Her eyes, heavy lidded, opened, blue-green slivers glowing in the darkness. “No underwear,” she whispered.
“Ah.” His hand moved up over the flat planes of her belly and cupped a breast. He had to be so careful here. His hands were strong, he didn’t want to hurt her in any way. Right now the biggest crime in the world would be causing her any pain at all. So he kept his touch softer than air, just a bare grazing of the satiny skin with his forefinger, around and around. When the back of his finger brushed over her nipple, she jumped. He nipped at her earlobe, loving the soft jolt. She was so incredibly responsive.
His finger ran over the nipple again, just a little harder. “Do you like that?” he whispered in her ear.
He could almost hear her smile. “If I said no, you’d know I was lying, wouldn’t you? You can feel what my body is telling you.”
Oh yeah, her body was shouting. The nipple under his finger had turned from a soft bud into a small, hard point.
His hand moved to her left breast, where he could feel the fast beating of her heart under his fingertips.
“Yes, your body is talking to me, Grace. I can hear it, feel it in my hands.” Another gentle rasp of his thumb over her nipple, followed immediately by a little shudder. “You like that. You like my hand on your breasts.” He pulled back, looking her in the face, hand gently cupping her breast.
She was flushed, the blood rising to her skin, warming it, puffing out a rich aroma of his soap and her woman-scent. Wonderful. It was all he could do to keep from putting his nose to her skin and sniffing like a dog.
“I like everything you do to me, Drake,” she replied simply.
Her mouth was flushed red, lips swollen and wet. When she spoke, he didn’t even hear her at first, he was following the movements of those lush lips so closely, fantasizing about them closing over his cock.
He felt an almost violent need to crush her to him.
Careful now, he told himself and nearly laughed. The fact that he had to tell himself to be careful was so alien it was as if he were talking to someone else.
Drake was always careful, always. He never got carried away, never got out of control, never had to worry about hurting anyone unless he wanted them hurt.
He never hurt women, though, ever. It wasn’t in him.
He was always controlled during sex, always made sure the woman was wet enough to take him, always made sure his strong hands never bruised.
It had never been difficult. He’d learned to control his emotions and his body at an age so young he didn’t remember learning the lesson. Control was as deeply ingrained in him as his bones or blood. A part of him for as long as he could remember.
That control was now simply…gone.
He just looked at Grace, perhaps the most beautiful woman he’d ever had in his arms. And not just beautiful—an immensely talented artist. So gifted he couldn’t even imagine now having a home where her paintings wouldn’t have pride of place. So gifted, the little peace he’d had in the past year had been thanks to her. Amazingly, too, this woman with the gift of the gods in her hands had a good heart, as well. Was gentle and kind, instinctively so.
This was a woman in a million. He should treat her like porcelain, like glass that would shatter at his touch. He should get down on the floor on his knees as if before an angel.
Instead, crazily, his predator’s blood was up. He had to clench his teeth against a growl rising in his throat, a growl of possession, almost violent, like a war cry. His hands itched to grab her, hold her so tightly his fingers would be imprinted on her skin.
He wanted to rip those clothes off her right now, not even take the trouble to slide them off, but simply hook his finger in the collar of the sweater and pull. Put his hands on the pants and rip them off her. It would be ridiculously easy to do. He could kill a man with one blow of his hands; ripping material was nothing.
He could picture it, rending her clothes with a snarl of impatience, pulling her down on the rug in front of the fire, pulling her legs apart and up and slamming into her, whether she was ready or not.
He’d fuck her as hard as he’d ever fucked anyone, like a mindless beast, with the full strength of his body, pounding into her. He was so aroused, he would never stop at the first climax. He’d spurt into her, happy that it would make her wet, and then just continue slamming into her, for hours.
Oh God, he could feel that, taste it. He shook with the images that blossomed in his head. He’d fuck her until she was sore, then fuck her some more. Every cell in his body was screaming to have at her, with all the strength of his body, for as long as he could.
He’d hurt her.
If he did what he was shaking to do, he’d fucking hurt her. Hurt Grace.
It didn’t bear thinking of.
He’d controlled himself with hundreds of women who didn’t mean a thing to him. It had been easy, ingrained. This one woman, who meant everything, tested his control.
Drake threw his head back and breathed the desire back down. Such a strange, unusual feeling, this grappling for control with his arms full of warm woman. She shifted, moving her hip right over his erection and froze, like a deer in the hunter’s sights. Her eyes met his, wide open and startled, as if she’d never felt a man’s erection before.
A log fell heavily in the hearth and she jumped a little in his arms.
Her nervousness made him force himself into a little calm. They’d made love several times in the night, and this morning. He had to learn how to be with her without tipping over into mindless lust.
He leaned back and relaxed, content even with just the warm feel of her skin next to his.
When she realized he was relaxing, she did, too, leaning forward to rest against him with a soft sigh, one finger idly stroking his jaw, lips close enough to his neck to kiss him softly. His body relaxed further and so did hers, until they almost melted into each other. As the minutes ticked into an hour, they started breathing in unison, as if they were one creature, with two heads, four arms, but only one heart.
There was the sound of the fire, their breaths, and nothing else. Drake felt his mind drifting.
He was hard as stone, but there was just something about the moment that felt right exactly as it was, something fine and rare. He couldn’t quite pin it down, until he realized it wasn’t something, it was a lack of something.
His mind was quiet and still, a deep pool, so deep it could not be fathomed.
Remarkable.
Drake was used to the continual background hum of calculations in his head, there since before he could remember. When he was a homeless child on the streets, the noise was a constant lookout for food and shelter, while avoiding the many men who preyed on the helpless youngsters infesting the streets of Odessa like rats. His mind had been like a lighthouse beacon, constantly surveying surroundings in a 360-degree sweep. He’d taught himself to remain alert even while sleeping, when he wasn’t in secure surroundings, which had been always, until he started earning good money.
Drake had lived like this his entire life, constantly alert, calculating the odds, working to make sure they were always in his favor.
True, his concerns now were not finding food and shelter, and they hadn’t been for a long time. Now he ran an empire, single-handedly. He kept vast amounts of information in his head at all times, an enormous array of data that kept shifting and recombining. In his world, things moved fast and so did he.
Nothing like that, now. Now his head was filled with peace, a still, golden, calm pond of it, a welcome silence that allowed him to savor this moment, a moment so rare as to be almost incomprehensible. No busy buzz of business, harsh hum of calculations, whirr of thoughts. Just silence and warmth.
He looked down. Grace was watching him with calm blue-green eyes, lips slightly uptilted at the corners. As if wanting to smile, but uncertain of his mood.