“No, damn, I like it, but … ow, Jesus, yes, there … but not tonight.”
She almost asked him if there was an agenda for this, a schedule she hadn’t gotten for this thing they both agreed was a bad idea and shouldn’t do, but settled for yanking on the back of his T-shirt until he got the message, lifting his arm so she could pull it over his head, then shifting his weight from hips to his other arm so she could drop it to the floor.
And stare.
“Oh my God,” she said, getting the words out before she got lost running greedy hands over planes of muscle. He was put together like a rough sketch of a superhero, maybe the Hulk, sloping rectangles of all sizes overlapping each other to form pectorals, abdominal ridges, shoulders. Dark ink swirled in interesting patterns over his shoulders and down his side, and wiry hair covered his chest. She combed her fingers through it to find his nipples, drawn in to tight, hard buds. The hair tapered at his navel to a single line dead center between his hipbones, disappearing into the elastic band of his underwear, visible above the looser waist of his jeans.
“I think I just regressed through thirty thousand years to the caveman days.”
He huffed out a laugh that made his abdominals flex in interesting ways. “If you’re still talking, I can do better.”
She looked up at him, saw his stark lines, all anger and tattoos. His hair had been molded to his forehead by the watch cap. He looked brutal. He looked wounded.
But his thick, scarred fingers were gentle when he reached for her old T-shirt doing duty as a pajama top. He pulled it up, again swamping her with that arousing sense of vulnerability as she lifted her arms to facilitate drawing it over her head. His hands swept up from her ribs, going not, as she expected, to her breasts but rather to curve around her shoulders. He lifted her, again gently but implacably, and settled her back down so his cock nestled into her sex. The thin layers of jersey sleep pants and panties were little defense against his button fly, or the thick weight of his shaft, pulsing as he cupped the curves of her breasts. His fingers were so close to where she wanted them, close but not touching, just holding, letting her feel his rough palms against her tender skin. A single rocking move rubbed her clit against all that hardness, sending sparks along her nerves to her nipples. They peaked, pleading for his touch.
His mouth hovered over hers, swift, flickering licks that did nothing to stifle her soft gasps as his hands scudded down to her breasts. He alternated pinches and sweeps of his thumbs over her nipples as his hips rhythmically ground into her sex. She clung to him, letting it wash through her and drive her responses, holding nothing back as slick heat gathered between her legs.
“I want more than this,” she said, and bit his shoulder.
“You sure?” he said. “I can make you come like this.”
“I need more.” She nipped her way up to his ear, then bit down on the lobe hard enough to make him inhale and close his fingers tight around her nipples. “I need you inside me.”
He gave a soft growl, then wrapped one arm around her hips and pushed away from the wall with the other. Her bedroom was dark, the covers twisted awkwardly where she’d tossed and turned before giving in to her body’s basic need. He stopped to set her down on the bed.
“Do you have condoms?”
So the duffle didn’t hold condoms. That was rather sweet of him. Wordlessly she reached into the top drawer of her nightstand. She’d unpacked them from her tour bags, where they stayed in an inside pocket, ready for action that never came. Still looking up at him, she reached for his belt and plucked apart leather and metal.
“That’s the hottest thing ever,” he said.
“What? This?” She popped the top button on his fly, revealing dark cotton underwear distended by the heavy thrust of his shaft. She glanced quickly at the mirror over the dresser opposite the bed and saw exactly what she’d expected to see. “Oh. Topless girl kneeling while she opens your jeans.”
His big hand clasped her chin, calluses scraping rough over her jaw as he lifted her face to his. “You showing me how much you want me.”
It was a confession, offered up in darkness, too tender to be exposed to the light. Still looking up at his face but unable to see his expression, she opened the next button. His shaft flexed in response. With the next button, his thumb stroked her lips, and with the next, dipped inside. By the time she had his fly open she was sucking on his thumb, letting him see her face, her eyes as she did.
She eased his jeans and underwear over the tight curve of his buttocks. Denim and cotton thudded to the floor under the weight of his gun and handcuffs. His cock bobbed free, and he wrapped his hand around the shaft, stroking. She bent forward and opened her mouth, but he stopped her.