Out of Control (18 page)

“Hey. Are you sure about this?”

She pushed the linen shirt off his shoulders and started fumbling with his cuffs. “Nonverbal communication just doesn't get through to you, does it? What do I have to do to convince you? Tie you down? Ravish you by force? Say the word, pal. I'm in the mood to be wild.”

“Just give me a goddamn straight answer.” He yanked his cuffs out of her fingers and undid the buttons, flinging the shirt onto the floor. “That's all I ask.”

She hesitated. “I really wish you'd lighten up,” she said. “My life is awfully grim and serious these days.”

“Forget it,” he said. “If you want lighthearted, I'm not your man. Not tonight, anyway. Just say it, straight out. Let me hear a formal declaration of intent. Do you want to have sex with me tonight?”

“Do you have condoms?” she asked.

“Drawer in the bedside table.”

“Then yes. I'm sure,” she said. “Make me feel something good.”

“OK,” he muttered. “That I can do.”

There. She'd done it, she'd thrown herself into the vortex.

His hands circled her waist, just touching the curves of her hips, sliding over her naked skin. Every gentle stroke made her tingle and buzz, every place he touched felt like it should sparkle with light. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him in her usual bold, take-charge way. He opened his mouth to hers, and their tongues touched.

The astonishing intimacy of the tender contact took her by surprise. Everything went hot and shaky and unstable.

But she didn't want to be shaky, stammering and blushing. She needed all her attitude with a guy like Davy. She wanted to wow him, subdue him, shock him senseless, like the fearless barbarian queen. She wanted some goddamn satisfaction. On her own terms.

But it wasn't going to be that way. It started with just the kiss; one minute she was perched naked on his lap, making love to his warm, sexy mouth, feeling like an invincible siren. The next moment, he was making love to hers, and she'd lost control of the kiss, of him, of herself, of everything. He just took her over, smoothly and completely.

His hand slid down to the cleft of her bottom, delving lower to brush over the curls that shielded her labia. The glancing touch sent a wild jolt of sensation and emotion through her. He pressed the small of her back, pushing her wider as his fingers slid inside her wet folds.

Pleasure uncoiled, unraveling her with every skillful stroke. She was helpless, trembling and soft. He got up, setting her on her feet and pushing her back as he unbuckled his belt. She lost her balance and tumbled onto the bed, scrambling backwards. She'd blatantly provoked him, but the minute he took her at her word, she panicked. This was nuts. She didn't do this, wasn't like this. There was only so far she could go before her back hit the headboard. She huddled against it, knees drawn up to her chest, shivering like a silly, terrified virgin.

Davy stripped off his jeans and advanced across the bed, looming over her in the dark. He put both hands over her knees, and the flush of heat and pleasure that spread down her thighs at the contact made her gasp. He flung himself to the side, his body stretching and flexing as he rummaged in the bedside drawer for a condom. He flipped on the light.

It happened too fast to protest. Margot winced, and covered her face with her hands. “I'd rather you left it off, please.”

“No.” His blunt refusal startled her. “I've got to see to every detail.”

She didn't want him to see to every detail; her reddened eyes, her blurry mouth that couldn't stop trembling. She couldn't do the barbarian queen act with the light on. It wouldn't be convincing.

And she just couldn't get used to how big he was. Extravagantly gorgeous. Those thick, powerful shoulders, that chest that went on forever, dusted with glinting hair, those muscular dips and curves in his hips that she wanted to explore with her fingertips, her lips, her tongue. And his erection—rising bluntly from a thatch of dark blond hair—her gaze skittered away, face crimson, even though she'd already felt it, touched it. Tasted it. She huddled against the headboard, trying to hide from him. As if she were afraid.

But not of him. Apart from his excessive charisma overload problem, he was a good, decent guy. She was sure of that.

It was this feeling she was afraid of. She'd never been moved so deeply. Certainly not by Craig, or his predecessors.

She'd never taken guys too seriously, after her early girlish heartbreaks. Men struck her as comical creatures, for the most part; troublesome when they got silly notions in their heads, sometimes a nice distraction, sometimes a lot of fun, and God knows she'd never given up hopes of finding a keeper someday.

But it was silly to get too worked up about them. The sad, awful truth about men was, the more you wanted them, the less they wanted you. It was a cruel formula, but she'd learned to live with it.

Davy McCloud turned her formulas upside down.

“Why are you scared?” he asked. “I thought you wanted this.”

She tried to smile, but her shaking mouth wouldn't cooperate. “You make me feel shy,” she whispered. “That's all.”

He kissed one knee, then the other. His lips were exquisitely warm and soft. His hands slid down her thighs. A deep, melting sweetness shivered through her legs in their wake.

“Are you trembling because you're scared, or because you're turned on?” he demanded.

“Both,” she admitted.

She jerked with startled pleasure as his finger brushed delicately down the damp divide of her labia. “Does being scared turn you on?”

He was doing it again, looking into her head, delving around in secrets she never knew she was keeping. It made her breathless, panicked excitement sharpen to an almost unbearable pitch.

“No!” she snapped. “I've changed my mind. I'm not scared. Not at all. Not of you. Don't think that for one minute.”

“OK. I won't think that.” His hands stroked the tops of her thighs. “We can stop. If you want.”

His voice had a shaky edge. That made her feel better. At least he was struggling, too. She shook her head. “I don't want to stop.”

He closed his eyes. “Thank God. You have no idea what it cost me to say that.” He pried her hands out of their death grip around her knees, lifted them to his lips and kissed them, front and back. “Relax.”

She nodded, but couldn't risk speaking. He slid his arm behind her knees, pulled until she unfolded. Then he pushed her legs open.

