Page 65 of Nightfire

She didn’t have to look down to know he was aroused. His nostrils were flaring as he breathed in and out heavily, underneath his dark tan he was flushed and his lips were red, engorged.

His eyes suddenly widened.

“What?” Chloe asked.

Mike gave a half laugh which sounded as if he were choking. “I can’t believe this. I have not been without a condom in my pocket since I was fifteen years old. Ever.” He closed his eyes in pain then opened them again, blue and fierce. “And now I am without a condom. Totally. Don’t even have one in the house. Haven’t needed one these past six months. Fuck.” He blew out a big breath. “What are we going to do? I can’t make it to the drug store. Closest one’s about a mile and a half away. Just can’t do it. Can’t ask Harry or Sam, either.”

Chloe stroked his shoulder, then ran a fingernail along the top muscle, hard and bulging, slowly going from the ball of his shoulder up his neck to behind his ear. She wasn’t hurting him but he could feel the bite of it.

It excited him. his breathing speeded up and his lips grew even darker. “This is torture, right? You’re going to torture me because we can’t make love. But even if we can’t, you’re going to keep me in this state. There are rules, Chloe. There’s even a Convention. The Geneva one.”

She laughed. Leaned forward and bit him gently on the jaw. He shook. Looking down, she could actually see his erect penis move inside his pants.

He was completely at her mercy. A plaything. This powerful man was in her power now.

There were things she needed to tell him, but not now. Now was not the moment for darkness, now was the moment for heat, and light.

She leaned forward again, kissed him gently. Pulled away a fraction of an inch she he would feel the puff of her breath against him. “It’s not a problem, Mike. Make love to me now.”

His face changed, grew darker. Gazing into her eyes, he undressed. Threw his shirt open, the ping of the buttons off the tiles loud enough to be heard over the roar of the shower, unbuttoned his pants, dropped them and his briefs, stepped out of them, stepped out of his shoes, toed off his socks, all without wavering his gaze.

He stepped into the cabin, right under the showerhead, the water turning his hair dark, sluicing down his chest, straightening out his chest hairs so they arrowed down, as if to showcase that huge penis.

He backed her up against the tile wall and placed a huge hand on her chest. She was sure he could feel her heart pounding against the palm of his hand. Watching her carefully, he ran his hand down the center of her body, slowly, the calluses on the palm of his hand raising goosebumps.

At her hips, he turned his hand around, moved lower, cupped her. Every sense she had was concentrated there, where his hand was. He held it there, warm, pressed against her, then stroked her gently, running a finger around her labia.

At the touch of her, the skin tightened around his eyes and over his high cheekbones. He didn’t need to ask if she was aroused. He could feel it against his hand.

The finger dipped inside, moving slowly up inside her and her legs started trembling.

“Mike.” Her voice was a whisper, not out of sexiness, but because she couldn’t draw in enough breath to speak normally. “We need to get to a bed because I don’t think my legs can hold me.”

His jaw muscles jumped. “No?” His fingers opened, spreading her. “I like it fine, here.”

Now all of her was trembling. All her breath left her body as he fit his penis to her and slid inside, slowly, completely. He was huge, but she was ready. In a very real sense, she’d been waiting all her life for this moment.

He moved his big hands to her hips, then around to her buttocks and lifted her until her legs went around his hips. He leaned heavily into her, so deep inside her now it was as if he reached her heart.

She felt everything. His dark chest hairs against her breasts, rough and prickly, the hard defined muscles of his abdomen against her belly, the rough mat of his pubic hairs against the sensitive skin of her sex.

She could feel the beat of his heart in his penis, buried deeply inside her. Her sex contracted sharply and he moved inside her, becoming somehow larger, thicker. It made her contract again.

“God,” he muttered.

They were staring at each other. Chloe had never watched another person’s face from so close up before. Everything that happened—every time she tightened around him, every time she shuddered, every time her fingers clutched his arms, her legs tightened—she could see the effect on him.

“If I move, I’m going to come,” he said, his voice strained.

She huffed out a laugh and his penis surged in her as she moved. “If we stay here, we drown.”

“Stalement,” he whispered.

“Not quite,” she whispered back and tightened around him deliberately, milking him while rising against him, pushing him even deeper inside her.

Mike threw back his head, groaned, and swelled inside her and finally moved, short, hard strokes, the friction creating immense heat, heat that was going to make her explode.

It was Mike who exploded first though, one hard deep thrust, gritting his teeth against a shout while jetting inside her, the strokes and the jets of semen somehow exactly in time with the pulses of her sex and it went on and on, each stroke, each contraction feeding the pleasure.