What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [15]
Lust. Fear.
Curiosity. Regret.
And the strange sensation of wanting to . . . somehow be possessed by him.
Oh Lord. That last part made her shake her head. Where had it even come from?
The wine, surely.
But she couldn’t keep attributing everything to alcohol. Something strange was taking place inside her—some of the most intense sexual feelings she’d ever experienced swirled and swam there, clashing with everything else she was. Jenna the historical biographer. Jenna the conservative dresser. Jenna the dependable friend, the academic, the library volunteer, the college wallflower, the student council president, the eighth-grade girl with braces . . . It went on and on, all the way back to her youth. None of those Jennas knew how this Jenna—this Jenna whose breasts ached with longing and who thought she might die soon if she didn’t have an orgasm—had suddenly come into being.
God, it had been a long day. A long day of thinking about sex. Of feeling it in the air here—even if it hadn’t been “in her face,” as she’d worried about. No, it was more subtle than that. It lingered in corridors and wafted among the palm fronds, being blown to and fro by the sea breeze. It had . . . soaked into her skin, she feared. How else could she explain the raw lust coursing through her veins now?
Wine and rum punch? Sure, maybe. But there was more. The aura of what this place was about. And then had come this man—this hot-as-hell, smooth-as-silk man who unnerved her, irritated her, and excited her all at once. This man who had somehow made her talk about sex and who thought she needed it. And worst of all, now she did. Now—because of all this—she needed it.
But she couldn’t have it. To agree to what he was suggesting would be insane.
All you have to do is turn around and tell him you still don’t want the fantasies—then walk away. That was the agreement—it’s all that’s required of you.
So do that. Do it now. Put an end to this. Get on with your vacation, and your life.
She sensed his presence behind her just before his hand closed warmly over the curve of her waist. His breath warmed her neck as he leaned close, speaking low. “What’ll it take, sunshine, to prove I’m right? To prove to you how much you want all the sex you’re not having?”
She tried to breathe evenly, think clearly. “I can’t imagine anything would convince me of that.” Go now. Walk away.
“Really?” he whispered. “Nothing?” His hand moved slowly around, sliding onto her stomach, and the warmth of his body cocooned her from behind.
And still she heard herself say, “Nothing.”
Yet—oh God. Oh God. What was happening? He was . . . touching her. At first, she’d tried to believe it was . . . not sexual, just supportive. But this was sexual. His thumb, gliding along the underside of her breast, was sexual. His breath on her ear was sexual. His body, pressing gently, seductively into hers from behind was sexual. And God knew the way her body yearned, the way the mound between her thighs practically hummed now—that was sexual, too. More sexual than she’d even known she could feel.
And she wasn’t walking away. She wasn’t moving at all. Except for the pounding of her heart. And that outrageous pulse in her panties.
And then—oh God, oh God, oh God—she felt . . . his arousal and gasped. She wasn’t sure if it shocked her more to know she was capable of that—arousing this man—or to feel the stunning hardness stretching upward against her rear. She’d begun to tremble.
His hold on her tightened gently, anchoring her as he whispered low again into her ear. “It’s all right, sunshine. Relax now. I’ve got you. And I just want you to feel good.”
In front of him, she bit her lip. How could this be happening? But . . . maybe that didn’t matter because—oh, it felt amazing. Especially after aching and tingling all damn day. It felt like . . . lush, intoxicating relief.
Finally, she gave in to it, sank into it, into his large, sturdy male body.
The next thing she knew, he was kissing her neck, making her feel it where she throbbed, each kiss like