She stared up at him, her breath ragged. She'd never felt so naked as she did with Davy kneeling between her thighs, her intimate tender bits spread out for his perusal. Her sex felt hot, tingling. The look in his eyes heated her more than any other man's touch ever had.

“Christ, just look at you,” he muttered. “You're perfect.”

The woman she used to be would have said something sarcastic about feeding her a line, but his voice was tense. Not a practiced seducer's rap. He sounded sincere. Almost nervous.

Hah. Davy McCloud, nervous. She almost giggled. “Thanks,” she ventured. “Hardly perfect, but it's lovely of you to say so.”

She pressed her hands against his hot, damp chest as he stroked the swell of her belly, her rib cage. He cupped her breasts, circling her nipples, and she arched and sighed at the ticklish, shivering rush.

He poised his big body over hers, bending to press soft, licking kisses against her belly, her breastbone. His tongue dragged over her breast, sucking with tender, ravenous skill. She dug her nails into his shoulders. Her breasts gleamed where his hungry mouth had been, and his mouth went everywhere, a hot, dizzying swirl of pleasure.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and nuzzled his thick, silky hair. “It feels weird,” she whispered. “Being with you.”

“Why?” He slid his hand down to her inner thigh.

She put one hand over his to stop its bold path, and laid the other against his cheek. The sensual, sandpapery scrape of fine stubble against her fingertips made her forget what she'd been trying to say. She dragged it forcibly back from the depths. “Because you're so big, I guess,” she said. “I'm a tall woman, not skinny, either, but next to you, I feel like a wee dainty slip of a thing. I'm not used to it.”

He stretched his body out between her splayed legs, getting comfortable. “You're safe with me,” he insisted.

“Hah. Safe? What's safe mean, anyway? There is no safe. You know that. Just like there is no normal.”

He slid lower down and answered with hot, sensual kisses against her thigh, then her mound, spiraling slowly and surely in towards the crucial place where she was most sensitive. He took his own sweet time, dragging it out until she was as desperate for his touch as she was afraid of it, and finally slid his tongue between the folds of her labia and flicked it tenderly up, around, over her clit. A tender swirl, the faint drag of teeth, the flick of his tongue, and…oh. Oh, God.

Her pent-up, quivering excitement boiled over into a violent orgasm, almost instantly. She went wild, convulsed. She wasn't safe. She was terrified, more naked than she'd ever dreamed of being, crying out at the sweetness of every caress of his lips, his tongue, his hands.

Too much. Unbearable. She fought it, pushing him, writhing frantically away from his touch.

He grabbed her flailing hands, pinned her trembling thighs wide with his elbows. “What the hell?” he demanded. “Am I hurting you?”

“No…no.” Her voice broke. “I just can't…I can't.”

“You're scared of feeling good? Why, for Christ's sake?”

“I don't know.” She gasped for air, licking her lips, trying to remember how to speak. “Can't help it.”

“But it does feel good, right? You came, right? That's how it felt.”

“Yes,” she admitted, panting. “Oh, God, yes. It's just—too much.”

He stared at her for a thoughtful moment, eyes narrowed, and then slid up, covering her shivering form completely with his body.

“If it makes you come, I won't stop doing it,” he said.

She tried to think of a coherent response, but she was a shivering mass of electric sensation, uncontrollable reactions. No sense, no logic.

“I think you need to fight,” he said slowly. “Right?”

She shoved against his implacable weight. “How the hell would I know?” she flared. “I've never freaked out in bed before. Stop pinning me down. Don't analyze me. Let go of my hands, goddamnit.”

“No,” he said. “Fight all you want, Margot. I'll win, though.” He trapped both her wrists, slid down and put his mouth to her again.

It was true. She could struggle all she wanted, and he just pinned her into place with his powerful body and took her apart.

Time and space swirled into a sensuous blur, hot caramel syrup blending in melting ice cream, and he licked it up with tireless appetite. Each sweet shock of surprise was the most intense she'd ever felt, constantly supplanted by the next that was sweeter; an endless unfolding of shivering bliss. Waves of pleasure rocking and cresting over her, one after the other, even while her muscles trembled with the strain of struggling. She couldn't relax. She would fly to pieces if she let go for a single second. She would disappear.

He slid up over her damp, trembling body and kissed her again as he slipped one long finger inside her, pressing against a spot she'd never known about herself. She jerked and clenched around his hand.

“I don't know what you're fighting so hard to defend,” he said. “But the harder you fight, the more I want it.”

She shook her head, struggling to comprehend. “Want what?”

“You tell me, babe. Everything, anything you've got. Everything you've never given to a man before. I want it all.”

His hand squeezed, probed, and thrust deeper, a rhythmic imitation of sex. Her hips jerked against him, welcoming every stroke, and he shoved her over the brink into another long, shuddering wave.

“I bet no man's ever really gotten through to you.” His voice was speculative. “You're a wildcat. Panther woman. Who has the strength to hold you down for that long? Sex with you is a workout, babe.”

“Watch it with the delirious power trips, pal,” she warned him. “Keep it up, and I'll have to knock you back down to size.”

“Sure, babe. Go ahead, keep me on my knees. I know just what to do to you down there.” He slid back down.

She struggled up onto her elbows and tangled her hands into his thick hair. “You have got to cool it,” she told him breathlessly.

“I do?” He slid his tongue teasingly along her labia, and she gasped and tried to push his face away. “I don't think so. We're not done yet. Not while you've still got the strength to fight me.”

“That's kinky,” she told him.

“Sure. Whatever you need, sweetheart. I've never done kinky before, but I take my cues from you.”

“But you're driving me bananas!”