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“Good. Neither do I.”
She had no idea how he managed to move so fast, so deftly; his hands slid up the sides of her body and stripped the chemise over her head, tossing it away in the darkness, and she was alone with a man, in a bed, wearing nothing at all.
She should tell him to stop. She should tell him exactly who she was—he would jump away from her as if she were pure poison. She’d wrapped her arms around her body, instinctively, protectively, and neither of them moved.
“It’s up to you now, Sophie,” he whispered, his voice a little rough in the darkness. “No more games. Yes, or no?”
He was so close she could feel the heat coming off his body; she could still taste his mouth on hers, feel the touch of his surprisingly calloused hands on her arms. She could roll away from him, hit the floor, and run. She knew it with an instinct old and sure as time. He would let her go. He’d let her go the first time she ran; he would let her go this time as well.
But she didn’t want to run.
For a moment she didn’t move, trying to will common sense back into her brain. It was gone, vanished in the darkness, and there was no way she could summon it back. It didn’t matter; none of it did. The only thing she cared about was Alexander, beside her, waiting for her answer. There was only one answer she could honestly give.
She unwrapped her arms from her body, reached up, and cupped his face, holding him with her strong hands, her thumbs gently caressing his mouth, and she heard the word in her own voice, the word from her own heart, not her nonfunctioning brain. “Yes.”
For a moment he didn’t move, and she had the sudden fear that it had been the chase that mattered—once she gave in, stopped playing the game, as he called it, he would lose interest.
And then he let out a pent-up breath. “Thank God,” he murmured, and kissed her with such sweetness she wanted to weep. His arms came around her, and she was suddenly dizzy as he rolled her over his body, so that she rested on top of him. Her bare breasts were against his warm skin, and instinctively she rubbed against him.
He slid his hands up, and the feel o
f them on her breasts was so exquisite she took in a quick breath. His thumbs brushed against her nipples, and she jerked in surprise, feeling it directly between her legs.
“Don’t worry, my precious little virgin,” he said. “I’ll make your first time good for you.”
She felt relief flood her. He believed her. He wouldn’t hurt her—he would take care of her, cherish her as any lover would. It didn’t matter if his voice was ironic—he always sounded that way. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t her lover, or her husband. For now he would be.
She slid against him, her hips up against his, feeling the hard ridge beneath his trousers, a perfect match for the ache between her legs. It would be all right. She ran her hands up around his neck and pulled him closer.
Her nipples were hard against his thumbs in the warm night air, and he knew he had her. Knew that she’d be wet between her legs, and he wanted to put his mouth there, wanted to with such a fierceness that he could barely fight it. She was the one being paid—even if it gave him pleasure, he wasn’t going down on someone who serviced men for a living, no matter how good an actress she was. It was a pleasure he would have to reserve for someone else.
Her breasts were a different matter. He wanted to taste her, to suck on her, and with a groan he pushed her onto her back, leaned down, and took one hard, small nipple into his mouth.
He felt her entire body jerk, a reaction that couldn’t be feigned, and he ran his tongue over her, then latched on, using his teeth just slightly, and sucked, hard, as he ran his hand down her stomach, and he felt her buck beneath him, her hands on his shoulders, clinging to him.
She had soft, perfect skin. Pampered, delicate, and he wanted to lick her all over. She tasted like the cool, clear water that he swam in, and he wanted more. His fingers slid through the soft curls covering her, and he felt a second flash of emotion hit her body. He moved his hand down, his fingers touching her wetness, and he was the one who groaned in sheer, delicious anticipation.
Her arms were around him, holding him to her as he sucked on her, her fingers clutching him, and as he slid one finger inside her she bucked again, her hips reaching for the pleasure she knew he could bring her. He lifted his head, releasing her breast with a soft, popping noise, and her fingers dug in, not wanting to let him go.
“Equal time, precious,” he murmured with a soft laugh, and caught the other distended nipple between his teeth.
The sound she made, low, keening, needy, was music to his ears, and he pushed one finger inside her. She was so delectably tight, despite the dampness he was coaxing from her, and he pulled out one finger and slid two in. There were things women could do, to make their bodies tight, almost virginal again, and Sophie must have made use of whatever herbs or powders provided that effect. He didn’t need it—this had been her game, not his, but either way it didn’t matter. It was where he wanted, needed, to be.
He had to move this along. He couldn’t remember ever being so aroused in his life. He needed to get inside her and fuck them both senseless, a fast, hard, heavy release that would get some of the pent-up frustration out of him. Then he could go slower, take his time, let her practice her skills on him. He had a few skills of his own he’d learned in his travels when he was younger, and he had every intention of giving her as good a time as she was giving him. But right now he was ready to explode.
She was making no effort to undress him, caught up in the sensations of his mouth and his hands. He took his fingers from her sex, hearing her cry out with pleasure. He hadn’t even touched her pleasure spot yet, and she was already shaking with need. He pulled her hand from his shoulder and set it on the buttons that were now tight over his swollen cock, and instead of setting to work she tried to jerk away.
He wasn’t having it, and he gave her nipple a small, warning nip with his teeth as he brought her hand back, and this time she didn’t pull away. She rested her fingers against him for a moment, like someone checking a hot stove to see if it would burn, and then she moved, slowly touching him with a delicate, exploratory hand that almost made him spill. She caressed him with her fingers, slid her hands down, as if to figure out the size of him, and if it had taken her any longer he would have reached down and ripped the damned buttons off himself.
But he felt her reach the top one, and he moaned, running his tongue over her, and she moved to the next button.
This was the way it was supposed to be, give and take, his move increasing her need, her move building his own passion. It was no wonder it felt as if they would end up bursting into flames. This was it, the way it should be, the way it never really was.
But not with Sophie. She’d reached the fourth button, and damn, he wanted her mouth on him, so much he shook with it. But she was still playing her game, not his, and in impatience he reached down and released his cock, catching her hand and placing it on him as he felt her try to move away.
Oh, Holy Mother of God, that was a terrible move, he thought with a groan, as her cool fingers slid along his skin. He’d underestimated how her deceptively shy touch would affect him. It was a good thing she wouldn’t take him in her mouth this time—he’d spill at the first touch of her lips. Even the thought of it was making him ready to burst.
Her soft, seemingly innocent touch was driving him mad, and he pushed his fingers back inside her, into the sleek tightness of her. His thumb found her and he rubbed.
