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She clutched his shoulders, aroused out of her mind not only by the contact, but the male force of his determination to have her, to claim her. The rhythmic push between her legs told her in no uncertain terms what he wanted from her, and within ten seconds, she wanted it as much as he did.
Damn him. Damn this power he had, damn the way she responded to the sleek muscle under her fingers, to the male scent of him, to the way his hands explored her, demanding, possessive, so sure of the territory of her body, her most private possession.
How could the pleasure be this strong when only agony would follow?
Her top and bra were yanked up; her breasts spilled free into the cool room, covered immediately by his warm mouth, sucking and pulling one nipple, the other rolled between his fingers, stroked by his palm.
She moaned, her head bumping against the wall. His other hand snaked up her skirt, dipped into her panties; his fingers brushed the clipped hair between her legs, then slid deeper, seeking and finding her moisture.
“Troy.” Everything she wanted from him was contained in that syllable. He teased her, tantalized her with his fingers and hot mouth until her legs nearly gave way and she had to push back hard to stay upright.
He went to his knees at her feet, pushed up her skirt, hauled down her panties and buried his mouth between her legs, sending slippery warmth over her clitoris, jamming her spine against the wall.
Darcy cried out at the sensation, at the bold strokes of his tongue. His finger joined, slipping inside, pushing rhythmically, finding a place deep inside her that nearly made her scream from pleasure. Her hair fell over her face, her body broke out in a sweat. Her head banged back, but there was no pain. Nothing except this man and his tongue and hands on her.
She heard herself moan and pant, her hands scrabbled to clutch something, to brace herself. She found nothing, reached helplessly up the wall, legs opening higher, giving him more and deeper access until her climax started an inevitable climb, a powerful wave that came from a distance, gathered everything in her and burst into a blinding finale.
Over and over she pulsed, losing her ability to stand, sliding down the wall to collapse in a sweating, panting heap on the floor of his living room.
He was out of his pants already, his erection proud and rigid, straining toward her as if he had a homing device, and she was home.
The sight was beautiful, rekindling her arousal. She got to her knees, took him in her fist, keeping her eyes fixed on his erection, too vulnerable to meet his gaze after the way she’d exploded against his mouth. She worked her hand in a steady, gentle rhythm, while the fingers of her other hand explored and manipulated the soft sacs of his testicles.
Thirty seconds he stood it, then moisture spread from the tip of his cock. He reached down for his jeans, yanked a condom out of the pocket and rolled it on.
If he made love to her face-to-face, she’d be lost. Her softie heart would weaken; she’d start thinking she was falling for him. Everything would go to hell from there.
She got to her knees on his carpet, fell forward onto her hands and lifted her skirt so her bare ass faced him and there would be no question what she was offering.
He groaned, knelt behind her and steadied her, pressed the head of his penis against her opening, a push that relented only to push farther, deeper inside her. She was plenty wet; another push slid him in all the way, making her moan and arch her back with pleasure.
For one blissful second, he held still, hands firm on her hips, cock filling her. Then when she thought she’d go mad unless he moved, he began to ride her, slowly, then faster, slapping against her, his fierce rhythm echoed by his harsh breathing. Instinct told Darcy he wouldn’t last long, and she felt a thrill of feminine power. She was not the only one flattened by this wild emotion passing between them.
Another minute, maybe less, and his breath stopped, his rhythm faltered, then sped, stopped altogether and he pushed hard, then again, contracting into her.
Darcy closed her eyes, overwhelmed by his ecstasy, almost more than she had been by hers.
Was this destined to evolve into love?
No, no. With love always came pain. And fear. And disappointment.
Troy wrapped his arms around her and brought her up to her knees, her back to his chest, kissing her neck, her cheek, her hair. She turned her face and their lips met in a kiss so tender her eyes threatened to fill with tears.
