Jori’s little cries of pleasure were his reward. She was stretched out beneath him, her thighs locked around his waist. He held her hands, fingers intertwined flat against the bedding on either side of her head. He was completely in charge of her pleasure. And he had every intention of delivering each and every one of the one hundred strokes he’d promised her.
He took a deep breath, withdrawing his penis until her wet flesh held just the thick tip in its embrace.
Jori looked up at him. He was sweating; every taut line of his face and bunched muscle of his arms and shoulders glistened with his exertions. And she’d never been happier to see anyone struggle so hard.
One hundred strokes.
That’s what he’d promised as compensation for the night in Eureka Springs when they’d come together as much out of desperation as desire and he’d taken what he needed and left her marooned. She didn’t agree with his interpretation of that night. But only a fool would argue with a man as eager and well equipped to pay as he was.
“Twenty-eight.”
“Twenty-seven.” She grinned up at him. “Circling doesn’t count.”
He laughed, a husky deep sound that came from somewhere just north of his navel. “Twenty-eight, now. And twenty-nine. And now thirty.”
Jori gasped as he plunged in so deep, her body fluttered and gripped him. Then she dug her heels into the mattress and lifted up off the bed, following his withdrawal.
“Damn, Jori. You’re pushing me.” The admission seemed wrung out of him.
“You didn’t say I couldn’t play, too.”
Law flung his head back and flexed into her again, wondering how anything that ached so bad could feel so good. He felt like he was going to explode. Not just the very lucky inches of him buried in her wet heat but his entire body would participate in a climax that was seventy strokes away. If …
“You need to talk to me. Now.”
His grumpy demand, so at odds with the liquid ripple of his back, butt, and thigh muscles, made her smile. “What do you want me to say?”
“Anything. Please. Distract me.” The last came through gritted teeth as he made his way stroke by delicious stroke through the thirties.
“Tell me about your tattoo.” The first time she asked, he’d ignored her question.
He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “It’s called the Twin Water-Fowls. It’s the symbol of the Alabama-Coushatta Tribes.”
His rhythm slowed, adjusted for thought. “It represents the gift of free will from the Great Creator. We believe each individual makes his own choice between ‘good’ and ‘evil.’ Forty-three. Forty-four…”
“So they are like yin and yang?”
“More than that.” He paused and gave her a sly glance. “Want to ride awhile?”
“And do your work for you?” She smiled and shook her head.
“There’s a chair over there.” He turned his head to the wooden straight-back chair that served as her vanity stool and dressing chair. “Forty-eight, forty-nine. Fifty!”
“Oh!” Her fingers clenched over his. He’d found it, the rhythm that was going to take her over the edge. Fifty-two, -three, -four, -five. Fifty-five was a winner.
When she came back to the present Law’s forehead lay buried in the hollow between her shoulder and neck, and he was whispering, “Sixty-two, sixty-three, God, Jori. You feel so good. I’m sorry, I can’t—”
She blew out her breath, rubbed her cheek in his hair. “You were telling me about, oh, good and evil. Is that all?”
“No.” He paused, threw back his head as he arched into her, and sucked in a long deep breath. “The Twin Water-Fowls represent the positive and negative elements of polarities: day and night, sky and earth, life and death, man and woman, alpha and omega, the beginning and the end.”
“Circle of Life.” Seventy-seven. Long slow seventy-eight and seventy-nine.
“That’s—oh yes, like that.” She rolled her head back and forth, wanting so much to dig her nails into his ass and ride him home. But they were almost there. “That’s pretty profound for a lone wolf.”
He looked down at her, lifted himself as much as possible without losing their vital connection, and took in her nakedness just for the pleasure of it. “Is that how you think of me? Lone wolf?”
“It’s how you think of yourself.” Jori paused to take in the pleasure of his deep slide back into her body. She’d lost count. The tension was rising again, the sweet twisting need that bound two bodies in mutual hunger. But he was moaning. Keep talking.
She opened her eyes and forced herself to focus on his left biceps while the deep slow grind of his body on hers could so easily have stroked her blind. “It’s so intricately patterned. There’s got to be more.”
“Eighty-five. Eighty-six. Okay. Remember, you asked. See the four diamond-shaped symbols in the mouths of the birds? They represent the four elements: air.” Stroke. “Earth.” Stroke. “Water.” Hip rotation and deep plunge. “Fire. Things that make life possible.” He was grunting now between words.
Jori relaxed, listening to his voice coming from deep within. Her body had begun to flow with his, an adjustment to the rhythm of his voice.