“Where can I lay you down?” he said roughly.
“Come. This way.”
When she took his hand, he had to ignore the feel of the scars on her palm. He didn’t want to be reminded of everything she had been through—at least not at this moment. If he thought about her situation too much, he was liable to stop, and he knew if he did, he was never going to have another chance with her. She would pull away. Disappear.
Or maybe that was his fear talking.
Whatever it was, now was not the time for the mind. This was about their bodies.
The bedroom she took him into was painfully simple. Nothing on the walls, nothing much on the bed but a single pillow and a handmade quilt. When she closed the door, the light from the other room was cut off, and in the utter darkness, he lost his bearings.
Yet as she stepped into him once again, he didn’t care where they were. All he needed—all he wanted—was her. She was the gravity that kept him on the earth and the oxygen in his lungs and the blood that filled his veins.
“Just so you know,” she said in a husky voice, “I don’t usually do this. I’m not exactly sure what’s gotten into me, but what I know for sure is that . . . I don’t want to stop with you.”
Boone had to close his eyes as an electric shot bolted through his body. But it was easy to gather himself back so he could reassure her of something she evidently wasn’t worried about: “And just so you know, I will stop if you want. At any time, and no matter how far we’ve gone.”
When she pulled him back down to her mouth again, Boone shuffled them to the side until the mattress hit his leg, and then he picked her up by the waist, moving her off her feet and onto that quilt. As he stretched out beside her on the small bed, he scented her everywhere on the pillow and the covers.
As they kept kissing, his hand traveled up from where he’d held on to her, skating the side of her breast, moving onto her shoulder. Their noses bumped as they repositioned the mouth-to-mouth, but then they found each other properly once more. Going slowly, he eased part of his weight onto her, feeling her body sink into the mattress. He kept his hips back, though.
For godsakes, he didn’t want to come too soon, and he was on the verge already.
With his eyes unable to see, every other sense of his was cranked up, and he wanted the clothes off their bodies so he could feel even more of her—and she must have read his mind. Her hands went to his cashmere sweater and pulled the hem up his torso. Backing off from her lips, he sat up and swept the fine weave over his head.
“Your shirt, too,” she said roughly.
Freeing his cuffs, Boone ripped that button-down over his head without bothering with the buttons—and when something tore in the process, he didn’t care in the slightest. He tossed away the pressed and starched cotton with the same concern he had the sweater: none.
As he lowered himself down her again, her hands drifted over his ribs and he froze as his cock throbbed behind his fly.
“Is this okay?” she whispered into the dark.
“Touch me anywhere.”
Rolling to the side, he let himself fall back on the mattress and extended his arms up and over his head, the sense that he was giving himself, his body, to her both exciting and a little frightening. He preferred control, but for her? He was more than willing to give some of it up.
Give all of it up.
The first thing that hit his bare chest was the ends of her hair, the soft brushes a tickle that went right to the thick head of his erection. Biting his lower lip, he hissed through his front teeth and arched until his spine cracked. And then her fingertips found his skin, traveling over the pads of muscle on his chest and going onto his abs. As she explored his torso, his breath got tighter and faster, and a separate heartbeat started up in his arousal, hardening him even further.
Goddamn . . . the more she touched him, the more he wanted to be doing the same to her, hovering over her naked breasts—only in his case, it would be his mouth on her skin, not his hair or his hands. As the urge to get all over her hit, he nearly gave in . . . yet he had the sense she was more comfortable learning his body first, before she became vulnerable herself—
When those fingers of hers brushed over his belly button, right above his fly, the sound that came out of him was of an animal in need.
Helania’s voice coming through the pitch dark was like a siren calling him and he was powerless not to acquiesce. Not that he would ever have told her no.
“Please . . .” His voice cracked. “Oh, God . . . please.”
He felt everything. The tug of the top button. The release of the waistband. The zipper going down. His erection, which had gotten crammed off to the side and was being squeezed by the bones of his pelvis, was a barometer for it all, the licks of pleasure traveling down the shaft and nailing him in the sac—
The release, when it came, was of the constriction variety, not an orgasmic one, and thank the Virgin Scribe for that: As he lifted his hips, Helania pulled his slacks down his thighs and his arousal punched out of its tight squeeze, slapping onto his lower belly. To help with the evac, and to distract himself from all the sensations rocketing through him, he kicked off both his loafers—and when the pants hit the floor at the end of the bed, he toe-peeled his socks off . . .
