The raw, lost tone in his voice startled her into a rush of tenderness. She had been so overcome by her own reaction to him, it never occurred to her that he could feel vulnerable, too. The thought gave her a somewhat unwelcome sense of power. It reminded her of her mother. Elena had wielded power over men, whenever and however she could. And yet, she had died all alone. No one but Nell at her funeral.
She pushed the thought away. “You won’t fuck up,” she said. “You did fine in the conference room. You almost made my heart stop.”
“As long as I kept my mouth shut,” he said sourly. “I have an adrenaline hard-on that would drive nails. My hands are still shaking. I am not in control. At all. And I do not like it.”
She hid her smile, sensing that he would not appreciate it. Instead, she ran her finger around the swollen tip of his cock. “Strange,” she mused. “This ravenous, howling-at-the-moon beast managed to bring me to his fancy home, cook me a nice dinner, pour me wine, chat about art. Such savagery really chills the blood. Besides, I thought sex was all about losing control.”
He shook his head. “Not when you’re as big as me. I could hurt you.” His voice was a shaking rasp. “I can’t afford to make any wrong moves with you. You are a fucking minefield, Nell D’Onofrio.”
She swirled her whole hand around him, making the tendons stand out on his throat. “Sorry I’m so difficult,” she murmured.
He clambered onto the bed, dragging her close until their bodies touched. His heat was a sweet shock. The sheer mass of him, the crackling energy, his own male scent overlaid with perfumes of his soap and shampoo. He made her mouth water. She moistened her hand with the slick drops of pre-come, and began milking the long, broad stalk. “I think it would be exciting to make you lose control,” she told him.
“We’re not going there.” He slid his hand between her legs, teasing her tender folds open, sighing when he found her already wet and slick.
“We’re not?” She caressed him, two handed, long, tight, sliding strokes while his fingers delved. They stared into each other’s eyes, fighting for breath. She squirmed around his fingers. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said, breathlessly, for no reason she could understand.
And it was true. She’d changed. That was why the sex was so good. Apart from his very considerable talent, of course.
He reached down and trapped her hand at his cock, holding it motionless. “Do not provoke me. I’m walking a knife’s edge, as it is.”
She swirled her fingertip on the pre-come dripping off his penis. Then with the same finger, she gave his chest a tiny shove.
“What’s that about?” he demanded. “You pushing me away?”
She smiled at him, mysteriously up through her lashes. “No,” she murmured. “That’s me, pushing you off your knife’s edge.”
He shoved her onto her back. “You asked for it.”
“Sure did,” she agreed. “Don’t make me ask you twice.”
She wiggled beneath his big body while he rolled the latex onto himself, lungs locked with excitement. He nudged against her, pushing until her body finally yielded, until she was gasping with the pressure of that broad bulb, caressing her sensitive inner flesh. She tried to move, but she could barely budge. He shoved deeper.
She was so primed, she came almost instantly, with a gasping shriek. Duncan stopped moving as she convulsed around him, his breath hissing. When the climax had widened out to a glowing ripple of residual pleasure, he hooked her legs up over his elbows and began.
He rode her hard, and she loved it. She gripped his arms, bracing herself against each jarring thrust. She was a hot shimmer melting for him. Long, sobbing spasms of delight rippled out into everywhere.
He got up some immeasurable time later, got rid of the condom. Then he slid back between the sheets and clutched her against his big, hot chest. She snuggled against him, suspended in a liquid dream.
Only a tiny, needle-thin part of her mind stayed apart, wondering how long the dream could possibly last.
Duncan was disoriented when he woke. He’d trained himself to wake at a quarter to five a.m. He was used to having his eyes open while the sky was dark, mind clear and sharp and already generating a streamlined plan of attack for the day’s work.
The sky was not dark. The room was flooded with sunshine. And his mind was not sharp. It was drugged with a strange sensation of intense well-being. He was intoxicated with the scent of dark ringlets that tickled his nose. He was unbalanced by a rush of startled joy.
Nell. In his bed. He couldn’t get over how soft she was. Her skin beneath his hands, as fine as a baby’s. She slept, her back to him, her round, rosy ass pressed against his hips. With predictable consequence.
The urge to roll her onto her belly, mount up and slide into that hot grip of her luscious body took all his mental muscle to withstand. Too dangerous. He had no idea how she would feel when she woke.
Better that she not wake up with his cock already inside her.
He nuzzled her neck, instead. The graceful angle of bones and tendons under her soft skin, that little brown mole, the way the grain of her hair swirled in those wild vortices at her nape. The responsive skin there, perfumed and decorated with fine fuzz. The fine white-gold chain.
He scooted back, just far enough to let her roll onto her back, so he could properly admire her tits. God. World class. So full and soft, jiggling, the way they swelled out, the tight brown nipples. The glittering pendant lay on her collarbone, a bright point of light.
His self-control failed him. He cupped her tits in his hands and pressed his face against that soft bounty, and something snapped. He went wild with hungry licking and suckling. That woke her up in a hurry. She stiffened, with a gasp that soon became a whimper. Her arms twined around his neck, her back arched. Offering her tits to him.
He’d rolled over so that he lay between her legs, and now she opened them wide, tilting her hips in instinctive invitation.
His body had no hope of refusing it. He grabbed his rigid cock, held it at the right angle until he got it wedged inside, and shoved.
So good. Hot. A slow, excruciatingly tight, naked slide. “Oh, fuck,” he gasped. So much for eloquence. So much for poetry.
Her eyes popped open. She and Duncan froze. No need to speak. They both remembered the latex at the same moment. But it was too fucking good to resist. He rocked, sliding. So wet, so amazingly hot.
“I won’t come inside you,” he promised, his voice ragged.
“But I…we haven’t even discussed—”
“I’m safe,” he promised. “Tested negative for everything on my last physical. Never do it without condoms. Never. Only with you. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t…stop. You drive me out of my fucking mind.”
She wiggled around him, her eyes big and dazed. “I’m safe, too, diseasewise. But I’m not on the pill, or anything.”
He slid slowly deeper, until she hugged his whole length, and his cockhead pressed against the mouth of her womb. “I’ll be careful,” he begged. “I won’t come. I’ll be good. I swear.”
She laughed, jerkily. “You’re always good. That’s not the issue.”
“There is no issue. I just won’t. Please, Nell.”
She lifted herself against him in answer, and they were off at a wild, hard gallop. His body had an agenda all its own. He wanted to explode with each urgent stroke. The scalding liquid of her lube, the shocking immediacy of naked skin to skin, like nothing he’d ever dreamed, ever known. It revealed spaces in his mind that he’d never known were there. Sex had never taken him into other realms of consciousness before, much as he’d enjoyed it.
It was Nell who took him there. She was poetry, she was music, she was red hot, honeyed perfection. He lifted himself up so he could see every detail of their joining. The root of his cock, gleaming with her lube, her tender pink pussy lips stretched around it, kissing and caressing him as he plunged and surged, his body locked in motion. Her soft, shapely white thighs open for him, the lush curves, her tits jiggling with each hard thrust. The look in her huge eyes made something break open in his chest, but there was no time to be afraid of what he found in there, because his body was charging ahead, following the beacon of her impending orgasm. He drove her to the edge, over—