Not One Clue_ A Mystery - Lois Greiman [78]
“Eventually,” he said, and kissed the other breast.
I grabbed the bedpost to keep the world from spinning into outer space, but then he cupped my boobs together in both hands. I made a little sound in my throat that even I didn’t recognize, but he seemed too busy to acknowledge the feelings behind it. In fact, he was working his way down my midline.
I tightened my grip on the bed knob. He kissed my belly button, then dipped his tongue inside. I screamed like a virgin and he snagged my panties with his index finger, dragging them down a half an inch.
“Jesus, woman,” he breathed. “What are you going to be like when we get to the good stuff?”
“There’s more?” I rasped.
“I’ll think of something,” he said, and chuckled as he lowered himself farther. I spread my legs, teetering on my heels and dropping my head back.
“Think fast,” I rasped, and he kissed me where I was wet and hot and achy.
Every muscle in my body spasmed and suddenly I tilted sideways. It took me a moment to realize the bed knob had come loose in my hand. Another to realize he was holding me upright, hands on my waist, body hard as marble against mine.
“You okay?”
I was breathing hard. “I think so.”
“You keep making so much noise you’re going to wake yourself up.”
“There’s duct tape in the kitchen.”
He chuckled and wrapped his hand around mine, which was still wrapped around the bed knob. Kissing my wrist, he eased my fingers open and relieved me of the metal sphere. Then he sucked my pinky into his mouth.
My body quaked. He kissed the palm of my hand. I groaned.
“Chrissy.”
I could barely open my eyes.
“Don’t you dare come without me,” he said.
“If I were you I wouldn’t dillydally.” My voice was a little throaty. A little raspy. Kind of gritty.
He pressed up against me. He was throbbing. Truly, there is nothing in the world I like more than throbbing. He slipped his hands into my panties, squeezing my buttocks. “I thought women liked it slow,” he said.
“Don’t be stupid,” I said. I felt as if I were having an out-of-body experience, which, come to think of it, would have made me bitchin’ mad. I mean, if there was ever a time I wanted to be in my body, this was it.
“Trying not to be,” he said. “Take this.”
It took me a moment to realize he was holding a condom. I have no idea where he’d been keeping it.
“Don’t dally,” he reminded me.
I tore the foil away with my teeth. There was a moment of panic on my part when I feared I had forgotten how to apply the thing, but finally he was sheathed and raring to go.
“Ready?” he said.
“If I were any more ready you’d be superfluous.”
“Never,” he said.
“Don’t be so sure. François is one sweet-talking—” I began, but suddenly he lifted me up and pushed into me in one smooth glide.
The earth moved. I shrieked. He groaned. In approximately thirty-two seconds, it was over. I was panting like a bulldog, sweaty as hell, and happy as a songbird.
It took several minutes before either of us could talk, and when he did his voice was gruff. “Sorry,” he said.
I still couldn’t think straight, but I was cognizant enough to realize I was one lucky little nuthatch. “For being as big as a frickin’ train?” I asked.
“I’m usually … I didn’t mean to go so fast. You’re just so …” He paused to breathe.
“Just so what?”
He stared into my eyes. “Just so fucking sexy you make me crazy.”
“You already got my clothes off, Rivera. No need for sweet talk.”
He stared at me, eyes like lasers. “You don’t think this is over, do you?”
He was looking at me like I was a mocha turtle sundae. The desire in his eyes made my caramel simmer.
I skimmed my gaze down his body, and just past his navel saw that this was definitely not over.
“I hope you’ve rested up,” he said, and kissed me again.
By midnight we had moved to the floor. By 1:17 we had found the bed.
Dehydration pushed us into the kitchen. At 5:05, I realized I had been entirely wrong about there being enough room on the counter for two.
Panting, Rivera rolled onto his back. I pulled a bag of grapes out from under his left