On Thin Ice (16 page)

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Authors: Susan Andersen

BOOK: On Thin Ice
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“I'm afraid I'm not very good at this,” she admitted and to Mick's amazement he could see that she really believed it.
“Ah, now that's where you're wrong, darlin',” he disagreed. “I'd say you were made for this.” He kissed her hard, then raised his head up to grin down at her. “But I'd be happy to walk you through it.”
His expression was so full of himself that Sasha couldn't help but grin back. “Yeah? You'd do that for me?” She laughed that sexy laugh of hers and untangled her arms from around his neck. Extending them as far down his back as they'd reach, she scratched her way back up to his shoulders, then stroked her hands around from there to the swells of his chest. She rubbed her palms back and forth, back and forth, across small pebbled nipples and smooth, rounded muscles. “That's mighty big of you.”
Mick shivered. “Trust me, honey, you don't know the half of it.” Grabbing her hands, he pressed them to the mattress on either side of her head. Then sitting back on his heels, he reached for her shirt and eased it over her head. He tossed it aside. After staring at her breasts for several moments, he suddenly hunched over and caught one protruding nipple between his teeth. He tugged at it, sucked it hard for an instant, then let it go with an audible pop. Then he kneed her legs apart and bent forward to brush his chest against her bared breasts. His mouth fastened to the side of her throat at the same moment his pelvis suddenly lowered to surge fully between her legs.
Sasha's breath sucked in sharply and she arched her back, thrusting her breasts more solidly against him. She drew her knees back to experience more of the erection that strained between them. “Oh, God, that is mighty big of you,” she tried to joke as her head tilted involuntarily to the side to allow his lips more freedom.
Neither of them was in the mood for laughing, however—the time for playfulness had passed. Even through the layers of clothing separating them, sensations were taking over and they moved against each other in an ageless, urgent rhythm. Her hands slid off his pectorals, under his arms, and down his bare back to the crisp cotton that covered his muscular buttocks. She clutched the rounded muscles there and pulled him even tighter against her.
“Ah! That's it.” Mick moved his hips several times before he started easing back. “I want you naked. Now.”
She was reaching between them to scramble out of her pants even before he finished speaking. Mick vaulted off the bed, kicked out of his Dockers and Calvin Klein's and pulled the drawer open in the night stand next to the bed. He fished a box of condoms out from its nesting place between the Gideon's Bible and a pair of satin leopard skin panties. With a glance over his shoulder he slid the panties under the Bible and closed the drawer. Flipping open the cardboard top he grabbed a condom out and tore its wrapping open with his teeth.
When he'd finished putting it on, he looked up to find Sasha watching him with big eyes. She was kneeling in the middle of the bed, her arms crossed at the wrist and braced against her upper thighs. Her pose might have been designed to preserve her modesty, but her eyes were anything but chaste or shy. They stared with unblinking, outright fascination at his erect penis.
He dove across the mattress and tumbled her onto her back. “You like what you see?”
She looked up at him, all flushed cheeks, tumbled dark hair, and moist, red lips. “Yes.”
He reached for her right hand and brought it down between their bodies, holding it by the wrist a fraction of an inch from where he strained between them. “Wanna get your hands on it?”
Excitement burned in her eyes.
“Yes.”
He let go of her wrist and her fingers wrapped around him, gripping him tightly. She squeezed him through her fist, first to the root, then to the tip.
“Ahh! ” Mick's breath exploded from his lungs. His fingers raced down her belly to the soft thatch of hair between her legs. Separating slippery folds of flesh, they headed like heat-seeking missiles directly to her clitoris, where they feathered gently back and forth. She whined softly and opened her thighs.
“Oh yeah, you like that.” His throat was so constricted it was an effort to squeeze out the words. Still, he demanded, “What else do you like? Tell me what you want.”
