Into the Fire - Anne Stuart [64]
He was unbuttoning his old flannel shirt by the time he reached the side of the car, but she put her hands on his, stopping him. And then she began to unbutton them herself, head down, concentrating on the task.
She pushed it from his shoulders, her hands skimming his skin as the shirt slid to the floor. And then she leaned forward and put her mouth against his pounding heart, as her hands reached for his belt.
She touched him. Through the thick denim of his jeans, she put her hand over him, her fingers slowly stroking, and he let out a strangled moan.
“If we don’t get in the car now we might not make it,” he said in a rough voice.
She looked up at him. Her pale hair had fallen in her face, and her cheeks were flushed.
“We’re already here,” she said.
“And I’m ready to drag you down on the cement.”
She looked down at the cement floor beneath them. “Looks uncomfortable,” she said. She’d already unfastened the snap at the top of his jeans, and now she began to undo the zipper, her hands delicate, barely touching him, and the feel of her was more erotic than a practiced caress.
“Get in the goddamned car,” he said in a choked voice.
“In a minute,” she said. She pushed his jeans down his legs, and then sank to her knees in front of him, on the hard cement floor. And she put her mouth on him, just tasting him.
He let out a groan of agonized pleasure, but she pulled away, looking up at him out of wide eyes. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” he said. “God no.” And threading his fingers through her hair, he gently brought her head, her mouth, back to him.
It was the most profoundly erotic experience of his life. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing, she simply experimented, touching, tasting, sucking. He didn’t have to guide her, didn’t have to say a word. He just leaned back against the old Caddy so his knees didn’t buckle and let her bring him to the point of explosion with her sweet, untutored mouth. And he knew she wasn’t ready for that. She was making soft whimpering sounds, and he realized that she was almost as turned-on as he was.
He pushed her back, gently, though her hands still clung to his hips. He picked her up, easily, and swung her into the open convertible, into the back seat. She lay back in the corner, breathless, waiting for him, as he kicked off his jeans and climbed into the car with her.
This time her underwear was the plain white cotton he knew she usually favored. And it was even more erotic than the stuff she’d been wearing before.
He slid the panties down her legs, and she leaned back to help him. The back seat of the Cadillac was so huge it was almost a bed, and even though he was tall he knew it could be managed. He started to push her back down, but she shook her head. Instead she simply moved over and straddled him as he leaned back against the old leather seat.
He reached under her damned skirt and touched her, and she was wet. Ready. Trembling.
“Show me how to do this,” she whispered.
The condoms were in his jeans outside the car. And nothing in this world could have made him stop. He took his cock and placed it against her, just touching her, feeling her quiver in reaction. “Just move slowly. You don’t want to hurt yourself, you don’t want to hurt me. See what feels good—” she was slowly filling herself with him, and he could barely speak ”—and then do it some more.”
She took him at his word. Slowly, slowly she sank down on him, taking him inch by inch. She was so hot and damp there was nothing to stop her, but the agonizing slowness was unexpectedly powerful.
He was only halfway inside her when she let out a sudden cry, and he felt her body contract around him. It shocked her so much that she almost started to pull away, but it was too late for that.
Her dress was stupid, and he ripped it open, so that her breasts were free, and he covered them with his hands, his fingers touching her, caressing her, and he felt a second flutter of an orgasm tighten around his cock.
She