Into the Fire - Anne Stuart [57]
He slid his hands down her thighs, then up the backs of them. “This is how we’ll do it,” he said in a low, silky voice. “You can be in control, go as fast or as slow as you want. It’s all up to you. Hell, you can even tie me up if it makes you feel safer. I have nothing against a little friendly bondage.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Then why are you here?”
She bit her lip. “I don’t know.”
“I do. You want to be here. Or you’d be long gone into the Wisconsin night, running straight back to the Duchess with your tail between your legs. Except that’s not what you want between your legs.”
She wasn’t expecting his sudden move. In one moment she was nervously straddling him, staring down into his eyes. The next she was lying on her back on the rumpled bed and he was on top of her, her legs pulled around him. In the darkened room the flickers from the muted television played across his face, making him look almost brutal.
And then he kissed her. Put his mouth on hers, and she opened for him, so that she tasted his tongue and his desire, kissing him back.
There was a stifled moan of pleasure, and she realized that it had come from her. It shouldn’t have shocked her. It was past time to admit that kissing Dillon had been the central fantasy of her teenage years. And the hidden, unacknowledged fantasy of her twenties. The only carnal one she’d ever had.
His hands cupped her face, and he seemed ready to take all the time in the world, nibbling on her lower lip, brushing his mouth across her eyelids before he returned to her mouth. She was almost afraid to touch him, but she slid her arms up around him, anyway, against his hot, sleek skin, her fingers running across the shape of his back, the sinew and muscle, bone and flesh of him.
He broke the kiss, his blue eyes almost black in the darkness. “I got ahead of you earlier today. Time to catch up.” He pulled out of her arms, moving down on her body, pushing her skirt out of the way as he put his hand between her legs.
She let out a muffled cry, but he ignored it, pushing her skirt up higher. “Come on, Jamie, you remember this. You liked it. You can’t tell me you didn’t.” And he let his long fingers slide against her, so that her body arched instinctively, wanting his touch. He did it again, a little harder this time, and she made a small whimpering sound of need.
“See, I told you you liked this,” he said, and he leaned down and kissed her stomach, his mouth hot against her flesh. “You’ll like this even better.” And he put his mouth between her legs.
She panicked, pushing at his shoulders, but he ignored her, cradling her hips in his hands as he used his mouth, his tongue, even his teeth on her. She began to shake, but this time it wasn’t fear. The heat began between her legs and spread outward, upward, in a spiral of pleasure that almost shamed her.
It was too fast, too much. She tried to pull back from that dangerous place, but she was already too far gone. She could feel her body begin to convulse, and she panicked, afraid, only to have Dillon slide his fingers deep inside her at the last moment, and she was lost. Wave after wave of hot, wild pleasure suffused her body, and she had no choice but to let go, surrender to it, and he moved up her body, covering her cry with his mouth.
Slowly, slowly her heart began to slow its pace, and she opened her eyes to see him leaning over her, a smug expression on his face. She would have slapped it if she’d had any strength left in her body.
“That’s better,” he murmured. “Now, let’s get this dress off you. Sexy as it is, it’s ready to go. Or I might rip it off you.”
She was beyond the point of making any protest, and she let him pull the dress over her head. She didn’t bother to look where he tossed it—it no longer mattered.
She lay back on the bed, naked, and he looked down at her out of sober eyes. “Damn,” he said in a soft voice.
“Damn what?” Her own voice was no more than a cracked whisper, something that shouldn’t have surprised her.
“Just damn.” He kissed her mouth, hard