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“I do trust you.” Her voice was barely audible. “And I... I...” Her breath came in little pants, and Liam could see in her eyes she wanted to say the words...but was just as afraid to admit she loved him as she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to go through with making love with him. He suppressed his regret she couldn’t say the words he longed for, because the words weren’t as important as proving to Cate she could do this.
“Touch me,” he invited in his deepest voice. “Touch me. Take me. Whatever you want, I want. Whatever you need, that’s what I want to give you. No force between us, ever.” His voice dropped to a seductive whisper. “Touch me, Cate. You want to. So just touch me.”
She touched him. Hesitantly at first, her fingertips just barely touching the proof of his desire. When he reacted...visibly...she drew her hand back sharply.
Liam laughed softly, reassuringly. “It’s okay, sweetheart. That’s normal. You touch me and I feel it. And my body reacts, especially there. That’s the way I’m made. You’re made that way, too. When I caress you...your body reacts. When I stroke your breasts, when I suckle them, you feel it...everywhere. Don’t you.”
His last words were a statement, not a question, but she answered anyway. “Yes.” He knew by the expression on her face she was remembering last night, when he’d proved her wrong. When he’d proved she could feel what other women felt during lovemaking.
“And when I touch you there, you enjoy that, too.”
“Yes.” Just a fraction above a whisper. “I do, Liam. I didn’t think I could, but I...”
“So when you touch me there, I enjoy it. Immensely. That’s the way it’s supposed to work. We touch, we kiss, we caress. We give each other pleasure. One feeds the other, until...” Inside he was begging, Touch me, Cate. Don’t stop touching me. Don’t be afraid.
She touched him again, and this time her fingers curled around his erection. He swelled when her fingers made contact, and he thought he’d explode just from the intimate connection he’d wanted almost since the first moment he’d seen her. What he’d waited so long to have. But he held back by sheer will, wanting her to believe in him.
He tried to speak but found his emotions in the way. He cleared his throat. “Keep going, sweetheart. You’re in control. Whatever you want to do, just do. Think about the way I touched you last night, and do the same to me now. You can do it, Cate. You can give me the same pleasure I gave you. But everything stops when you stop, I promise.” Trust me, his heart pleaded.
He almost arched off the bed when she stroked him, her fingers squeezing just tightly enough for pleasure, not pain. She quickly found a natural rhythm, and Liam’s whole body condensed down into a pulsing, pounding need. He tried to hold back, wanting to prolong his pleasure, and wanting, also, to let her see he could control his desire, but it got away from him. Everything got away from him and he cried out as he bucked uncontrollably and thrust himself into her hand. Again. And again.
When it was all over he opened his eyes, afraid he’d shocked Cate, but she surprised him. “I did it,” she marveled, almost as if she were talking to herself. “I did it.”
Little tremors still transmitted themselves from him to her. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice husky with the remnants of desire. “Hell yeah.” He wasn’t sure exactly what she was referring to, but whatever it was, it was true—she’d done it.
She reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a tissue, cleaning him inexpertly but with a loving touch. “I was afraid,” she explained solemnly, but with a light in her eyes that told him she was thrilled she’d conquered her fear. “I thought I wouldn’t be able to...but you...you waited. You let me...all the way. Touch you,” she said disjointedly. “My way. I was afraid you would...but you didn’t.” She smiled a beatific smile. “I did it. And it didn’t hurt me.”
The sense of euphoria that had enveloped Liam suddenly dissipated as a devastating pain tore through his heart. Cate trusted him...but only so far. No matter what she said, she’d still been afraid he wouldn’t let her take him all the way, that at some point he’d force his way into her body the way Vishenko had done. Numerous times. Hurting her. Taking pleasure in hurting her.
Rage at Aleksandrov Vishenko slashed through him. And he knew with startling certainty that if Vishenko was there right now, he’d kill him for what he’d done to Cate. Kill him in that instant like the rabid animal he was. With no more remorse than that it was necessary to protect the innocent.