“You,” she said without hesitation. “Inside me.” Her hips twisted in his direction and she pulled on his erection, trying to bring them closer together. “Oh, Mick, please, I want you inside me!”
He grabbed one of the pillows and punched it down, sliding it beneath her hips. Bracing himself over her, he reached down to guide himself into her.
She was tight, very tight, and sucking in a deep breath he entered her carefully, going two steps forward and one step back, sliding forward a couple inches and pulling back one, then sliding forward a couple more.
“Oh please, oh please,” Sasha began to chant in a whispery voice, concentrating on the thunderous pleasure that was building deep between her legs. “Oh, Mick, please . . .”
“Look at me.” He planted his hands on the mattress and stared down at her, hips plunging forward, easing back, in shallow strokes. “Open your eyes, Sasha, and look at me.” He wanted to be damn sure she knew it was him and not that sonofabitch Morrison.
She did as he commanded. He looked so powerful looming over her, with those wide shoulders, the strapping chest and tightly muscled stomach. His eyes were bluer than usual and they blazed down at her fiercely. “Wrap your legs around my waist and your arms around me anywhere you want,” he said. “I want you to hold me.”
She complied, and only then did he complete the penetration, sinking into her until he could go no further. Air hissed through his teeth, and they gleamed whitely in the gathering gloom as his lips curled away from them in a grimace of pure pleasure.
Sasha was caught unprepared for the sudden violence of the orgasm that overtook her the moment he was entirely inside her. Eyes clinging to his, her nails dug into his flesh and raked slowly down his back. “Oh, Mick . . .” She sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, pleeease . . .” Hard, undulating contractions imploded around that foreign rigidity stretching up inside her, and her eyes locked on his in blind wonder. Except for a long, barely audible shuddering whimper, she rode the sensations silently, concentrating on how they felt and the way they seemed to go on.
And on.
And on.
“Christ.” Mick watched her face, felt her nails scoring his back, her inner muscles clamping down and squeezing him as she came, and he gritted his teeth so hard he could feel the tension in his temples. He had to force himself to continue the gentle in and out motion. She sure as hell didn't require a lot of movement on his part and he feared if he suddenly began slamming into her like a renegade pile driver—which, oh God, was sure his inclination—he'd bring an end to her orgasm.
He couldn't prevent his hips from picking up a little speed though; he simply could not. Sasha didn't seem to mind. Still obeying his edict to look at him, her gaze continued to cling to his. Her mouth rounded and she breathed an ecstatic, “Oh, oh, oh, oh.” Her nails dug deeper; those interior muscles squeezed harder, and Mick went over the edge.
He grabbed her wrists and slammed them onto the mattress above her head. Staring down at her while his hips went berserk, he saw the liquid eyes, the red, parted lips, the cloud of black hair corkscrewing all over the bedspread. Saw the golden upthrust breasts and long, pink nipples. “Mine,” he growled, thrusting, pounding. “You're
mine
now.”
Then he groaned, loud and long, and ejaculated in scalding pulsations, buttocks clenched tight to keep him deep, thighs spread wide.
And collapsed atop her several moments later, feeling boneless and satiated . . . and very, very uneasy.
Je-sus, where had all that emotion between them sprung up from? He'd like to tell himself it was no big deal, to convince himself that, hell, he'd been hot for plenty of women in his lifetime. But the truth was he had
never
reacted to anyone quite like this before.
And what the hell was all that “you're mine” bullshit? Mick became aware of Sasha's breath wheezing in and out of her lungs from his weight on her chest, and he pushed up slightly on his forearms to allow her to draw in some air. But he kept his face buried in her hair, breathing in its fragrance, and he kept her pinned in place with his hands and his body. Man, he'd love to laugh off that rush of possessiveness. He'd love to be able to look himself squarely in the eye in the mirror and say, “Yeah, well, sure I meant it at the time. But then I got off.”
