Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 11-15 - Laurell K. Hamilton [457]
I waited for him to lie still, though his eyes stayed like butterflies, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. When I caught a glimpse of lavender eyes between the fluttering, I stroked him gently. I stroked him with my hands, until I had his eyes looking at me instead of the inside of his own eyelids.
He looked up at me, his lavender eyes lazy, and his smile was like the cat who got the cream. I wrapped my hand around that warm, thick, length. Wrapped my hand and squeezed. “I want this inside me.”
When his eyes opened, he said, “You haven’t had any foreplay.”
I squeezed him again, watched his spine bow, and his head throw back, sliding the long braid of his hair off the bed, like something escaping off the edge. “Trust me, Nathaniel, I’ve had foreplay.”
When he recovered enough, he said, “You’re not the only one who hasn’t gotten to touch someone below the waist.”
I closed my eyes. “Please, Nathaniel, please, just make love to me. I want you to finish what you started in the office, please.”
He looked at me, and there was something in that look that was very male and very grown-up. “You liked that, did you?”
I gave him a look, then said, “You were there, what do you think?”
He sat up, and I was suddenly surrounded by his legs, his arms. He kissed me, and the kiss was gentle, but not chaste. He explored my mouth the way I’d explored his legs, and ass, lightly, delicately, savoring it. But one hand was sliding down the front of my body, until his fingers slid over me. My body reacted to that light touch, but his hand didn’t stop. He traced a finger around the opening to my body. “You are wet.”
“I told you so.”
He slid the finger inside of me and stole my breath. Then he pushed two fingers inside of me, and with the tips of his fingers found that spot. He flicked the tips of his fingers, just the tips, flexing them fast, and firm against that spot. And it was as if that part of my body had been waiting for him, as if all the work he’d done earlier, was still there, because those quick, firm touches, brought me. Brought me screaming, nails digging into his shoulders, and back.
He caught me with his other arm around my waist, or I would have fallen back to the bed. He slid his fingers out from inside me, and said, “Now, you’re ready.”
Since all I was seeing was the inside of my eyeballs, and speech was not an option, I tried to nod, but I really don’t think I needed to. As they say, actions speak louder than words.
51
I WATCHED HIS face above me, as his body worked in and out of mine. He stayed propped on his arms, his legs were bent toward me, so that he acted as a frame for his own body. Seeing him sliding inside me threw my head back, spasmed my body, but I fought for control. Fought to see him. To watch him, this first time. This first time after so many false starts. I fought my body, fought the amazing sensations that were filling me, fought, because I wanted to see his face.
Propped up like he was, it was shallow, and usually I liked it deep, but something about the angle, or the depth, or lack of it, or the rhythm, which was quick, so quick, began to bring me. I could feel it starting. I remembered in time to gasp, “When I go, you go.”
His voice was strangely controlled, as if he were concentrating very hard on what he was doing. “You can go more than once, I may not be able to.”
I touched his face, held it light between my hands. “When I go, you go, no more near misses.”
His eyes smiled down at me. “Agreed.”
And suddenly there was no time for words, no time for debate. The orgasm tightened my body, then spread outward, blowing through my body, my skin. I rode that wave after wave of pleasure. His eyes went wide, as if they were surprised, and his breathing quickened, his body hesitated, paused almost, then he thrust himself deep inside me, and if