Silver Falls - Anne Stuart [82]
“No means no,” she whispered, as he pushed the shirt from her shoulders.
“That’s right,” he said, reaching for the snap of her jeans. “No means no, except when the mother’s life is in danger. Then all bets are off.”
She needed to get it together, push him away, but it was too delicious. “You’re getting your issues confused,” she murmured. “We’re talking rape, not abortion,” she said as he moved his mouth down and kissed the swell of her breast above the lace. She heard the sound of her zipper, and it should have been enough to galvanize her into action. Instead it made her knees weak with longing.
“This is a very bad idea. It’s wrong,” she said, as he put his mouth against her navel, licking her skin so that she shivered.
“It’s for your own good,” he said, shoving her jeans down her hips, taking her panties with them. “Just close your eyes and think of England.”
She opened her eyes at that. “Fuck you.”
“Now you’re getting the idea.” He scooped her up and deposited her on the bed, pulling her jeans off her as she landed. “You can get under the covers if you’re feeling shy, but we’re doing this.”
“We are not.” She’d already pulled all the buttons off his shirt earlier, and he shrugged out of it, then reached for his belt buckle. She let out a little shriek and yanked the chenille bedspread around her. “Don’t take your pants off!”
“It’s a little tricky to manage if I leave them on,” he said. “Not that I couldn’t do it, but you’d really be more comfortable without my zipper rubbing against your thighs.”
“I don’t want any part of you rubbing against my thighs,” she said in a tight voice, trying to control the treacherous way her body was reacting. Even the enveloping chenille bedspread felt luscious, sensual.
“Sure you do,” he said, kicking out of his jeans and getting on the bed with her. “You just won’t admit it.” He slid up next to her, pulling her cocooned body into his arms, and he let his lips feather across her stubborn mouth, his tongue touching the corners, teasing her.
She was having a hard time keeping her body rigid in protest. She’d told him no and he hadn’t listened, she reminded herself, trying to drum up outrage. But his body felt too good up against hers.
He caught the edge of the bedspread with his hand, slipping his fingers beneath it, cool against her heated skin. “I tell you what. You can hate me. You can have me arrested. But you’ll be alive, and that’s all I care about.” And before she realized what he was doing he’d pulled the bedspread away from her, wrapping his body in it as well, and he was kissing his way down her body, his mouth latching on to her breast, sucking it into his mouth so hard she arched up off the bed. The pleasure was so fierce she couldn’t deny it anymore. She wanted, needed more, and when he moved to her other breast she almost came from the power of her response. Her deep, guttural groan filled the room, and she gave up, leaning back to give him better access to her shrouded body.
He put his wicked mouth between her legs, and she remembered that he’d said he would, and a tiny orgasm shook her body. He slid his long fingers inside her, and a more powerful one hit her, hard. He made it last, so long that she was sobbing, her fingers digging into his shoulders, clutching at him, as wave after wave shook her body, and before she could even begin to come down he pushed her legs apart, slid up and over her, and she could feel him, hard and heavy against her.
She slid her hand down his belly, wanting to touch him, wanting to wrap her fingers around his silken length, and he made a muffled sound of barely controlled need. It made no sense to fight this—she needed it too much, wanted it too much. It felt too damned good to stop, and she guided him to her, leaning back and lifting her hips for his deep, hard thrust.
She put her arms around his body, her face against his neck, lost in the feel and the