It started as a flutter, ballooning into warmth, then exploded in a fireball of heat. All of a sudden, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. This couldn’t be happening again, not so soon, not so quickly. She’d never…
Suzanne stilled and cried out, throbbing with intense, almost painful pleasure. It went on and on. John’s steady movements kept her on the edge for so long she thought she would faint from the pleasure-pain. After what felt like hours, he licked the skin behind her ear, lightly bit the lobe, then whispered, “It’s got to be hard and fast now, darlin’. I can’t control myself much longer. But if I get on top, I’ll pound you through the mattress. Gotta be from behind.”
She could barely understand his words. What was he talking about? That unbridled lovemaking, hot and hard—that had been controlling himself?
When he pulled out of her, she felt a sudden emptiness. But there was no time to mourn the loss of his body in hers. He flipped her over, stuffed both pillows under her stomach and lifted her hips. Her muscles were lax, rubbery. She couldn’t react, could barely move. He moved her like a little doll.
His knees slid between hers, opening them and then suddenly he was there, slamming in so hard and fast she gasped.
He gave a few experimental thrusts. He slid in deep and stopped, touching her womb. He rotated his hips, measuring her sheath, testing her for wetness and reception.
“Not yet,” he muttered. Bending forward, he wrapped one strong arm around her. “You need to come one more time.”
His hand moved through the folds of her sex, touching her where she was clenched around his penis, then sliding up where he caressed—so, so carefully—her clitoris. It was like being struck by lightning. Suzanne stiffened and moaned.
“Oh, yeah,” he breathed. Though the pad of his finger was rough, his touch was delicate, as were the light rocking motions he made inside her. Slipping in and out, barely moving, in time with his sliding finger on her clitoris…
She stopped breathing, stopped thinking, stopped seeing…everything inside her clenched, gathered…
And leapt. Her heart started pounding as she pulsed around him. A hard, tense orgasm, which brought tears to her eyes. Her cry was muffled against the mattress. He held himself still, tightly wedged inside her, unmoving until she quieted. She lay with her forehead against the mattress, trying to catch her breath.
Finally, Suzanne arched her neck to look behind her—and froze.
“Brace yourself, because I’m going to do you hard. Grab the bedstead.” His deep voice was choked, almost unrecognizable. The softly liquid southern intonations were gone.
He looked frighteningly dangerous. His features were sharp with arousal. Red flags rode his cheekbones and his lips were dark with blood. His eyes—glittering shards—watched her with laser-sharp intensity. The huge muscles in his shoulders and biceps were corded with tension as he held her hips with his hands, clutching so tightly she knew she’d be bruised later.
Even if she wanted to, there was no turning back, no escaping his powerful grip. She searched his face for traces of mercy and found none. No softness, no sign of affection. Just pure lust. A strong, rampant male in full rut. Whatever was going to happen next was completely out of her control.
And maybe out of his.
She felt so vulnerable, so completely open, crouching there with her backside in the air. They touched in only three places. His knees keeping hers wide apart, his hands clenched on her hips and his penis in her sheath.
His knees pushed hers further apart, and he tightened his grip on her hips. She could feel the dark crisp hairs of his thighs against the inside of hers, the hair around his sex against her bottom. In this position she couldn’t control the depth or rhythm of his thrusts. She was totally and completely at his mercy.
It seemed as if the whole world were still. Silent. Dark. Waiting for a sign.
Suzanne studied his face, the strength and the lust and the frightening male blankness. It was too much for her. She closed her eyes, turned and buried her head in the mattress. Her hands reached up, fingers curling around the bars of the bedstead.
It was a signal—of submission, of surrender. He bucked, once, and she grunted. For a moment, she thought he would stop, but then he moved, suddenly and furiously, pumping hard and fast.
Afterwards, she never knew how long it lasted. An hour, two hours, all night. There was no way of telling. He rammed into her mercilessly, endlessly, using the full strength of his body. On and on in a steady, driving rhythm. The bed creaked so much with the force of his thrusts she was vaguely surprised it didn’t collapse.
No limits. And there seemed to be no limits to the pleasure he was able to call forth from her. She climaxed over and over again, completely out of control of her own body.
Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, when her trembling and sweaty hands were losing their grip on the iron rods of the bedstead, when her throat burned from the gasps and her nipples were rubbed raw from the sheet, she felt him swell, grow even harder. With a shout, he erupted inside her. His rough hands clamped around her hips were the only things holding her up. He ground hard against her as he came and groaned as if he were dying.
She felt like she was dying herself, completely outside herself, completely beyond the bounds of what she’d always considered herself.
“Jesus.” The word was half-whisper, half-moan as John collapsed on top of her, his heavy weight pinning her to the mattress. He was sweaty and smelled of musk. His penis, even now partially erect, still lay in her and she could feel the wetness of his semen trickling out of her vagina, along her thighs.
She felt his large hand brushing over her tangled hair, the tickle of his breath over her bare shoulder as he sighed and then nothing more as sleep claimed her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was barely dawn when John awoke. He was a soldier and was used to waking up instantly alert. They used to practice it—he’d keep his men sleep-deprived for days, then test marksmanship a few minutes after waking them up, minutes into REM sleep. John himself didn’t have problems. He was good at that, good at being able to focus instantly on the new day.
Now, though his mind was alert, his body foolishly wanted to simply stay in bed, curled around Suzanne’s back.
She didn’t move when she slept. He couldn’t hear her breathing but he could feel it, one hand curled around her rib cage, fingers just brushing the soft underside of her breast. She was impossibly soft and delicate, almost too much so, for the use he’d made of her through the night. His dick stirred at the memory and he pulled her even closer, burying his face against the delicate skin of her neck. His beard rasped against that pale, fragile skin and he pulled back. He didn’t want to give her whisker burn.
He lay still, savoring the moment. That, too, was a soldier’s trick. In the field, any moment could be your last. Your senses opened, each sight, sound, taste, smell razor-sharp and intense.
This wasn’t a firebase, but danger still threatened. Which is why, though he’d rather just lie here forever, curled around Suzanne, he had to get up. Contact Bud to see if there had been any developments. Check the perimeter. Get his men in on the investigation.
Pete and Jacko wouldn’t be as hampered as Bud in getting info. Bud had to obey the law. Pete and Jacko had to obey him and he was a hell of a lot more demanding than the law. Particularly when it came to protecting Suzanne Barron.
Detaching himself from Suzanne proved harder than he thought. His hands simply didn’t want to leave her. He usually rolled out of bed two seconds after waking up, but now he simply lay there, stroking her skin, smelling her hair, feeling her warmth.