Hell, the truth was, at the moment he'd simply settle for the ability to roll off her and walk away. But he couldn't. Neither could he formulate a single question to hit her with while she was pliable, couldn't think of one pertinent piece of information to demand from her that would advance this damn case.
Shit. This was not in the game plan.
Sasha was sensitive to the sudden tension in the air and experienced an abrupt rash of qualms where only moments before she'd been filled with certainty. He'd gone so quiet and still on top of her.
Tentatively, she tugged at the fingers manacling her wrists. Mick slowly released them and she slid her arms down from their crooked position above her head and wrapped them around him. Maybe if she just held him for a minute . . .
As soon as she smoothed her hands down his back, however, she felt the welts and raw grooves her nails had left behind and was immediately mortified. Dear God in heaven, what had she done? She could feel places where she'd actually removed strips of his skin!
Now she didn't know
what
to do with her hands. So she moved them lower and palmed his hard, round buttocks, but where five minutes ago that would have seemed a perfectly natural thing to do, it now felt too personal.
Which should have been patently absurd, dammit, given the way her touch set him to pulsing several times inside her. But it seemed obtrusively intimate nevertheless. If only he would say something . . .
She wanted to talk to him about the way she felt. Connected. God, so connected to him—in a way that she'd only ever felt before when she'd skated with Lonnie. And even that was like trying to compare night-lights to floodlights. The connection she felt here in Mick's arms far surpassed the one she felt when she skated with Lon.
They were clearly only her sentiments, though. His stillness, the way he hadn't said a word since he'd said she was his now . . . Well, that had been nothing more than sex talk obviously, and she had the feeling that he now regretted ever opening his mouth.
Not a woman who would ever willingly outstay her welcome, she inquired bluntly, “Mick? Do you want me to go?”
He reacted without thinking, rearing back so abruptly his hands, which were tangled in her hair on the mattress, tugged free several roots from her scalp. “You want to
go?
”
“No, that's not what I said. I asked if
you
—”
But he wasn't listening. “Jesus, you got a hot date with Morrison or something?” His face lost all expression as he reached down to yank the pillow out from under her hips. He pulled out and started to push up off of her. “Well, certainly, by all means—don't let me hold you up.”
Sasha recoiled as if he'd thrust a handful of worms in her face. Mick watched it, saw the withdrawal that followed on its heels and only then did he replay her original question . . . and realize how badly he had skewed it.
Ah, shit.
“I'm sorry.” He dropped back over her, gathering her hair gently into one fist and piling it out of harm's way above her head. He stroked gentle fingers down he sides of her face and throat. “I didn't mean that, Saush—I don't even know why I said it, except that I heard what I thought you were saying instead of the words that were actually being said.” He rolled his shoulders uneasily. “I guess I'm a little unnerved here.”
“You're
a little unnerved?” She shoved at his shoulders. “Get off me, Vinicor.”
“No, I don't think so. Not until we get this . . .”
“Get off me!
”
Mick didn't have to be hit upside the head to recognize the signs of incipient hysteria when he heard them. “Okay, okay. Shh, easy now; I'm going.” He rolled to one side.
Sasha scrambled out from under, not pausing for breath until she was off the bed. She searched frantically for her clothes, moving from spot to spot, gathering pants here, a T-shirt there, until Mick came up behind her on silent feet and wrapped his arms around her. He held her against his naked warmth and buried his face in the cloud of curls against her neck. “I'm sorry,” he repeated. “I know I acted like a chump, but give me hell, Sasha. Don't just run out on me.”
Sasha went very still as his warmth began to penetrate to the nucleus of her jangled nerves. She stared at the far wall without actually taking in what it was she was looking at. “I never felt anything like that before,” she said in a low voice. Her hair shifted against his collarbone as she shook her head. “Never. Lon is like my brother; I've never
slept
with him. My God, Mick, that would practically be incest. And those two guys I did sleep with . . . ?” She struggled for words and then shrugged in defeat. “I just never knew.”

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