Still Lake - Anne Stuart [57]
At least it was dark. His eyes drifted down over her body, the ripe curves in the moonlight, and a dreamy expression crossed his face, just before he leaned forward and put his mouth against the side of her neck, tasting her hammering pulse.
She stood very still, like a doe caught in the headlights, hoping maybe he’d forget she was there and go away. But he held her wrists, and he was sliding his hands up her arms to hold her shoulders. He moved his mouth to the base of her throat, and she could feel his tongue.
That worried little moan of pleasure couldn’t have come from her, could it? Maybe the loons were out on the lake, floating safely in the silver water. Maybe it was an owl….
He reached behind her and opened the screen door, pushing her back into the house with only the lightest touch. “I’m not doing this,” she warned him.
“Sure you are. The only question is whether we’re going to do it standing up, on the dining room table or make it all the way up to my bed.”
Her eyes widened in shock. They were back in the dark again, the moonlight barely making it in one window, and she should have felt less vulnerable. But his hands were still on her, and she couldn’t even make another token protest. Not when he’d slid his arms around her waist, pulling her up against his hot, strong body, and he was kissing her. Slowly. Lazily. Thoroughly.
Skin against skin. His hard chest against her soft breasts. Her chilled flesh against his heat. Now she was shivering. Silly, she thought absently. It wasn’t that cold. Why was she shivering?
He broke the kiss, swearing softly. “The hell with this,” he muttered, and she felt a sudden panic that he’d changed his mind, that he didn’t want her. And then an even greater panic as he simply scooped her up and laid her down on the floor.
The carpet was scratchy beneath her back. And then it wasn’t her back she was thinking about, as he leaned over her in the darkness and slid his hands down her shoulders to her breasts.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he filled it with his tongue, and for some reason she arched beneath him as his fingers touched her nipples with the lightest, most unexpectedly erotic touches. And she wanted more.
Maybe if she closed her eyes here in the dark it would be accomplished as if by magic. She could finally get rid of her virginity, and then she could go on to find someone more suitable….
He put his mouth on one breast, sucking at it, and a stripe of hot pleasure speared down between her legs. He must have known, because he put his hand between her legs as his mouth pulled at her breast, his fingers sliding inside her, rubbing against her with a slow, deliberate rhythm that matched the tug of his mouth at her breast, and she couldn’t speak, couldn’t argue, couldn’t make much more than a choked gasp that caught in her throat as a spasm of pleasure hit her body.
She knew what an orgasm was like—she was a modern woman who knew her own body. It was nothing like this. It was…
She stopped thinking coherently as her body convulsed beneath his relentless touch. He stopped then, but she had no words to argue, when she heard the unmistakable rasp of his zipper, the quick fumble of clothes, of paper tearing.
She surfaced long enough to realize he was using a condom, to realize he was back, kneeling between her legs, and she knew this was going to happen unless she said something. She couldn’t remember how it had gotten to this point, so fast. The man was certainly efficient. She only knew that if he stopped she’d die.
He stretched out over her body and kissed her, and for the first time she kissed him back. “Put your arms