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He laughed and tumbled her back on the bed. Before she could recover her equilibrium, he was on her, pushing into her with a slow, inexorable pressure that made her breath hiss out of her lungs as he filled her. She held herself very still, her eyes closed as she tried to absorb all the sensations, the pressure and heat and heaviness.
He began a subtle back-and-forth motion, rocking inside her. Instinctively she tensed, tightening her inner muscles in an effort to contain him and control the act. He groaned, froze, then rasped out, “Do that again.” This time it was he who held himself still while she loved him with that internal clasping. The act of tightening on him then consciously relaxing, then tightening again, brought her almost to the edge of climax—but not close enough.
He hooked his arms under her legs and held them high, taking total control. She couldn’t limit the depth of his penetration in this position, couldn’t lift herself to meet his thrusts, couldn’t do anything except feel the long, slow strokes as he settled into a steady rhythm. He held himself positioned just high enough, in the perfect position for her to feel the maximum friction, yet the minutes passed and orgasm remained maddeningly just out of reach. Lily felt as if she were being pulled apart, the tension gripping her was so intense. His arms began trembling, his entire body was trembling, and she almost burst into tears as she realized he wouldn’t be able to last much longer and she still hadn’t been able to climax.
“I want to do it from behind you,” he murmured, and pulled out. Before she could change positions, he lay down beside her and pulled her on top of him, on her back, with her head tilted back over his left shoulder. His hot breath teased her ear, and his hands stroked over her breasts, down her belly. He spread her legs, arranging them on either side of his, and reaching down, he held his penis in position while he pushed upward. She groaned as the thick length squeezed into her, shimmying in a paroxysm that carried her close to completion but stopped short yet again. She felt terribly exposed without him covering her. Cool air washed all down her heated body, her legs were spread wide, and with her head tilted backward, she was strangely disoriented, off balance.
“Shhh, I have you,” he said in a reassuring rumble, and she realized she must have made a panicked sound. His hips flexed and rolled beneath her, working himself back and forth inside her. There was more of a tug in this position, a sharper sense of movement. He slid his right hand down her belly and curved his fingers down, between her legs, catching her clitoris in the fork of his first two fingers. He gently closed his fingers together, just enough, and held her as his strokes moved her up and down, back and forth, and the hot coil of sensation tightened inside her to an unbearable degree.
She made a strangled sound and dug her heels into the mattress, shuddering, tilting her hips down to take every inch of him she could, then surging upward against those maddening fingers. She was shaking from head to toe, her thighs quivering, her breath nothing more than sobs that caught in her throat. Closer, closer . . .
A low cry tore from her throat as she was abruptly hurled past the point of no return. Great pulsing waves radiated from her loins, ripping away her last vestiges of control. Finally, finally—she was there and it was happening, more powerful than she remembered, blinding her to everything except the pleasure that held her racked and pierced.
Vaguely she realized she was crying, though she didn’t know why. She was still shaking, so wrung out and limp she couldn’t even lift an arm. She didn’t have to. Swain slid out of and from under her, rolling on top of her and roughly pushing inside. His thrusts were hard and fast, taking him to the hilt each time. Sweat dampened his skin and he was shaking now, the way she had shaken, every muscle trembling as he drove deep and reached for his own pleasure. His rhythm frayed, disintegrated, and a long, deep groan rumbled in his chest, his throat, and with a harsh cry he arched back, pulsing inside her as he gripped her hips so hard his fingers left their marks on her skin. Then slowly he folded forward, still shuddering, jerking, his eyes closed as his trembling arms let his weight down on her.
His lungs were pumping like bellows, huge breaths going in and out. Lily still struggled for her own breath, trying to regain some use of her limbs, while her heart pounded so hard and fast she thought she might faint. She could feel her pulse even in her fingertips.
She had the dim thought that if this was to be her last orgasm, at least it had been a world-class one.
Finally she was able to lift her hand and weakly wipe the tears from her cheeks. Why on earth was she crying? Getting there had been a Herculean effort, but the end result had been worth it.
Face down beside her left ear, Swain groaned. “God. I felt that all the way down to my toes.” He didn’t lever himself off her, just lay there getting heavier and heavier. Lily didn’t care. She wrapped her arms around him and held him as tight as she could.
“I’ll get up in a minute,” he promised in an exhausted voice.
“No,” Lily said, but he was already laboriously moving off her to lie on his side facing her. He put one hand on her waist and pulled her to him, cradling her close, her head lying on his shoulder and arm.
“The first round is now officially over,” he mumbled.
“I take it back. I don’t think I can handle a second round,” she managed to gasp, but his deep, even breathing told her he was already asleep. She took two deep breaths and felt herself sinking, joining him. For the first time in forever, she felt safe, wrapped tight in his arms.
27
Lily woke in Swain’s arms, and felt as if she belonged there. She wished she could freeze time at that exact moment, so she never lost the sense of contentment and security. She didn’t let herself think about the possible disaster the day might bring; she would do wha
t she had to do, so there was no point in worrying about it. If she was lucky, tonight would be spent the same way last night had been.
To her surprise, she’d been up for two more rounds, though she was so sore now she almost regretted it. Almost. He’d awakened her at two o’clock by turning on the lamp, because this time he wanted to see her. She’d been embarrassed by the state she was in, sticky from going to sleep without having cleaned up, but he’d proved beyond a doubt that other than where cars were concerned, he didn’t have a finicky bone in his body. “Sex is messy,” he’d said with a slow smile as he’d hauled her back when she’d tried to leave the bed to go clean up. “And I’m the cause of it, so why should I mind?”
Having the lamp on didn’t bother her, though somehow he’d known the first time would be easier for her in the darkness. She was thirty-seven, not a spring chicken, but she stayed in shape and her body type was naturally lean and small-breasted, so even when some parts started sagging, as they inevitably would, they couldn’t sag very far. Certainly Swain seemed to appreciate every inch of her.
Climaxing the second time was easier, as if her body had remembered how. She wasn’t as tense or desperate, plus Swain made it fun with his unabashed pleasure and very vocal appreciation. Afterward they had showered together, and she spread towels over the wet spots on the sheets before they got back into bed and slept for another couple of hours.
The third time, just after five o’clock, had been long and slow, all sense of urgency gone. She barely remembered stumbling back to bed afterward, and she had slept so soundly that if she dreamed, she didn’t recall. Sunlight now spilled around the edges of the heavy curtains, making her wonder what time it was, but she didn’t care enough to roll over and look at the clock.
He made an indistinct noise that was half sleepy man and half grumbly bear, then lifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck. “Morning,” he rumbled, then nestled her closer.
“Good morning.” She loved feeling all that muscular warmth at her back, loved the feel of his leg thrust between hers and the weight of his arm as he settled it back around her waist.
“Do I still have to drive that Fiat?” He sounded as if he were only half-conscious, but the subject had to be important to him for it to be the first thing he thought about upon awakening.
She patted his arm, glad her back was to him so he couldn’t see her smile. “No, you get to drive any type of car you want.”
“I was that good, huh?” he asked smugly, more awake now.
He deserved something better than a pat on the arm for that, so she reached back and patted his butt. “You were spectacular,” she said with a faintly monotonous, mechanical drone in her voice. “Your technique was fabulous, and your penis is the largest I’ve ever seen. I am the luckiest woman in the world. This is a recording—”
He rolled over on his back and shouted with laughter. Lily slid out of bed and escaped to the bathroom while he was laughing, before he could retaliate. She looked at herself in the mirror and halted, struck by the softness of her features. One night of sex and she looked rejuvenated?
