Shadows At Sunset - Anne Stuart [93]
He must have known. He moved up, covering her mouth with his, and pushed his fingers inside her.
She jerked, startled, but he paid no attention to her instinctive panic, holding her captive with his hand and his mouth, touching, stroking, with his tongue, his fingers, and she was shivering in the darkness.
He lifted his head, staring down at her as he touched her. “Don’t!” she gasped in a choked voice.
“Don’t what?” he said, sounding wickedly amused, as his fingers slid against her.
“Don’t…stop,” she whispered, as the first little shock of pleasure hit her.
“Not an option,” he said, and the second wave hit her, harder.
Her body was spiraling out of control, and it frightened her. When the third orgasm hit her she fought it, freezing.
“Oh, no. You’re not getting away with that,” Coltrane said, pulling away from her. The flimsy panties ripped as he yanked them off her, and he pushed her legs apart, moving between them. “Stop trying to control everything. Sometimes you can just let someone else take charge for a little while.”
He was angry with her, and it should have bothered her, but it didn’t. In the last few minutes they’d gone far past that point.
“What if I’m afraid to give up control?” she whispered.
“I’m not giving you that choice. You’re going to be so out of control you won’t know where your body ends and mine begins. I’m going to make you come so hard you’ll be blind and screaming. You only have one choice.”
She was shivering, but it wasn’t with fear. It was hot, naked anticipation. He was going to give her everything and it was no longer her responsibility. It was his. “What’s my choice?”
“Do I use my cock or my mouth?”
The words should have shocked her. Instead, another ripple of frustrated reaction swept over her body. She felt hot, cold, hungry, so damned hungry.
“Your cock,” she said, sliding her fingers down around the hard, silky length of him. He was damp, ready, and she suddenly wanted to put her mouth on him, to taste him, take him.
“Wait…” she said. “I want—”
“Later.” He took her hands and pinned them back against the mattress, looming over her, and she could feel him against her, hard, solid. “There’ll be time for everything later. Right now this is what I need to do.” He pushed forward with his hips, just entering her.
She clutched at him, suddenly desperate. “More!” she cried.
“How much more? This?” He pushed in, a bit more, holding himself still inside her, and she wanted to scream.
“Please!” she cried. “I need…”
Another slow, inexorable inch. “What do you need, Jilly?”
“You.”
He was almost in, and the feel of him inside her, hard and smooth, was a torment, a pleasure so sharp it was almost pain, a need so fierce she couldn’t breathe.
“Me? Or my cock?”
She didn’t know the right answer to end the torment. She only knew the truth. “You,” she said.
He thrust deep, so deep she could almost taste him, and she tried to catch her breath but she couldn’t.
He took her, slow and deep and hard, and this time she couldn’t fight. She clawed at him, trying to hold on to something, but his shoulders were slick with sweat, and she knew there was no safety left.
It went on, endless, deep, forever, and she didn’t want it to stop. She clung for a long moment, and then she let go, completely, her body exploding into a darkness beyond comprehension. Her skin burned, her entire body convulsed around him, and she could hear her voice, sobbing.
And even through the rich darkness of completion, she could feel him give over to it, his body pulsing into her, filling her, giving himself to her, and like a fool she began to cry.
She wasn’t sure what she expected. She didn’t even know whether she expected anything at all, but certainly not what he did. He simply cradled her in his arms, against his still-racing heart, his sweat-damp chest, and held her while she cried, stroking her hair, her tear-streaked face, saying not a word. And when her weeping had finally begun