Midnight Man (Midnight #1)(58)

It exposed her. Enough light filtered in from the living room to show the folds of her sex, open and already glistening. His dick came away from his stomach in a surge and lengthened.

“John. Look at me. I’m ready.” Suzanne lifted her other leg then let it fall to the side. She was completely open to him. “Come to me now,” she whispered.

He didn’t answer, couldn’t. Words choked in his throat. All he could do was to bend and kiss her foot, nibbling, listening to the catch of her breath as he suckled her toes, one by one. He kneeled on the bed, watching her eyes. Everything he did to her tonight had to be pure liquid pleasure for her, joy heaped on joy. Her eyes would tell him what worked and what didn’t.

Light nips along the arch of her foot, a fingertip running from ankle to thigh worked. Her sighs rose in the room. He meant for there to be moans and then screams before he was done.

Lips, then fingers, trailed up her legs. That worked, too. He placed his hands on the inside of her knees and pressed them open, gently. Her sex unfolded like petals of roses, wet with dew.

His thoughts surprised him, even shocked him. He’d never had these images in his head before, ever. Sex was sex, period. Getting your rocks off was fun while it lasted, but not part of the important business of life. This…this was different. And important as hell.

“John.” Her voice was a languid sigh and it raised the hairs along his forearms. The red sweater, molded to her firm breasts, rose and fell. She was breathing rapidly, almost panting. And he lost it.

He knew—he knew—what he should do next. He should pull that sweater off her slowly, get rid of the bra and lick and suck her breasts. She had small nipples that grew even smaller and rock hard when she was turned on. She liked it when he sucked hard and even when he bit lightly. She’d bucked the first time he did that, as if no one had ever bit her nipple before. He loved the thought that he was doing things to her no man had ever done before.

His hand would move down and he’d enter her with one finger, then when she softened up a bit, he’d put in a second. He’d spread his fingers slowly, getting her ready for him. She’d come fast this way and her sheath would pull at his fingers. He knew how to keep it going for a while, make her cry with her orgasm.

When she stilled, he’d slide down her, kissing her stomach along the way, and finally taste her, something he hadn't got around to yet. Going down on women wasn’t something he did often, only when he got tired of having his dick in the woman and by that time he was usually bored enough to call it off.

He knew Suzanne would be somehow different. Spicy and warm and exciting. So yeah, he’d bury his tongue in her until she came again. Whenever she came for the second time, she pulled harder and it lasted longer. While she was coming, he’d move up her body and bury himself in her, thrusting in time with her contractions, keeping it up until she went into meltdown.

Yeah, that’s what he should have done.

What he actually did was climb on top of her, open her with his fingers and thrust in, hard. She gasped and squirmed under him. He could feel her, frantically trying to adjust to him, to his size and length.

He’d skipped the extensive foreplay; the least he could do was stay still while she adjusted. Though he wanted to start moving—hard—he lay still on top of her, face buried in her neck. His back was tense and his ass tight as he held himself deep inside her. She was softening slowly, by degrees. Her legs opened wider and she hooked them around his, sleek and slim and strong. When Suzanne pushed her pelvis up against him, rocking gently, he let out his breath. Oh yeah. She was ready.

How could he keep from fucking her blind? He wanted some control, some way to keep it gentle, for the first time. As he held himself still, the buzzing in his head quieted enough to hear the radio, still playing soft music. That’s what he’d do. He’d make love to her to a slow beat. That should give him a modicum of control.

The strains of “Amazing Grace” filtered in, and he began to move slowly, in time with the music. A leisurely, languid in and out. Suzanne sighed in his ear, giving him goose bumps, rising to meet his slow strokes.

John slipped his hands under her hips to pull her more tightly against him on the downstroke. The music was working fine, helping him keep a slippery clutch on control. His mouth fastened on the skin behind her ear, where a hickey wouldn’t show, while his hips pumped in measured strokes.

Suzanne moaned and started shaking under him. His back was bathed with sweat from the effort of keeping from pumping hard and fast into her. He felt raw and open, fighting to keep the reins of control from slithering out of his grasp. The music helped, a little, but then it stopped and a smooth baritone voice started talking. The news.

Suzanne gasped and stilled. When she started coming, he’d be a goner. He waited for her contractions to start and for him to lose control. He jolted with surprise when her legs slipped down onto the mattress and she pushed at his shoulders.

“Get off me, John.” What? “Get off me now.”

She pushed again and he reared up and pulled out of her, red and inflamed and wet. He was puzzled and frustrated. What the fuck?

Suzanne was sitting up, shivering, reaching for the covers. She pushed her hair back out of her eyes.

“What the hell are you doing? Why did you stop me?” John didn’t even try to keep the anger out of his voice when he saw from her body language that the sex was over. She was already reaching down beside the bed for panties and pants. In seconds she was dressed and standing. When she looked down at him, there was nothing in her face to show they’d just been making love. Her breathing was loud, chest rising and falling, eyes wide with emotion. When John realized that emotion was fear, he rolled off the bed and started walking toward her.