Fire and Ice - Anne Stuart [31]
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Reno said, clearly reading her mind. “I can’t lie on top of a beautiful woman without getting a hard-on, but it’s nothing personal. Unless you want it to be.”
She wanted it to be. She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to fight anymore. In fact, she didn’t want to do anything but lose herself in the strange and seductive man pressed against her. He’d said she was beautiful.
And he wasn’t even going to kiss her. “I don’t want it to be.”
“Now, that’s a lie,” he said. She expected him to mock her, but there was an oddly gentle note in his voice. “But we’ll wait until you can be truthful. In the meantime, go to sleep.”
“I’m trying,” she said. “I don’t have the control over my body that you have.” She realized how her words sounded, and quickly amended, “I mean, over your own body.”
His eyes were glittering in the darkness. “You were right the first time. I can take care of your little problem.”
“I don’t feel like being knocked unconscious again, thank you very much.”
“That wasn’t what I had in mind.” He pushed his hand between their sandwiched bodies, between her legs, and she shrieked, trying to buck him off.
He slapped his other hand over her mouth, silencing her, and leaned down, whispering in her ear. “Hush. We don’t want anyone to know what we’re doing.”
She tried to shake her head, but he was holding her head immobile. He put one leg between hers, forcing them apart, giving him access. And he was touching her, through the thin cotton cloth, touching her as if he did, indeed, know her body better than she did, and she arched beneath him.
“I’d suggest you do this for yourself but I think you’d probably hit me again,” he whispered. “You’re too tense, and this is the only way to relax so you can sleep. Think of it as a medical procedure.”
She tried to bite his hand, but he was way ahead of her. “Close your eyes, Ji-chan, and let it go. The sooner you do, the sooner you’ll come.”
No one had ever touched her like that. He was right, she could have taken care of it herself, but his touch, through the rapidly dampening cloth, was something so powerful she didn’t think there was any way to fight it. She knew her own body and she wasn’t squeamish. She could bring herself to orgasm easily enough, but it had never felt like this, with a man’s hands on her, his body, his heat overwhelming her in the tiny capsule, his breath rasping in her ear. And not just any man, but Reno touching her.
She was already way past arousal, the sensations sweeping through her body. Trying to squirm away from him only made it stronger. She felt the first little climax twist her body, and she fell back, panting slightly as he lifted his hand from her mouth.
“There,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “You took care of it. I came. Now leave me alone.”
His soft laugh filled the darkness. “You call that an orgasm? American men must be terrible lovers.”
The second wave hit her harder, and she could barely hold back the cry that filled her throat. How did he know how to touch her, how hard, how gently, with those long, slender fingers of his? She jerked again as another powerful climax swept over her.
And then there was no more fighting it. It was building, building, to a black place that she’d never been before, beyond arousal, beyond orgasm, beyond life and death, ready to dive over into the darkness. She reached up for him, blindly, trying to bring his face to hers, wanting his mouth, but he was suddenly rough, and she shattered, slamming her face against his shoulder to muffle her own cry, her body convulsing, shivering, dying.
And then she fell back, limp. Her face was wet, and she realized she was crying. She couldn’t catch her breath—her hoarse panting filled the tiny capsule.
He rolled off her, no longer holding her down. “That was an improvement,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice. “It will have to do for now. You have a lot to learn about sex, don’t you?”
She was beyond words.