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Her eyes locked to his, challenging him, inviting him.
His body was so powerful, the bare muscled chest honed and sleek, every plane and muscle taut—and she wanted it. She wanted to feel its hard weight pressing her down, feel its strength, its rampant, urgent desire for hers. Wanted to feel that long, strong shaft fill her, thrust up into her, again and again and again, and she didn’t want to wait—she didn’t want to wait one moment more.
Her spine arched, and she strained her hands against his grip.His thighs were pressing against hers, and she strained against them, lifting her hips to him.
‘What are you waiting for, Theo?’ she said, and her voice was a challenge, a husk, her eyes twining with his, writhing like twisting ropes. ‘This is what you want, isn’t it? It’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? To finish what you started—’
She lifted her hips again, her breasts rising, thrusting forward as she moved. Raw, urgent excitement, erotic and sensual, overrode everything, blotting out everything else.
It was just her body and his. And she wanted only one thing. She wanted it so, so badly…
He gave it to her.
With slow, taunting control he lowered himself down, sliding into her in one single, fluid movement.
She gasped, and threw her head back, sensation exploding in her. Oh, God, it was good! It was so, so good! She lifted to meet him, lifted against his thrust, wanting him t
o thrust again, right up to the very neck of her womb, as her muscles tightened around him. She was on fire, urgent, hungry, as hungry as a vampire scenting blood.
He thrust again, hard and hot, and she cried out, a sharp, high sound. Her fingers wound in his, every muscle clenched tightly in her body as she arched up to meet his scything downstrokes. Her spine sweated, her body was jerking, as the hard, relentless thrusts came again and again. Her body was melting, melting all around him, as if it was turning into something else, something that was hot, liquid metal, searing with heat, glistening with absolute, total arousal.
She could see his face and it was taut, intense. He was caught up in his own consuming pleasure as he scythed into her, hard, insistent, over and over again. And with every thrust the hot, metallic liquid that was her body came closer and closer and closer still to the moment she was gasping for with every urgent rasp in her straining throat. The moment that was almost, almost there, with every hard stroke against the inflamed, distended flesh inside her, that incredible spot she had heard about but never, never…
Sensation sheeted through her, a pleasure so powerful she could not believe it, crying out with a high, unearthly sound as every cell in her body fused into molten silver. And as they fused she seemed to feel his arms tighten convulsively around her, holding her so close against him that she could feel the hectic beating of his heart against hers. Something seemed to take her over, flooding through her, something that was nothing to do with the intensity of physical pleasure consuming her. Something that seemed to take her out of her own pulsing body, soaring upwards, higher and higher. An emotion so powerful that she could feel her arms wrap around the body in her arms as if it were the most precious thing in the universe…
No! The cry was silent, anguished. Theo wasn’t precious to her—he was just a highly skilled sexual partner exerting his formidable expertise to ensure she got the maximum pleasure from his body.
That was all he was.
All this was.
Desperately her body arched and bucked, and she jerked her hips upwards, again and again, to keep that incredible pleasure going. Because she never, never wanted to lose it. She wanted to keep it, ride it, hot and greedy, wanting more and more and more of it. Because it was essential—essential she did not lose it, that she clung to it, fused with it, became one with it. Because if it started to fade, if it started to ebb, it would be, it would be…
It was fading. Ebbing.
Panic took her. She thrust up her hips, again and again, but there was nothing there, nothing to thrust herself against, no hardness, no fullness. And as the dawning recognition of that, and the reason for it, came to her, so, welling up in her like cold, icy water, came something else—something she could not, must not, must not, let into her mind.
But it came all the same. Seeped in on the cold, icy water that was filling her veins now, replacing the hot, greedy pleasure she had sated herself on, which had faded now, ebbed away. Leaving her on the bleak, bare shore, bereft of all sensation.
Bereft of everything.
Except one thing.
The knowledge of what she had just done.
She shut her eyes. It was instinctive, imperative. As if by refusing to see there would be nothing to see. Nothing to know. Nothing to feel.
But feel she must. She could not escape.
Her body ached. Ached from being distended, strained. Ached from the overloading of her sensory capacity.
He drew out of her. She could feel it—feel him unclasping her hands, which went on lying there limply, her whole body flaccid, collapsed. She kept her eyes tight, tight shut. They burned beneath the lids.
Her body felt cold, so cold.
What have I done?
The question coiled in her brain.