Finally, he was where he wanted to be.
Okay, that wasn’t entirely true, but him being naked was a step in the right direction.
Her being naked was the rest—
When the bed wiggled and he heard shifting clothes, his heart pounded on his sternum like the thing was a door his cardiac muscle needed to get through.
“Let me help you with that.” He reached out blindly. “I can—”
He stopped talking as Helania lay on top of him, her nude body the best blanket on the planet, her hips compressing his erection, her breasts oh, so soft against all his muscle. With gnawing hunger, he found her lips again, and their bodies moved together in the darkness, the friction erotic and primal, the anticipation growing.
Moving her up higher on his chest, he nuzzled into her throat and ran a fang over her jugular—and as she stiffened, he said, “No, I won’t. I promise.”
“I want you to.”
His whole body stilled at that. But he knew things were already too hot for any kind of feeding. He was liable to drain her dry even though he’d taken a vein only forty-eight hours before. So instead of piercing her with his canines, he nipped at her collarbone and shifted her farther upward, her thighs splitting so that she straddled his torso. And then he had his prize. As he sucked one of her nipples into his mouth, she gasped into the darkness and he heard a smack on the wall, like she had planted a hand for balance. Running his palms up and down her ribs, he worshipped her with his mouth, lolling his tongue around her tender points, sucking them in and then kissing the undersides.
As she rode him, her hips rubbed her sex back and forth on his abs, her arousal driving him wild, her springtime scent filling the room.
He meant to take it slow. He really did.
But when she straightened from his mouth and set herself back on his hips, he barked a curse and arched so hard, his head hit that wall and shoved the bed out of place.
All he could feel was her slick, hot core on the hard ridge of his sex, and it was too much.
The orgasm started before he could rein the release in, hot jets exploding out of him, blowing the top of his cock off. Gritting his teeth, now he cursed for a different reason—
Helania’s low laugh was all satisfaction. And she didn’t hesitate.
She lifted off his pelvis, took his hypersensitive, spasming erection in her hand, and stood him up.
The next thing he felt was the incredible, tight, slick hold of her sex, the glorious pressure ramping up his pleasure and making him come even harder.
Except goddamn it, he hated how out of control he was; he was letting her down with all of this premature shit. He should be coaxing a sensual response out of her, mounting her with care, riding her nice and slow until she found the first orgasm.
He’d totally blown their first time.
Given how big Boone was, it was not a surprise that his overall size was reflected in every one of his body parts.
Particularly the part that defined him as a male.
As Helania sat herself down on his hard erection, he filled her up and stretched her wide. And that first one was literal, too. He was orgasming in a wild frenzy, and as she started to ride him, she loved everything about the sex they were having: that she was on top, that he had lost control, that he wanted her this much. Rolling her hips on top of him, her thighs lifting her up and down on his head and shaft, she arched and ran her hands through her hair, lifting the weight up over her shoulders and letting her breasts swing freely.
That was when she willed the light on.
The illumination chased the darkness away, the glow from the bedside table bathing her in a soft light.
Closing her eyes as her retinas stung, she kept up what she was doing, pumping on his pelvis, his sex going in and out of her, her breasts swaying. It seemed bizarre that she could be so uninhibited with someone she didn’t know well, but Boone made her feel beautiful, and besides, she wanted this.
She wanted him.
When she opened her lids, he was staring up at her with rapture, his eyes bouncing around between her tight, pink nipples, her mouth . . . and where they were joined.
“Oh, God . . . Helania.” His large hands reached forward and captured her breasts, his thumbs stroking over the supersensitive tips. “Don’t ever stop.”
“I’m not going to.”
Dropping her arms, she leaned over him and braced her weight on either side of him for better range of movement, her breasts swinging even more, brushing back and forth against his fingertips, bringing her ever closer to the pleasure he had already found.
She didn’t want to let herself go. She didn’t want this to be over. She could spend an eternity joined with him.
Her body had different ideas. Within moments, rhythmic contractions started in her core and carried her over the brink, her orgasm so sharp it was almost painful, the pleasure flooding through her.