“I feel the heat where you touch me, but I also feel it all over my skin. Oh!”
Drake had bent and taken a nipple in his mouth. The bud felt tender, velvety in his mouth. He pulled, as a child pulls at its mother’s breast, only he pulled with a man’s strength. Grace moaned, twisted, a hand coming up to cup the back of his head, the other his uninjured shoulder. He felt the small bite of her nails and would have smiled, except that the electricity he felt left no room for smiling.
“Oh God. When you do that, I feel it in my womb, with each tug.”
Drake lifted his head, frowning, the unfamiliar word bouncing around his head while he tried to pin a meaning to it. Womb…wasn’t that where pregnant women carried their babies? Then it struck him. She meant her cunt. She was feeling what he was doing in her cunt.
He had to breathe hard around his excitement. He pulled the covers off her, opened the jacket wide and, watching her eyes carefully, slipped the trousers down her legs. She swam in them; they came off easily.
Shaking, he pulled one long slender leg to one side and feasted his eyes on her. Narrow waist, round hips, smooth little belly. A puff of dark red hair between her thighs hiding a pale pink slit. He covered her with his hand. “Here, Grace?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Do you feel it here?” He waggled his big hand a little and she widened her legs. His middle finger stroked her carefully.
She wet her lips, tried to say something, then finally nodded.
“Let me know,” he insisted. “Let me hear your voice. Let me know everything you’re feeling. I need to know if I’m pleasing you. I need that like I need air.”
Another long, light caress along her slit. The muscles of her stomach contracted.
“I don’t think—
ah!
” He’d bent his head again to her breast, suckling hard. He swirled his finger around her, thumb brushing her clitoris. She drew in a deep shuddering breath. “I don’t think not pleasing me is a problem.”
“That’s very good,” Drake murmured against her skin. God, touching her skin was like touching satin. Satin with the sheen of pearls. She didn’t take the sun, her skin was unmarred by bathing-suit stripes. She was the same color all over—a pale pearl with a slight pink glow of healthy skin, healthy woman. He lifted his head, torn between closing his eyes to savor the taste of her breast, the touch of her soft woman’s tissues, and wanting to see everything, every detail about her. All the soft little slicks and hollows, the unique set of muscles and angles that made up Grace. He wanted to watch her face as he touched her, watch the glow of arousal slowly blossom on her skin.
Grace smiled and Drake watched that lush mouth move.
It occurred to him that he hadn’t kissed her yet. How could that be? How crazy of him to forget the rules of seduction, just toss them out the window. First you kiss, then you touch. Everything was upside down and inside out with Grace.
A smooth shift of his muscles and he brought his head up to hers, mouth aligned with hers. She was watching him carefully, smile completely gone.
His smile was gone, too.
They both knew that this wasn’t going to be a casual kiss. Staring at her mouth, Drake actually hesitated a moment. He was at the edge of a precipice and should be windmilling his arms to get back to safety.
Instead, he lowered his head.
Ah, she tasted as delightful as he knew she would, though he tasted her briefly. A touch of his lips to hers, then a few molecules of air between them. A taste, no more. There was no hurry.
The room was quiet, as if they were the only two humans left alive on earth, which would suit him just fine. The walls were soundproof; rugs and tapestries absorbed any other possible noises. The only sounds were those of his mouth on hers. Another quick taste, lifting his mouth to angle for a better fit, his tongue meeting hers. At that first electric touch, they both exhaled shakily, then Drake finally just sank into her, tongue deep in her mouth, stroking.
One of her arms hooked around his neck and pulled, as if to bring him closer to her, when he was as close as her breath.
Drake was always hyper-aware of time. He wore an expensive Rolex because it really was nearly indestructible, but he rarely had to check it. There was a very accurate clock in his head that kept time for him.
The clock broke. He had no concept of time at all. Something broke loose in his head and drifted free.
The only time he recognized was the time it took to make her sigh, the time it took her hand to move from his biceps to his shoulder and back, the time it took for his skin to become so sensitive, it felt like she was touching raw nerve endings.
His tongue stroked hers again and he felt her little cunt muscles ripple. Oh God, yes! Moisture was welling up from inside her, as if he were licking her there instead of her mouth. They had a direct connection between their kiss and their genitals. With each sigh and each stroke, he could feel himself swelling, growing larger, longer, it seemed, with each beat of his heart, while she softened.
She was slippery. His hand moved with ease through the soft folds. He kept his touch light, delicate, trying to match strokes of his tongue with strokes of his thumb. The first time she nearly came off the bed, but he bore down with his mouth.
He lightened up. He was naturally dominant in bed, rarely letting the woman be on top, often holding her limbs down. He had to curb his nature with Grace, let her breathe, follow her lead.
Another slow journey around her labia, smiling inside at the light moan coming from the back of her throat.
Time to take the next step. She was wet. His finger was making slippery little noises as he explored the outside of her cunt. He opened his mouth wider over hers, and entered her with his finger.
Uh-oh.
Trouble.
Grace stiffened, then consciously relaxed her muscles, but Drake knew she wasn’t in that dreamy, lax state she’d been in. His finger was hurting her. She was hiding it, but he could tell.
Fuck.
She was incredibly tight, much too tight.
He lifted his head and she gave an uneasy smile. She was trying to relax her muscles around his finger, trying to breathe her way through it.
He remembered an old movie line. “Houston, we have a problem.”
That earned him a laugh.
“Sorry, I’m—”
He lay a finger across her lips. “Shhh. God, no apologies.” He slid his finger out a little, then back in. Tight little muscles clenched around him. “But if I make love to you now, I’ll hurt you, and I don’t want to do that. When was the last time you had a man…here?” He thrust his finger a little more deeply.
