Thea Harrison: True Colors

“Care to expound on that statement?” he murmured.

They had so much to learn about each other. The barrier would probably come back. It might take a long time for it to go completely. But for now, she opened her mouth to lick at his lips. “Nah,” she said, as she gave him a small grin. “I think you’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

The crow’s feet lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. He bent his head and ran his lips lightly along the skin of her neck, as he whispered, “I can hardly wait.”

The warm, moist exhalation of his breath on her sensitized skin was a caress all its own. It had the same effect as touching a match to kindling. Her body flashed hot as if a sheet of flame had doused her, and the hunger she felt for him was so ravening she shook from it. Oh gods, it was stronger than anything she had ever felt before. This feeling was so huge it threatened to swallow her whole.

She’d had lovers. Only a few, but they were enough that she thought she knew what she was about. She tried to brace herself, to hold on to some kind of rational thought or expectation. The first time with a new lover was never all that great. She’d always had to urge them to slow down. They needed time to get to know each other’s likes and dislikes before their lovemaking would get really good, and it wouldn’t matter in the slightest if he—if he wasn’t all that sensually gifted because he was so very fine, just so damn perfect in every other—

He took her nightgown by the neckline and tore it off her. Then he fell on her like a starving man on a feast. His entire tremendous body was ridged with all the heavy muscles held taut, and the look on his face was so desperate and raw that tears sprang to her eyes. His head arrowed down to her breasts, and he licked and suckled at her nipples until they jutted wet and distended, unbearably sensitive nubs of flesh. He moved from one to the other, as he stroked a big hand along the inside of her thighs and teased the private opening of her cleft with shaking fingers. She felt herself moisten further for him until his hand was soaked with her pleasure.

She touched him everywhere she could reach, with her mouth and her hands, arching up to rub her torso along the muscled length of his. He was breathing hard and whining low at the back of his throat, a barely discernible sound that nevertheless caught at her and pulled her outside of herself. When she groped between them to grip the heavy, hard shaft of his penis, he froze with a groan.

She looked into his pale, burning gaze as she fingered his erection, learning him by touch. His skin was flushed dark, the bones of his face clenched. Her hands were shaking, too. He felt huge to her, the length of his cock thick, ridged with veins and capped with a broad head with velvet soft skin. They both looked down the space between their bodies. Her slender legs were splayed wide for him, her delicate flesh plump, moist and inviting.

The emptiness at that juncture became a spike of need. She tugged on him gently, letting her hand stroke along the length of him. “Come inside,” she whispered. “We can go slow some other time.”

He shook his head, his breath coming in short hard pants, even as his hips pumped a slow grind that thrust his cock into her fist. “Not too fast. Not— God!”

The agonized pleasure that crossed his face as she massaged him was the most exquisite thing she’d ever seen. Her need spiked higher, hotter. She was so empty she hurt. She sucked air and struggled to articulate. “Gideon, please.”

He met her gaze quickly. “Does it ache, sweetheart?”

His desperation had not gone. He held it in check, and the tenderness and heat in his eyes made the easy swell of her tears spill over. She nodded jerkily.

He bent and nuzzled at her breast, and whispered, “I’ll make it better.”

He pulled his penis out of her hand. “No,” she said, and she twisted to try to take hold of him again.

He avoided her grasp and moved down to settle between her legs. She propped herself on one elbow and took him by the arm, trying to urge him up again. He bit the heel of her hand in a quick stinging nip. “Stop that.”

“You won’t listen,” she gasped. “Get back here already.”

He growled. “Don’t make me pin you down.”

Wait, did she hear that right?

They both froze. He looked unutterably gorgeous, unapologetic, mischievous and half feral, poised as he was with his broad shoulders between her thighs. Stunned passion pulsed and she blazed with heat all over again.

She said, “You better not.”

His eyes narrowed. He looked down her body and licked his lips. “Or what?”

It could have been a fun game to play but then her hungry clitoris throbbed so hard her knees drew up in reaction, and she lost all composure. She whimpered, “I don’t know.”

His hands snaked out, faster than sight. He gripped her by the insides of her knees and yanked her legs as wide as they could go. The shock of the movement, the sense of extreme vulnerability, was such that she emitted a shaking groan.

Then his head dove down. He put his mouth on her and she went downright nuclear. He licked and suckled at the stiff little nubbin cloaked by the folds of her private flesh. His mouth was so sure and confident, so urgent yet gentle, that her knees tried to draw up again, but those big hard hands of his encompassed her knees and held her wide open for his ravishment.

The pleasure was insane. It was too much to take. She flung out her hands in a blind search for something, anything to hold on to as he drove her body into a sharp crescendo. She felt the climax roaring toward her and then it slammed into her body with such intensity her torso arched off the floor and noise broke out of her, a high, thin, out-of-control scream of incredulity.

He held his mouth on her, steady and hot, his pale gaze drinking her in as his tongue massaged every last pulse of pleasure out of her, and the sight of him working her with such patient, sensual intent hurtled her into another one. She flew into it, hotter and harder than before, and the tendons in her neck distended as she tried to scream again but she had flown so high the air was too thin, and she couldn’t get in a breath to make any noise.

And all the time, he was whispering inside her head. Beautiful, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful. God, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I want to see you do it again.

I can’t! I-it’s too much—Gideon, PLEASE—

Then she lost the words for even telepathy. She held out both hands to him in mute entreaty. And his control broke.

He lunged up to her, guiding the head of his thick penis to her entrance with one hand even as he kissed her, his lips hard and urgent. His mouth was slick with her pleasure. She tasted him, tasted herself. An animal sound came out of her.

She was already climaxing again, her interior muscles rippling, as he slid into her all the way to the hilt, and it was so fucking perfect, she was so fucking perfect, he went on a hopscotch skip straight into the land of crazy.

He poured his own climax into her welcoming body, a helpless shuddering gush. But it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t even close to enough, it only fed his hunger. A deep growl broke from his chest. He took her by the wrists and pinned her down, and he drove into her in hard, pounding strokes, as she ate eagerly at his mouth and met every thrust of his hips with hers. He came again, and again, and each time she came with him, until at last she lay limp underneath him and he had no more to spend.

He might have slept, hands loosely clasped on her wrists. He wasn’t sure. At some point he roused to awareness enough to mutter, “Too heavy?”

His penis had softened but he was still inside her, and it was so gorgeous she didn’t want to lose the sensation. His head was pillowed in her hair. She couldn’t move her head. She couldn’t even open her eyes. She made a herculean effort to respond and managed, “Huh uh.”