He tugged again, and her dress slipped to her ankles, leaving her in nothing, not even her temper, which had deserted her at his first touch. She stared at their erotic reflection, his sinewy tanned arm encircling her much paler, softer body, and felt her knees wobble.
“Holly,” he murmured on a shaky exhale, sweeping his hand over her belly. “You’re so beautiful.” His mouth moved over her jaw. His right hand, so dark against her pale skin, cupped a breast, his left slipping down her belly. “Beautiful and . . . ah, yeah. Wet.” His fingers slipped even lower, unerringly finding her. “So wet.”
“Imagine if I wasn’t mad at you,” she managed, gasping when his thumb flicked over her. She couldn’t take her eyes off their reflection, at his big hand between her thighs. “I’d probably go off like a firecracker.”
“You’re still going to,” he promised, and slipped a finger inside her, flexing it as he played his thumb over her center in exactly the right rhythm.
Her knees buckled but he caught her, effortlessly holding her as he continued to drive her right out of her mind, and she thought he just might be right. He just might get her to go off like a firecracker before he even got inside her.
“Spread your legs,” he commanded softly, and when she did, he added another finger and deepened the pressure of his thumb.
With a gasp, she rolled her head back against his chest, aware of the picture she made in the mirror—naked, legs wide, arms up, entwined around his neck while his hand cupped a breast, the other played between her thighs. “I can’t keep standing,” she gasped.
“I’ve got you.” And he did. He had her completely under his control, his mouth on her neck, his hands possessively, erotically on her body, which was more than halfway to orgasm. Her response was uncharacteristically and inexplicably uninhibited, wildly so, and she didn’t care as she arched under his hands, desperate for more.
He gave it, gave everything, as if he already knew her body, knew what she needed, working her over until she could hardly draw air into her lungs. “Come for me,” he murmured in her ear, his fingers masterfully stroking her, keeping her poised on that very edge. “I want to feel you come.”
“I can’t,” she gasped. “Not standing—”
But then his fingers twisted inside her, pressing against a spot she didn’t even know she had, while still stroking his thumb over her, and that was it. She did as he’d asked and came.
Standing up.
When she was still shuddering, he turned her to face him, backing her up a few steps until the mattress hit the backs of her thighs. Urging her down, he followed, sprawling his big, hot, heavy body over hers, spreading her legs with one of his own, dropping his head low enough to give her a deep, long, carnal kiss that had her gasping and hungry and desperate all over again.
“Your pants.” She tugged at them. “Off.”
Rolling to his back, he popped open the buttons and kicked off his shoes but then shook his head, panting. “I can’t get the jeans off. My shoulder—”
He was sprawled flat on his back, chest bare, pants low on his hips, looking hot and bothered and sexy as hell. She could have just looked at him like that forever, but he was struggling and she was afraid he’d hurt himself. Coming up to her knees, she worked to tug his jeans down his hips. When his very large erection sprang free, her mouth went dry. “You’re commando, too,” she managed, staring, unable to stop from wrapping her fingers around him.
A rough groan rumbled up from deep in his throat. “My damn shoulder—getting dressed sucks, so I—Jesus,” he gasped when she stroked him from root to tip. They hadn’t gotten his pants past his upper thighs, so his legs were pinned. He couldn’t move his right arm. And damn if there wasn’t something about the sight of him, huge and gorgeous, and just a little helpless. Feminine pleasure and power surged through her in unprecedented waves, and while he struggled to finish stripping, struggled to touch her from his position, she decided to take matters in her own hands.
Literally.
Opening her nightstand, she pulled out the unopened box of condoms she’d had forever, and struggled to roll one down his thick length. She took so long her thighs were quivering and his torso was damp with sweat, and with a laughing low groan, he took over the task.
“Sorry,” she murmured, watching him. “Been a while.”
He shook his head. “There’s no hurry—” This sentence ended in a rush of breath as she straddled him, then kissed him. He nudged her closer, kissing her back hard and deep as he thrust into her.
Her own gasp of pleasure filled her ears, along with a rough groan from him, and suddenly she was on the edge all over again, quivering with it, and he hadn’t even moved inside her yet.
Then he did, and oh good Lord. “Pace—”
“I know.” His hand skimmed up her belly to a breast. “I want to—”
She rocked her hips, dragging another rough groan from him. His head was back now, the tendons in his neck standing out in bold relief as his fingers dug into her moving hips, guiding her, urging her into bold thrusts that he couldn’t quite manage on his own because of his injury. He encouraged her with low, wordless murmurs and that was it for her. He was it for her, and she came again, flying high as he joined her with one last hard thrust, her name on his lips.
It took her a while to reacquaint herself with her muscles. When she managed to lift her head from where she’d pressed her face against his throat, she blinked and tried to focus.