She started to close her thighs, but he stopped her. “No.” He got on the bed and moved between her legs. His fingers began caressing her, tugging at the short curls, massaging, petting.
Her back arched up from the bed as she gave a low cry.
“Soon,” he said softly. “Don’t be impatient. I’m trying not to hurt you.”
His finger suddenly plunged into the heart of her.
She gasped, her gaze flying to his face.
He was looking down at her, his face intent as his long, hard finger began moving rhythmically in and out of her body. “Do you feel yourself clinging to me?Dieu…” Another finger joined the first, and she bit her lips to keep from crying out. “I’m not hurting you?”
She shook her head, her eyes staring dazedly up at him.
He moved deeply, twisting, rotating, jabbing, while his other hand moved to press and pet her.
Pleasure so intense it took her breath rocked through her.
He bent forward and she caught the scent of warm flesh and lemon. “Open your mouth. You have such a sweet tongue.…”
He kissed her deeply, his tongue moving wildly as his fingers pursued their own wild rhythm. “I…can’t wait any longer,” he said between his teeth. She could feel the hard roundness of his manhood pressing into her. His eyes closed tightly, his cheeks hollowing as if he were in pain. “You’re so tight. I can’t…”
He plunged forward.
Pain, sharp and lightning-swift, lanced through her and then was gone. His fullness stretched her, filling the emptiness, and yet she wasn’t satisfied. His chest was moving in and out with the force of his breathing, but he was lying huge and immobile within her body. He shifted and Juliette’s nails dug into his shoulders. The sensation was odd, a hot, hard club filling her and yet not filling her, joining her to Jean Marc.
“Are you…all right?” His voice was low and thick and she could feel it vibrate through even that most intimate part of her.
“Yes, it’s most—” She broke off as he started to move.
He plunged and thrust. Short, long, gentle, hard, not letting her become accustomed to any stroke before he changed the tempo.
Her head thrashed back and forth on the pillow as she felt a terrible tension building.
“Jean Marc, it’s not—”
“Hush. Soon,ma petite,”Jean Marc muttered. He reached around and cupped her buttocks in his palms, lifting her up to his every thrust. He plunged deep, deeper, driving to the quick.
“Look at us,” he urged thickly. “Watch us together.”
She didn’t know what he meant until he cradled her head in his palm and lifted it so that she could see him driving in and out of her body, drawing almost out and then plunging back, again and again.
She bit her lip to keep from screaming. It was as if watching him multiplied the sensation tenfold. His gaze darkly intent, nostrils flaring, he looked down at their joining. He held her head steady so that she could continue to watch and with the other hand closed her around himself, petting, playing, squeezing while his thrusting hips grew more forceful with every movement.
The tears were running down Juliette’s cheeks as she clutched desperately at his shoulders. “Jean Marc, I can’t bear…”
The tension flared and then broke and she surged upward convulsively.
Jean Marc cried out and clutched her to him.
Her breasts were lifting and falling as she tried to get her breath. She was shaking uncontrollably, weak, dizzy with pleasure, a heavy languor attacking every limb.
“Juliette…” Jean Marc’s lips were on her own, his tongue warm and lazy, sweet, soft, all violence gone. Yet he was not gone. She felt him within her, still joined. He pulled back, his hands moving across her belly, stroking, pressing, soothing, possessing. “I was rougher than I meant to be. You have no pain?”
She was aware of a faint aching sensation, but she didn’t want to lose his delicious fullness so she shook her head.
He was leaving her anyway, she realized with disappointment.
He moved off her and beside her, lying on his back with his arm beneath his head, his breath still coming harsh and quick, his black hair tousled.
