Into the Fire - Anne Stuart [49]
“You were too dry,” he said in a prosaic voice. “And too tight. And you didn’t really want him.”
“I thought I did….” Her voice disappeared in a little squeak as he put his hand between her legs. His long fingers touching her, sliding inside her, that fast.
“Well, you’re not dry now. And you want me, whether you admit it or not. And I’m not going to give you a chance to change your mind.”
She started to tell him she’d never said yes in the first place, but it was too late. She’d expected kisses, caresses, practiced attempts to still her fears. Instead he’d moved between her legs, pressing against her, and before she could protest he was inside her, pushing deeper, holding himself above her as he slowly invaded her body.
He was too big, but there was nothing she could do about it. This time her body didn’t stop him, and then it began to betray her, letting him in, until she could feel the whole length of him inside her, her hips cradling his as her fingers dug into the torn cushions beneath her.
“Breathe, Jamie,” he said in a tight voice. “It’s not going to kill you.”
Because she didn’t have much choice she took a breath, and somehow he moved even deeper inside her, when she hadn’t thought he could.
He was holding himself above her, only the weight of him inside her, and she felt him lean down, bring his head toward hers, and she knew he was going to kiss her. And she couldn’t stand it. She jerked her head away, so that he couldn’t reach her mouth, and she bit her lip.
“All right,” he said, and she could hear the iron tension in his voice. “Do you want this fast or slow?”
“Fast. Get it over with.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for, baby girl.” He started to pull out, and she let out her breath again in momentary relief. Until he pushed inside her again, deeper than ever. Again and again and again, and there was nothing she could do but shiver and find that dark spot inside herself where she could hide.
But that dark spot was filled with sparkling lights, and he was in there, too, in every part of her, and there was no escape, and she could feel the heat spreading through her, rich and languorous, and the more she tried to fight it, the more it spread through her body like a warm, sweet poison.
And he knew it. He could feel it. “Open your eyes, Jamie,” he said. “I want to watch you.”
She could no more resist than she could stop her heart beating. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she stared up into his face, half dazed.
“We’re going to do this again,” he whispered. “And again. And again.” Each word was punctuated with his body rocking against hers. “Every way I can think of, every place, every time of day. You’ll be thinking and breathing and tasting me. And I’ll be thinking and breathing and tasting you.”
She was shivering, inside and out, but she wouldn’t touch him. Her fingers dug into the sofa, her hips cradled him, and he thrust hard, deep inside her, over and over again, until she felt his body go rigid, saw his eyes close, heard his voice let out a strangled curse as he caught her hips in his hands and pulled her up even tighter against him.
She watched him almost from a distance, and for a moment she felt almost serene. It was a strange kind of power, to feel him climax inside her, to feel his total loss of control, when she was the one who always felt powerless.
And then he collapsed on top of her, sweat-slick, panting, his heart hammering against hers. She noted all these things with detached interest. It was a kind of revelation. She hadn’t hated it. Hadn’t hated it at all. There was even a moment when she’d begun to feel something almost like…
He rolled off her, off the narrow sofa and onto the floor, where he sat, cursing. “Shit,” he said after a moment. “That was a fucking disaster. That wasn’t what I had in mind at all.” He turned his head to look at her. “Stay put,” he growled. “I have to go clean up, and then I’ll be back.”
She closed her eyes, shutting him out, until she heard the door close, the water running.