Revealing Ruby (Bound and Determined #1.5)(18)
It was more intimate than anything she’d ever experienced. He saw her, saw through her.
It was too much. Far too much.
Turning her head away, she closed her eyes, concentrated. Tried to breathe. Tried to calm herself.
But it was too late.
He rubbed hard—and then again, both from within and without.
The cry tore from her as she felt her muscles bear down upon him, squeezing and releasing, again and again.
It was good, better than good, better than better.
Her whole body shook one last time. Her knees collapsing, pushing his fingers deeper into her as she screamed her release until only whimpers remained.
As if knowing her sudden sensitivity his fingers withdrew, his hands moving to rest on her hips, holding her still as her whole body longed to collapse.
Keeping her eyes shut she took a moment to calm herself. She thought she’d known what sex was about, but that had been something else, something she wasn’t sure she entirely liked—although it had been the most wondrous thing she’d ever experienced.
She could feel each breath leave her mouth and rebound on the edge of the tub. Focusing on those gentle puffs of air, she carefully opened her eyes and turned, meeting his gaze and holding it.
For a moment she’d given up her power, but he was a man and she knew just how to take it back.
An easy smile settled about her lips. Yes, she knew just what to do, but first she would enjoy, soak up this moment and all it had given her.
Chapter Six
That had been beautiful. Derek didn’t know how else to describe it. He wasn’t a man for poetry or words. He’d been well educated before taking to the seas, but he’d never cared for book learning. His heart yearned for wind and sky.
Derek leaned back in the tub and considered. He’d never spent time on playing with his women. Oh, he’d learned the tricks—it was important that a man learned to please his partner—but he’d never really cared for the process. A man stroked a woman to make sure she was wet and ready. It was not an activity he’d ever found particularly enjoyable. His eye had always been on the prize, on the f*ck itself. That was what mattered.
But this time, with Ruby, something had changed. He could have been in her within seconds of changing their position. He’d felt her desire, felt her need. Hell, if he hadn’t stopped her she’d have done it for him, impaled herself on his very willing shaft.
So why had he stopped her? Why had he felt the need to give her pleasure before pursuing his own? His cock certainly wasn’t sure that it had been a good idea.
But he’d felt the need to feel her, to stroke her, to know her pleasure, to watch as the muscles of her back grew taut and then rippled with pleasure. He’d never imagined that you could see a woman’s pleasure in the small movements of her back. And he’d certainly never imagined that he would want to.
He only wished he could have seen her face. There was something about watching a woman’s eyes as she found her joy. Next time. And that would not be long. If he wasn’t careful he’d be coming against her thigh and that was not what he wanted. This time he intended to be buried deep within her when he came.
He leaned forward, laying a gentle kiss upon her back. That was something else he never did. Kisses were a necessity, but not something he enjoyed or needed. But now he needed to kiss her, to taste her, to see her. It had been far too long since he’d seen her breasts, seen those rosy peaks.
Even as he had that thought, he found himself lifting her, turning her, until she straddled him again, but this time eye to eye.
And that stopped him. Her eyes were sleepy and full of wonder. He’d thought them the color of the sea at sunset, but now they were the blue of snow. He’d never considered snow blue, but as he stared into her eyes, he saw the deep shadows of snow reflecting on a sunny day, deep dark blue with a haze of endless color.
She smiled slightly, her gaze still dreamy and hazy.
It was better than watching her pleasure. She was so relaxed and so real, unguarded.
And so unbearably sweet. He’d thought he was getting the practiced madame and instead found himself with—hell, he didn’t even have a word for it. That seemed to be a theme of this encounter. A lack of words.
And then his gaze shifted lower—he was, after all, a man—settling on her pert breasts, the soft pink tips seeking freedom from the damp linen. Freedom he was inclined to give them, although perhaps not yet. There was something intriguing about the sight of her barely covered breasts. He’d never thought anything could be better than naked, but this just might be, the added hint of intrigue in not quite seeing the creamy flesh.
He slid his hands up from her hips over her ribs, amazed at how slender she was. Dressed, she gave the impression of being lush and full. Here, half-naked, she was still lush, but so much more delicate. He could almost span her with his hands. He moved his hands up further, settling them beneath the full curves of her breasts. Now these were not smaller than expected. There were no pads in her corset.
He cupped upward, raising her breasts and bringing them together, forming a deep V of cleavage. He leaned forward burying his face there. A man could happily die in such a position.
Although he had no intention of dying—unless it was from blood loss to the brain. It seemed every drop of his was flowing downward. His prick strained upward, longing to find a home. Shifting in the water, he attempted to bring it under control.