Chapter 81 81
He hesitated, but obeyed. “That’s asking a lot, sweetheart. You’re one hell of a temptation.”
“We’ll get there,” she promised. With fumbling fingers, she unfastened the buttons of his shirt. Never had she seen a work of art that rivaled Justin's broad, hard chest. Hard muscles rippled beneath golden skin. An arrow of dark brown hair bisected his rib cage on the way to his belt buckle. When she had the temerity to taste one copper-colored nipple, he cursed.
His hands fisted in her hair, dragging her face up to his for a kiss. “God, you make me burn.”
It didn’t sound entirely like a compliment.
He ravaged her mouth, left love bites at her throat. She wanted him as naked as she was, but she barely had time to catch her breath, much less make demands. When she tried to open the fly of his jeans, he manacled her wrists with one big hand and held them behind her back.
The overt dominance of the action dragged her more deeply into the spell that swirled around them both. She could have broken the hold. She knew that. And he probably knew it as well. But the force of his hunger demanded her compliance, and her own need fed from his.
“Please, Justin,” she begged, arching into him. “I want to touch you.”
Finally, reluctantly, he released her long enough to rip off his socks and remove his jeans in a harried, one-footed dance. His sex sprang forth eagerly, its length and girth a thing of beauty. The longer she stared, the more it grew.
“Justin Covington,” she breathed, feeling a touch of maidenly vapors. “You’re a stud.”
He blushed. And the sight of his red throat and ruddy cheekbones hurt something deep inside her chest. He was just so damned cute. Unfortunately, he didn’t give her much time to appreciate his masculine attributes. Before she could lodge a protest, he scooped her into his arms and deposited her gently on their makeshift bed.
He hovered over her on one knee. “I don’t know how long I’ll last. You’ve pushed me pretty close to the edge.” Suddenly, dismay darkened his expression. “Oh, hell. I’ve got condoms, but they’re upstairs.”
She saw him contemplate the long frigid path to protection. And sympathized. “I’m on the pill,” she said hopefully, “and I’m okay as far as…well, you know what I mean.” The brazen-woman act fell apart when it came to discussing such topics.
His face lightened. “I had a physical last month. A-okay. You can trust me, Sherry. I hope you know that.”
“I do,” she whispered. Without waiting for an invitation, she reached out and took him in her hand, measuring the firm, swollen flesh with inner wonder. If sculptors created guys like Justin, the museums would be a lot more crowded.
His eyes closed at the first brush of her fingers. He felt amazingly hard and disarmingly smooth and silky. But would all that maleness fit? Her thighs clenched in something that was a cross between breathless excitement and genuine apprehension.
Stroking him tentatively, she caught her breath when he went rigid and found release in her hand, warm liquid leaking through her fingers and dribbling onto her belly.
He groaned. “Sherry, I’m sorry. Let’s try that again.”
Very matter-of-factly he used a corner of one thin blanket to clean her and himself. She was abashed, unused to such easy intimacy. But his tenderness charmed and disarmed her. His shaft was still mostly erect, definitely firm enough to get the job done. But instead of moving over and into her, he knelt between her legs and grinned the kind of grin that guaranteed a girl in trouble.
“You’re not saying anything.”
Suddenly, she wanted to cover her breasts with her hands, but knew that would elicit a hoot of derision from her beautifully naked lover. “You seem to have everything under control,” she said. “Knock yourself out.”
The grin broadened, and he stretched out on his side, tucking his torso between her thighs so he could reach what he was after.
Sherry closed her eyes and groaned inwardly. What he was about to do was both terrifying and wickedly wonderful. She’d spent her entire life protecting her deepest emotions. Only once had she dared to wear her heart on her sleeve, and it had been shattered by this very man.
Now she was allowing him the utmost intimacy, and she wasn’t at all sure she could separate sexual bliss from a deeper, far more fragile emotion. It was one thing to let him see she desired him. But far more dangerous to expose the reality that she had never stopped loving him.
The first pass of his lips brought her hips off the floor. Her fists gripped the soft covers beneath her to find an anchor. She’d been fastidious and guarded in her few physical relationships up until this moment. Never had she permitted a man to get this close. Never had she imagined how good this would feel. She wasn’t naive. She read books. Saw movies. Oral sex was a natural part of lovemaking, even if she’d always drawn a line to hold men at bay.
The oddly clinical commentary in her brain shut down when Justin used his thumbs to part the folds of her sex so his talented tongue could concentrate on the spot that begged for his attention. He tasted her delicately, fine-tuning his technique in reaction to her wiggling hips.
He licked the inside of her thigh, bit gently, laid his head on her belly.
The weight of him anchored her in a spinning world. Without volition, one of her hands unclenched and found its way to Justin's hair, sliding into the thick, wavy layers.
She traced the curves of his skull, drunk with the pleasure of being able to touch him at will. Now he used his fingers, plucking delicately, stroking as if he had all the time in the world. Her belly tightened. An ache coalesced deep inside her.
He took in her scent, letting his nostrils absorb her aroma before his tongue thrust deep inside her while grabbing hold of her bottom, pulling her closer to the fit of his mouth. He became lost in heavenly bliss while his tongue stroked, caressed and probed, refusing to let up or let go. He heard her moans, felt the torture on his shoulders when her fingernails dug into them, but he refused to release her from his grip.