It Had to Be You (Chicago Stars #1)(60)

He lay down next to her on a bent elbow, slipped his other arm under the cover and drew up her knee to play with her ankle bracelet “You just tell me to stop any time you get nervous.”

An overwhelming flood of emotion washed through her. Even though he was teasing, he would never know how much those words meant.

Leaning forward, he started kissing her again: lips, breasts, sweet, hot kisses burning her skin, while she kissed him back and his hand moved higher under the covers until he was stroking her inner thighs.

“Spread open just a little bit for me now,” he whispered.

She moved her legs. The cover fell away except for a small corner between her thighs. He brushed it aside.

She waited for him to make some crack about her being a natural blonde, but he didn’t say anything. She drew a deep, shuddering breath as he began to explore her.

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

“I’m glad.”

“Would you stop?”

He withdrew his hand.

Joy and lust swirled inside her when she realized he had done as she’d asked. His compliance gave her courage. She twisted her body so that she was above him, her breasts gently swaying, the nipples stirring the hair on his chest. She watched his expression as she began her own sensual mission, trailing her hand down over his chest to his belly, which was covered with a thin sheen of perspiration.

She slipped lower and touched him. He caught his breath. She felt him rigid and pulsing in her hand, straining for release, and once again, fear mingled with desire. This time, however, desire was stronger.

“We’re getting close to the point of no return,” he whispered hoarsely.

She shook her head. Fondled him. “You promised.”

“Stop,” he groaned.

She did.

He rolled over so that he was once again looking down at her. “Let’s get you ready, virgin lady,” he whispered, “ ’cause I don’t think I can hold off much longer.”

It was so good.

He prepared her with his fingers as if she were brand-new. Emotions she couldn’t name filled her heart while his deep stroking sent waves of fire surging through her. His breathing was heavy, his skin flushed. He stopped to reach for one of the foil packets and sheathed himself before he returned to his caresses.

“You’re so tight,” he whispered, as he shifted his hips and poised himself to enter her. “It’s almost like—”

“Stop,” she sobbed, even though she knew he had gone past the point where he would listen.

But he rolled off. Fell back. Sweat beaded his forehead. “You’re killing me,” he gasped, his chest heaving.

She couldn’t believe he’d kept his promise, and in those moments she loved him. She told herself it wasn’t a permanent emotion, not happily-ever-after, but an ephemeral love born of gratitude. Along with her heart, her whole body opened to him, demanding that he fill her and trusting him to do no damage. She clutched at his shoulders, drew him back.

He clasped her behind the knees and spread her thighs.

“Slow,” she pleaded. “Don’t hurt.”

“Oh, I won’t, darlin’,” he said as he parted her. “I wouldn’t hurt you for anything.”

And he didn’t. His entry was achingly slow, and he watched her the whole time, green eyes half-lidded, neck muscles rigid, skin damp. She could feel his iron control, even as her body stretched to take him. He began pumping inside her, and her own control slipped away.

“That’s right,” he whispered, as her head thrashed on the pillow and tiny moans slipped through her lips. “Make some noise for me, baby. Make all the noise you want.”

He thrust deeply, and she moved with him. The sensation was wonderful and frightening. She began to spiral, and now it was not his loss of control that threatened her, but her own. Her fingers dug into the steely bands at his shoulders. Something was happening to her. Something wonderful. Something terrifying. If she lost control ... She opened her mouth and sobbed, “Stop!”

The sound he made was barely human, a strangled exclamation deep in his throat. This time she knew he wouldn’t listen. He had traveled too far and her request was no longer fair.

But he withdrew. This iron-willed man who could have overpowered her in an instant acceded to her wishes and fell back into the pillows, skin flushed, veins throbbing in his neck, chest heaving.

With his acquiescence, the shackles that had bound her for so long broke away, and joy took their place. She fell on him. Kissed him with her tongue. Took his hair in her fists as she reclaimed her womanhood and loved him with all her heart.

It seemed natural for her to mount him.

She slipped her leg over his hips and gradually took him into her body, his size forcing her to go more slowly than she wished so she could accommodate him. When she had completely impaled herself, she gazed down at him. His eyes were open, but glazed, his lips taut. She began to move, timing the strokes as little sobs slipped through her lips. He cupped her buttocks so she didn’t lose him, his fingers soothing her where they were joined.

She splayed her hands in the hair on his chest, arched her back, and rode him higher and higher. Her hair began to fly. She had become a glittering blond amazon who had claimed the mightiest of men to service her. He bucked, but she stayed with him, her thighs gripping his powerful hips. She was in command. He was hers to take.