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When she nodded, he guided her hand. "Show me. Take me there. Let me feel your fingers dip into that honey. I've been in the desert a long time."
She thanked whatever deity or demon might be responsible that he was still close enough to his human roots to remember how to be this kind of man. The long split made it easy to do as he demanded, as did the fact there were no undergarments beneath except the garters. His hand stopped hers along the soaked edge of the stocking, caressing and learning that, before following the garter up, up until he found her, guided both of their fingers in together, her forefinger and his, sinking deep into her as she cried out, trembling with her passion.
Taking his hand away then, he turned her, his face suffused with a pure male lust that rocked through her before he lifted her, laid her back on the stage. But he didn't ruck up her skirts and drive into her as she expected. Or lay his body on hers. He spread her legs, his gaze intent upon her bare sex, holding her wide and vulnerable for him. Went still, making her self-conscious and almost incoherent with need at the same moment.
His gaze flicked up to her face, a brief but potent look. "As I said, I've been in the desert awhile. And I've a powerful thirst." Then he dropped to one knee and put his mouth directly on her.
She nearly came off the stage, but he held her down. Plunging his tongue in deep, he sucked on her, taking in her juices, savoring the taste of her with a muffled growl, flicking the lips with his firm tongue, stroking then plunging deep into her again.
Twisting and arching, too overcome with the sensation to give her body a controlled purpose or rhythm, she sought a purchase on the flat boards of the stage, digging her fingers into the wood. Her movements and the tight, restrictive hold of the corset freed the one breast, where the feathers teased and caressed it to an even harder point. David's hand clamped over it, squeezed hard and possessive as she cried out again. She was a symphony of discordant whimpers, moans and soft, entreating cries, sharper screams coming from her in bursts.
It was too much. Oh, gods, it felt so good. His mouth was divinely blessed or the greatest of sins. She wanted to taste it, taste herself.
"You... Want you." She was astounded she could form coherent words, actually make them come from her throat. It was even possible she'd simply thought it, said it to him in that direct way he could hear but she rarely used because of the intimacy it implied.
He rose over her, his brown eyes like the fires deep in the Earth's crust. It filled her with liquid heat, threatening to erupt. Gods, his mouth was glistening from her juices, what he'd taken from her, and as she watched, he passed the back of his hand over it like a man who'd just had a satisfying draught of whiskey. As her ankle touched the holster, she let the laced boots, one part of her costume that was pure illusion, disappear so that she could run her toes over the grip of the gun. Finding the steel, the lethal metal, she slid her foot under the thin strap that held the holster to his hard thigh. He bent, his lips touching the inside of her leg again, high up, but when she reached for him, wanting to bring him down to her, he caught her wrist. Holding it away from him, he took his time, one tiny nibble at a time, down to her knee, then back up again.
"Now," she gasped. "I can't bear it. Please." Her fingers were curled, her arm pulling taut against his hold, wanting to know he could overpower her, that she couldn't stop him or influence him, except by begging.
"Do you love me, saloon girl?"
Sixteen
IF he'd said her name, perhaps it would have called her out of the fantasy enough to dampen the moment. But as if he understood what she was and wasn't capable of doing, he knew the right words. The safe ones.
He'd made a mistake at the Citadel, but there were mistakes that were perhaps meant to be. Because he now knew more about her than before, and the man was a damn quick study. Before long, he'd have maneuvered his way into the bottom of her soul, God help him in that dark place.
"You're tolerable."
He smiled against her flesh, a slow, sexy gesture, and then he bent to put his mouth on her again.
"Nooo..." She tried to fight him, but he forced himself between her legs and kept her wrists captured in one hand as he worked her flesh, taking her up so close, but not there. Holding her on a pinnacle with his clever, licking tongue, so that she started to gasp as if she'd been running for miles, running away from a pursuit that wouldn't be evaded. Her backside was sore from thumping down on the boards in jerking reaction to the rhythmic manipulation of his mouth.
"Yes," she gasped at last.
"Yes, what?" He lifted his head, his fingers tightening on her wrists. As he straightened above her she was so very conscious of how he manacled her that way, the manner in which he'd bound her tightly in the corset. The fact she was spread and vulnerable before him. She couldn't hold it anymore. The illusion dissipated, showing her the powerful spread of wings, the bare muscle of his chest and thighs, the glint of his daggers.
He didn't look like the gunslinger anymore, so what came out of her mouth would be to him. To David.
"I don't know what that is," she said, and her voice broke, defeating her. "I don't know what love feels like."
He nodded, and her flesh spasmed as his gaze descended, took a slow, leisurely appraisal of what he had revealed.
"Good girl," he murmured. "You didn't lie to me." Moving forward, he pressed his thigh against her mound, making her jerk.
"Rub yourself again
st me, Mina. Show me what you want."
She did it shamelessly, driven to insanity by the way he watched her with visible male pleasure as she thrust her hips up, again and again. The way his attention shifted to the quiver of her naked breast, the sharp thrusting point.
Finally, he laid his palm on her taut stomach, stilling her movements, quivering nerves beneath his hand. His touch dropped, his thumb settling just over her opening, that electric bundle of nerves, so close she could feel the heat. If he touched her, she would shatter, but he wasn't as kind and merciful as she'd thought.
"Who do you belong to, Mina?"
She couldn't breathe, everything held so tightly by him, within and without, even as those words threatened to crack her open.
"Who do you belong to, saloon girl?" he repeated. She was so close, but the panic was rising. It was going to be lost. She couldn't give him that-it wasn't in her-and despair was going to close in.
Then something shifted, and she was both terrified and swept away to see understanding dawn in his eyes. "Who do you want to belong to?"
"You." The single, trembling word erupted from her lips, commanded by a spell uttered in just the right way, which made the honest answer impossible to block.
"Then come, now, before my cock ever enters you, only on my command."
Did his thumb touch her, or was it just that single potent demand that struck her lower belly, electrifying the nerve endings deep in the womb where all forms of birth and life began? She surged up, a scream tearing out of her throat as he took hold of her hips and drove into her on the pinnacle of that mind-shattering release, pumping into her hard and fast, rocking her against the boards, mixing rough possession with delirious pleasure. She kept coming, driven up, each wave taking her up to a higher level as everything released, even things she didn't know were prisoners within her.
