traced the curve of my thigh. “And this spot right here, that I’ve been dying to taste since I washed your hair.” He kissed a spot under my ear lobe. “I crave you, Rodel. In the most innocent ways. I lie awake in my bed at night, thinking of you down the hallway, wanting nothing more than to hold you. I want to stroke your hair until you fall asleep. I want to give you forehead kisses when you’re down. That’s all I allow myself. I don’t go any further.”

He stopped trailing patterns over my skin and shut his eyes like he was struggling with something wild and powerful.

“But right now, Rodel, now that I’m holding you, and touching you, and breathing you, all I want to do is take you like no one’s taken you before.” His gaze burned when he looked at me. “I want to take you like I hate you. Fiercely. Completely. Because you resurrected me, only to relinquish me. I don’t think you have any idea what you’ve done. You see this?” He rubbed his hand over the scruff of his beard.

“After Lily died, every time I picked up the razor, I thought of ending it. The only thing that kept me from doing so was the thought of Goma having to bury me. When you showed up that stormy afternoon, it was like grace stepping on my porch. I didn’t want to look at you, I didn’t want to see you or hear you because there was no place for grace, or hope, or virtue in my world. They had been snuffed out.”

I held my breath as he continued baring pieces of himself. I couldn’t have spoken even if I’d wanted to. Lying next to him, our bodies touching under the blanket had turned me into a mess of quivering sensations.

“I thought you were well intentioned but naive.” His eyes were on my lips, and I marveled at how he could make them throb with a glance. “And that day, by the fire, I thought you were beautiful. But then you were more. You were smart and funny. And brave. And every time I look at you, I see something new, and interesting, and compelling. You make me feel like I want to go on long trips with you. To the sea. To the mountains. You make me feel things that I had stopped feeling, and I don’t know what to do with them, or where to put them. Every time you’re around me, I feel like I’m going to explode, trying to contain it all. You opened me up again, Rodel, and you had no right to, damn it! You had no right.” His grip changed, all the wound-up tension snapping in a hot breath.

Everything shattered as he took my mouth with savage intensity. One large hand gripped my waist, drawing me to him as if he couldn’t stand the distance anymore. Blood pounded in my brain as his hand glided under my top and fondled my breast, turning its pink tip marble hard. His body was rough and insistent on top of mine, our breaths uneven, limbs entwined.

“Touch me.” He pulled his T-shirt over his head, heat rippling off his skin. My pulse raced to my fingertips, as I traced the corded muscles on his chest, the light mat of hair in the groove between his pecs. When I slipped my hands into his boxers, he reclaimed my mouth, surging into my palms with a groan.

“Tell me you want this.” He slid down my stomach, to the swell of my hips. “Show me.”

And then he was uncovering me, fingers hooked in my panties, dragging them over my legs. He slowed down then, sat back on his haunches, and touched me—a soft, single brush of his thumb over my clit. The moan that escaped me pierced the stillness around us.

“I’m going to make you come, Rodel.” He said that part in my ear, partially covering my body with his because I was shivering. “I want to know what you sound like when you orgasm.”

I hadn’t expected Jack to be dominating, mostly because I had seen the other side of him—broken, nurturing, vulnerable. But Jack in bed was a different man. He had the Art of Manliness down to a precise skill. And it thrilled me, excited me.

“On your side.” He flipped me over and pulled the blankets over us, spooning me from behind. His rock-hard erection twitched against me as his fingers circled my clit. His other hand roamed over my breast, kneading the soft flesh with tantalizing possessiveness. My body squirmed against his, our contours nestling into each other, as hot, swift currents of desire stirred up inside me.

“Jack . . .” I half-turned to face him.

He knew what I wanted before I said it. He crushed my mouth hungrily, his tongue seeking mine, demanding it. My lips parted on a ragged sigh as he buried his face in the hollow of my neck, intensifying the rhythm of his fingers. Pleasure radiated outward, like jolts of liquid fire. I clutched the tendons in the back of Jack’s neck. He was a biter, grazing my neck with just enough force to command all of my attention, and then letting go, like a lion playing with his prey. I slid my fingers through the thick tufts of his hair, pulling him back, and then we were kissing again, leaving soul sonnets deep inside each other’s mouths. That was when he sent me over the edge, sliding his thigh between my legs, shifting his lean, hard frame over me. It was a simple act, but I shattered into a million glowing stars.

The contrast of rough against smooth, the anticipation of penetration, of being taken by Jack, the way our bodies were already locked in a hungry, primordial rhythm, his fingertips coaxing my pleasure points, his lips devouring mine. It was a sensual onslaught that rocked the very core of me. My breath came in long, shuddering moans that unleashed something hot and raw in him.

“I can’t hold back, Rodel.” He rubbed the tip of his shaft against me. “Tell me you want this.”