Heaven, Texas (Chicago Stars #2)(78)

The fussy femininity of the bedroom should have made him less intimidating, but instead he had never seemed so overpowering to her, or so completely male. Her sexual excitement gave way to anxiety. She stared at him and could only wonder how she had gotten herself in such a predicament. How had it happened that she was about to offer herself to a multimillionaire Texas playboy jock who’d been pursued by the most alluring women in the world?

And then he smiled at her, and her doubts faded as her heart filled with love. She was offering herself to him because she wanted to. She was building a memory that would keep her company for the rest of her life. He held out his hand and she walked toward him.

The fingers that clasped her own were strong and reassuring. “It’s all right, honey.

“I know.”

“You do?” Catching her by the hips, he brought her to stand between his splayed thighs.

“Uh-huh. You’ve already told me that you don’t do anything you’re not good at.”

“That’s true, sweetheart. ‘Course you are a handful.” He carried his lips to her breast and slipped his hands inside her shorts to pull them down, along with her panties. She set one hand on his shoulder and stepped out of the lacy scrap of fabric, glad to be rid of them, feeling very much like a butterfly finally escaping from a chrysalis that had held it captive far too long. His eyes settled on the nest of coppery curls between her legs. Curling her fingers around as much of his upper arm as she could span, she tugged on him until he stood.

When he was on his feet, she slipped her fingers over the waistband of his jeans, where they had fallen open low on his hips, and discovered he hadn’t been teasing when he said he wasn’t wearing any briefs. Her hands trembled, and she hesitated.

He cupped the back of her head and lightly twined his fingers in her curls. “Go ahead, sweetheart. It’s all right.”

Her mouth felt dry as she slowly tugged on the soft denim. Keeping her eyes on the floor, she knelt. With infinite slowness, she slid the jeans over his hips and along his strong thighs to his ankles. He kicked them aside. With a sense of anticipation, she settled back on her calves.

Lifting her gaze past the scars at his knee, she paused at his hips. “Oh, my…”

She hadn’t expected it to be quite so imposing, quite so commanding. Her lips parted, and she couldn’t take her eyes away. It was magnificent, even better than she’d imagined. Incredible to have something like that thrusting out so boldly. Her forehead creased, but she refused to let the size worry her. Somehow he’d make certain she accommodated.

“This is going to be a disaster,” he murmured.

Her head shot up and she gazed at him with stricken eyes. A red flush burned her skin. Mortified, she jumped to her feet. “I’m sorry! I didn’t meant to stare. I—”

“No, baby!” He dragged her into his arms and chuckled. “It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s me. You’re driving me so crazy with the way you’re looking at me that we’re in imminent danger of having this whole thing over in ten seconds flat.”

She was so relieved she hadn’t done anything wrong that a bubble of laughter rose in her throat. “I guess we’d just have to do it again, then, wouldn’t we?”

“Gracie Snow, you’re turning into a trashy woman right before my eyes.” He slipped the chain holding the Super Bowl ring over her head. “This is definitely my lucky night.”

He started kissing her again, and his hands were all over her body, kneading her buttocks, rubbing her against him. She reveled in the feel of his bare skin pressing against her own. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tangled them in the waterfall of eyelet and ribbon cascading from the canopy. He drew her free, stripped back the spread, and laid her on Sleeping Beauty’s bed. But he was no fairy-tale prince with only chaste kisses on his mind.

She locked her gaze with his and slowly separated her legs, offering herself with a sense of gladness. He smiled and settled next to her on the bed, laying the palm of his hand flat on her belly. “You are one of a kind, sweetheart.”

Dipping his head, he kissed her again, while his fingers trailed down through the silky curls, then detoured to stroke her inner thighs. He began to torture her with his caress, coming closer and closer, but not quite touching.

She went wild, arching against his hand, every muscle taut. “Please!” she gasped against his lips. “Don’t stop there…”

“I won’t, sweetheart. Believe me, I won’t.”

He parted her, and her breath caught on a sob as he traced her secrets with his fingertip. Her whole body began to quiver. He eased his finger inside her, and, just like that, she came apart with a great cry.

He held her through the aftershocks. As soon as she calmed and felt him, still rigid, pressed against the side of her hip, she had to fight back tears. She had wanted to give, but all she’d done was take.

“I—I ruined everything. I’m so—so sorry. I knew I’d mess this up.” She swallowed a sob. “I wanted to be—to be perfect, but I was never good at phy—physical things. Nobody ever wanted me on their team in gym, and now you know why. I’m all done, and you’re—you’re not, and I r—ruined it.” She was so stricken by her premature orgasm that she barely felt his lips moving at her temple.

“Nobody can be good at everything, sweetheart.” His voice had a queer, choked sound to it.