She sank down, her hand leaving his to brace on his hip bone. He kept his wrapped around the base of his shaft, preventing her from taking him in fully, until the sensation of wet heat working the head of his cock drove him to grip her hips and guide her down.
Her eyes closed and a very faint, high-pitched noise escaped her parted lips. It took every ounce of willpower he had left at his disposal to keep his hips still and relax into the pleasure, the sheer, undiluted pleasure of being inside her. She shifted a little, tensing and releasing around his cock until he was settled exactly to her liking, then braced her hands on his shoulders and lifted her hips. He flexed his hands, part urging, part guiding her back down.
“Oh,” she said. “Oh, that’s good.”
He growled his agreement, then growled again as she found a rhythm she liked, slow, steady, stretching time like taffy. Each downstroke firmly embedded him inside her, but she didn’t rush. Slow went with gentle and hard with fast, but Alana disconnected the two, keeping the pace torturously even and wickedly hard. His hands slid up her torso to cup her breasts, but she didn’t speed up. Instead, and oh, this was new, this was different, this made things a thousand times hotter, he felt her inner walls undulate around him as he rolled and pinched her nipples.
He’d thought he would treat the librarian like a well-bred lady, but she was taking him apart, muscle from bone, brain from defenses.
“Jesus,” he ground out. Air huffed from his lungs when she straightened and put the heel of her hand against his sternum. He lifted into her next gliding, quivering stroke and she cried out, her head lolling back on her neck.
The urge to bite that pale, slim throat roared along his nerves, but he held off, held off, because a hot red flush climbed from her collarbone over her fluttering pulse into her cheeks. Oh, Jesus, that was hot. That pushed him right to the edge, his balls tight, release seething in the tip of his cock, sweet heat and primitive pressure barely lashed down until . . .
She cried out again, the sound redolent with helpless release. The rhythmic clench of her walls around him, the defenseless droop of her shoulders combined to push him over the edge. Blackness swamped him as he jetted into her.
When he could see and think again, he opened his eyes to find Alana slumped above him, eyes closed, purely satisfied female slackening every line of her body. He’d done that to her. Him. He wrapped his arms around waist and shoulders and rolled her onto her back.
Her eyes flew open and she gave a startled gasp. Not bothering to explain what he couldn’t understand himself, he gripped her hair to expose her throat, then set his teeth to the soft hollow under her jaw.
She quivered under him, and the soft sound she made, all purring surrender, rippled through him. He felt himself start to soften. Reluctantly he pulled out, then walked down the hall to the bathroom, where he cleaned up. When he came back into the bedroom, she’d pulled the sheet and blanket up to her chin. He found his jeans and shorts, and stepped into both at once.
“Something tells me I’ve underestimated you,” he said as he buttoned his fly.
“How so?”
“You wanted this for a lot longer than the last couple of days. I thought maybe you were scared.”
Her skin pinkened again. “I said I wasn’t savvy. I’m experienced enough to know better,” she said cautiously. “I wasn’t sure it was a good idea.”
“Felt like a damned good idea to me,” he said, and put his hands on his hips. She didn’t fuss or fidget under his gaze. “What do you think about renovating your kitchen?”
She blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “It’s your house,” she pointed out.
“You’re living in it,” he replied. “Never mind. I’ll tackle it between tenants.”
“I’ve already cost you three months you could have spent renovating,” she said. “That would be fun.”
“You’ve never renovated anything before, have you?”
She shook her head, a smile curving her kiss-swollen lips. “Not fun?”
“Depends on your idea of fun.”
“It sounds interesting,” she offered.
“I can go with that. Another chance for you to tell me what you want,” he said.
She blushed, and her hand tightened on protective cotton and chenille armor, but then she climbed out of the bed, took her robe from the hook on the closet door, and wrapped it around her body. “We just established that I don’t have any experience with renovations,” she said again as she tightened the belt.
“You’re better with decorative stuff,” he said vaguely, looking around the bedroom. She hadn’t done much, but what she had done made the room look soft and homey. Feminine without froufrou shit, and somehow right for the house. His grandmother would have approved.
“All right,” she said.
“Saturday,” he said decisively.
“The library’s open until one. I’m free after that.”
She followed him into the kitchen where he plucked his T-shirt from the floor and pulled it on. Duke, still sprawled under the table, lifted his head to peer inquiringly at Lucas. He clicked for him and the old dog scrambled to his feet.