Blue-Eyed Devil (Travis Family #2)(74)

A laughing groan escaped him. "You're trying to torture me, aren't you?"

I shook my head. "Just trying to learn you."

He pulled me farther over his chest, guided my head to his, and gave me another of those insatiable kisses, until I was rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing as if I were floating on ocean waves. He reached down to his jeans and unfastened them.

I hesitated and slid my hand down to grip him gingerly. At this point there was no doubt that Hardy was built to scale all over. It was, as Todd would say, quite a package. But instead of greeting the discovery with a hallelujah, I grimaced. "You're a lot for me to manage," I said doubtfully. "I wish I could start with something smaller and gradually trade up."

"Can't help you there, honey." Hardy sounded breathless. "That one's not available in a mid-sized edition." He urged me over to my front, and I felt his mouth on my back, kissing and nibbling along my spine. But I stiffened as I remembered how Nick used to take me from behind. His favorite position. All the thumping excitement died away, and I broke out in an anxious sweat.

Hardy's mouth lifted from my skin, and he turned me to face him.

"Scared?" he murmured, his hand skimming over my arm.

I nodded with a mixture of defeat and frustration. "I guess I don't like it that way, with you behind me. It reminds me of — " I stopped, wondering bleakly if I was ever going to get Nick out of my head, if I would ever be able to forget what he had done. The bad memories had been woven into the fabric of my body, threaded through every nerve. Nick had ruined me for life.

Hardy continued to stroke my arm. There was a distance in his gaze, as if he were turning a thought over in his mind. I realized he was considering how to handle me, how to slip past my defenses, and that made me feel apologetic and wary.

His hand wandered from my arm to my chest, his fingertips circling the br**sts that Nick had complained were too small.

Damn it. There was no way the good feeling was going to come back. I couldn't stop thinking about my ex-husband, or my own inadequacies. "It's not working for me," I choked out. "Maybe we should — "

"Close your eyes," he murmured. "Lie still."

I obeyed, my fingers knotting into fists by my sides. The lamplight shone dull orange through my lids. His mouth descended, trailing kisses from my chest to my stomach. His tongue slipped inside the tight hollow of my navel, and I squirmed in response. His hand settled on one of my knees. "Easy," he whispered again, sliding lower until my eyes flew open. I jerked and pushed at his head.

"Wait," I gasped. "That's enough, I can't . . . " I was blushing furiously, trembling all over.

Hardy's head lifted, the soft light running over his hair like liquid. "Am I hurting you?"

"No."

His hand came to my stomach, rubbing in a warm circle. "Did I scare you, honey?"

"No, it's just . . . I've never done that before." Needless to say, Nick had never been interested in any activity that would enhance my pleasure rather than his.

Hardy contemplated my red face for a moment. A new glint entered his eyes.

Softly, "Don't you want to try it?"

"Well, someday, I guess. But I like to take these things in steps, I think I should get used to the regular stuff before going to the advanced — " I broke off with a little yelp as he bent over me again. "What are you doing?"

His voice was muffled. "You work on a plan for taking it in steps. Let me know when you got it figured out. In the meantime . . . "

I squeaked as he pinned my legs, holding them wide.

Hardy gave a low laugh, enjoying my discomfort. There was no doubt about it — I was in bed with the devil. "Give me five minutes," he coaxed.

"This is not up for negotiation."

"Why not?"

"Because — " I twisted and panted. "Because I'm about to die of embarrassment. I — No. I mean it, Hardy, this is — " My mind went blank as I felt him lick deep into that vulnerable, secret place. I managed a feeble push against his head. There was no dislodging him. "Hardy — " I tried again, but the delicate moist strokes opened the seam of closed flesh, and the pleasure was so acute I couldn't think or move. He followed the sensation to its center, using the tip of his tongue, and then he breathed on the throb and ache, steam fanning across wet skin. My heartbeat slammed so fast that I could barely hear his mocking whisper over the blood-rhythm in my ears.

"Still want me to stop, Haven?"

My eyes were wet. I was strung tight with pleasure, shaking with it, but it wasn't enough. "No. Don't stop." I was shocked by the sound of my own voice, so hoarse and low. And even more shocked by the way I cried out as he slid in one finger, and then another, stretching the glazed softness, while his mouth searched the furled flesh. The sensation was excruciating, my h*ps hitching upward and falling back. But release kept skittering out of reach, maddening in its elusiveness.

"I can't," I groaned, "I can't do it."

"Yes you can. Just stop trying."

"I can't stop trying."

His wicked fingers began a slow in-and-out slide. I sobbed as a surge began, my flesh rippling, closing. His knuckles wriggled deeper. His tongue flicked steadily, and his mouth . . . his mouth . . . I was gripped by an overpowering swell, every heartbeat, breath, impulse, guided into violent tumbling spasms. I arched into the intense pleasure, my trembling hands secured around his head.