Midnight Man (Midnight #1)(44)

It was good to have these signs, her wild heartbeat, the fast breathing, and the hard little nipples. God knows his excitement was hugely visible.

But there was another way to see if she was as aroused as he was. He licked the pulsing vein in her neck, a long slow lap of his tongue as he moved his hand downwards. Past the soft breast, where the heartbeat could be seen and felt in her left breast, over the rib cage, across the flat little belly, down, down…

The hair here was soft, almost silky and not stiff and crinkly as most women’s pubic hair was. She took the hint of his hand cupped over her mound and let her legs fall open. He slid his fingers down and around and touched her lips there. Soft, warm and yes, wet. His hand trembled as he spread the lips and inserted a finger, frowning at the difficulty and at her sudden intake of breath.

She was so goddamned tight.

He eased his finger in slowly, realizing that he must have hurt her the other night. His dick was for sure bigger than his finger. Even with his finger, he was having to enter her by degrees. The other night he’d just crashed his way in and started fucking her as if she were a ten dollar whore and he was a sailor on shore leave after a year at sea. He winced at the memory.

He pushed in further and she closed around his finger like a fist.

He withdrew his hand a little then penetrated her again, barely inside the entrance.

“You haven’t fucked much, have you?” he asked hoarsely. She didn’t react to his hard words. He was used to sailors’ talk—there wasn’t any political correctness at all in the Teams—but beyond that, he was too blasted by lust to look for other words, prettier ones, and softer ones. Just the blunt truth—you’re so damned tight I can tell you haven’t been fucked much.

“No.” Her voice was low, an almost soundless whisper.

“That’s changing.” There was a tightness in his chest. He could barely get the words out. His voice was harsh, strained. “Starting now.”

Two quick swipes of his hands and he was naked. Then he was stretching out on the bed next to her, spreading her legs wider with shaking hands. He mounted her, opened her with two fingers, positioned himself and thrust blindly…

He stopped at her sharply indrawn breath, just an inch or two inside her. He was hard as a rock. He wanted to just plunge in so badly he was shaking with the effort to stop. But this is where he’d messed things up before. Once was bad enough. Twice and he’d lose her. He couldn’t do it this way. He pulled out.

Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled them over, holding her upright with his hands.

“Oh.” She looked startled, as if the idea of being on top of a man had never occurred to her before. The folds of her sex opened to ride along the base of his dick, her knees straddling his rib cage. They looked at each other and she smiled faintly. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders and clutched his biceps. “Well.” She stirred a little along him, riding him gently up and down, testing. “This is interesting.”

“Mm.” He was breathless. He had no words, only heat so great he thought his head would explode. He put his hands on her waist and lifted her so she was half-kneeling.

“Stay.”

Did he say that or just think it? Whatever, she understood and hovered over him, moist lips pouting between her thighs. He lifted his dick upright and positioned it under her, holding it.

His jaws clenched tight at the first brush of her sex. She slid along the head, trying to find the right position, sliding back and forth. She bore down a little, sliding forward and then yes! He was in.

Barely. She wasn’t moving at all, dammit, hovering over him. Just the head was in and he was going crazy. She moved a little, circling her hips and he slid in a little further. It wasn’t enough. At this rate, it would take her half an hour to slide down enough to take all of him and he didn’t have half an hour. He’d explode first.

Already he was bathed in sweat, heart hammering, breath bellowing in and out, like he’d been out on a five mile run. And they weren’t even having sex yet. Not really.

Her eyes were closed and she had a dreamy expression on her face as she moved slowly. She lifted herself away and he felt like screaming with frustration, but she didn’t disengage entirely. Just stayed still a moment, kneeling over him, gently moving, letting the head of his cock swirl over her lips. Then she found the right angle again and slowly moved down.

And stopped.

She was driving him nuts. Goddammit, why wouldn’t she just let him in?

Teeth clenched, John held her hips and thrust upwards, hard, grinding into her.

Suzanne gasped. Her eyes opened and met his. The dreamy expression was gone, replaced by distress, maybe even pain. No, no, no! He had to make it better for her this time.

He windmilled his arms up and back. Fists clenched around the bars of the iron bedstead, he clung, shaking. He wouldn't touch her, he couldn't touch her. If he did he’d be too rough. What he wanted was to grip her hips and do her hard. Too hard.

He lay still under her, waiting for her to do something. Giving her the lead.

Suzanne stared down at him, breathing fast, fully impaled on him. Her pale pubic hairs meshed with his black ones. She was motionless; eyes open so wide he could see the whites around the gray-blue irises.

She rested her hands on him, feeling the deep, quick rise and fall of his chest, watching him. She seemed to him like some wary wild animal, a deer in the forest, pierced by an arrow. Watching the hunter, gauging intentions.