“Not…for a long time.” Her narrow rib cage was rising and falling rapidly.
Drake stilled, astounded. “Are American men blind, then? Or crazy?”
Grace laughed, her hands kneading his shoulder muscles. “Actually, I think American men think
I’m
crazy. Or eccentric beyond their comfort zone. I guess I actually stopped thinking about sex a couple of years ago.” Small frown lines appeared between ash brown eyebrows. “Is this really going to be a problem?”
Yes, but he would get around it.
Drake took her hand, lifted it to his mouth, then brought it under the drawstring of his pajama pants to fold around his cock. His breath blew out in a hiss at the feel of her hand around him. “You tell me if we have a problem.”
“God,” she whispered, her face showing shock. “I’m not—I can’t.” She sucked in a breath, her hand flexing around his cock. Experimentally, she ran it up over the head, feeling it weeping, then pulling her fist down to the base. She had to open her hand up to do it. Her touch electrified him. “What do you suggest we—”
The words were drowned in his mouth. The kiss was deeper, harder, more possessive than before, and it reverberated in both their bodies. He could feel how the kiss affected her. She clenched tightly around his finger, growing slicker by the second. And Grace could feel how his cock surged in her hand, echoing her inner muscles. She was growing wetter and so was he, the tip of his cock weeping so hard he could feel the cool air. It wasn’t all he was feeling. As he shifted so that his chest covered hers without breaking the kiss, a hot electric line raced along his spine. His balls tightened painfully. He could move his finger with ease now, in and out of her slick folds. His thumb passed over her clitoris again and she passed her own thumb over the slit at the tip of his cock that was weeping to be in her.
He felt it with every cell in his body.
“I will have my cock in you here, soon,” he breathed into her mouth, finger sliding into her deeply, so slick and hot. “But only when you are ready.”
Her hand speeded up. So did his. “I might…be ready now,” she panted.
She wasn’t ready for his cock but she was definitely ready to come.
“First you come for me,” Drake murmured against her mouth, setting up a rhythm of penetration and retreat echoed by her hand fisting his cock.
Grace gave out a little cry, almost of surprise, the walls of her cunt clenching hard, over and over as her legs shook. It pushed him right over the edge as every muscle tensed and the base of his spine exploded. He bit the pillow next to her head as he came in long, rhythmic spurts, in time with her contractions. She kept her hand around him, hot and tight, milking him as they both shook and moaned.
Finally, Drake’s muscles relaxed, felt like water as he lay half over her, one hand cupping her mound, one hand cupping her head. She released his cock finally.
Their breathing slowed, evened out.
“Well, that worked,” she finally whispered.
Drake could barely lift his head.
He rarely felt wiped out after sex. If anything, it energized him. But right now, lifting his head to give her a quick kiss seemed to be the most he could hope for. God help him when they could finally make love. It would probably kill him.
Ah, well. You had to go some time.
They lay like that, not asleep, not awake, as the room slowly filled with late-morning light. It was the first time Drake could ever remember when he hadn’t started the day early, with specific business plans. His big plan right now was to keep Grace in bed with him, making sure she got used to being naked with him, until her skin smelled of his.
He’d try again to fuck her, just as soon as he could move.
See if she loosened up a little, so he wouldn’t panic at the thought of hurting her when he entered her. It would happen, he just didn’t know when.
His head had come to rest against hers on the pillow, his lips close to the skin of her neck. Much too beautiful to resist. He moved forward the inch necessary to kiss her, breathing in deeply. He could smell her skin and his. The scent of their sex was unlike any other he’d smelled.
Grace’s hand dropped from his shoulder, making a faint plop sound as it fell to the mattress. “Drake, I think real sex is going to be too much for me. I’m not too sure I can handle it.”
He breathed in and out, slowly. Every single muscle felt lax, like water. His mind was completely empty, no thoughts at all. Only sensations, all connected with her. the feel of her silky skin under his fingertips. The scent of her skin, the sound of her breathing.
He’d traveled the world, racking up more air miles than any pilot possibly could. He’d lived in eight countries, was intimately familiar with fifteen more.
This was an entirely new country for him, a new, completely unfamiliar landscape.
He didn’t know if he could handle sex with her, either, but he was willing to try. His cock, ten minutes after an explosive orgasm, twitched at the thought. His fingers knew how she felt inside and now his cock was jealous.
You’ll get your turn,
Drake wanted to tell it—and then thought that he was going crazy, talking to his own penis.
He wanted to lift his head, reassure her, but he didn’t have the energy. It was the oddest lassitude. Not the frightening weakness of being wounded. He’d been weak from blood loss only a few times and it was terrifying. When he was weak, he was instant prey.
No, this was different. His muscles weren’t weak, they were…relaxed.
How odd a feeling.
Grace’s stomach growled, loudly. Drake laughed into her neck. “I guess I know what you want. And right now, it appears that sex isn’t it.”
He could feel the slight shift in the air as she smiled. “To tell you the truth, breakfast sounds good right about now.”
He’d already ordered it. Trays would be waiting on a trolley outside the bedroom door.
Drake lifted his head. “Something tells me it’s ready. Stay right where you are.”
The weakness disappeared instantly. Grace needed food. Just the thought of her being uncomfortable—God,
hungry
—in his home, was enough to energize him. He rolled out of bed naked, making for the door, then heard a soft noise behind him.
Drake turned. She was up on one elbow, staring, mouth slightly open. Her hair was tousled, falling in soft locks over her shoulders. One lock, delightfully, had fallen to encircle one nipple, now not cherry red and diamond hard but soft and pale.
An enchantress that had been tumbled and would be tumbled again.