Kim Harrison - Hotter Than Hell

It wasn’t a coincidence. She was certain of that. Andrés hadn’t been here just to join the music festival. Either he’d followed her, or he’d known somehow….

And that’s ridiculous. He couldn’t have.

Cat flung herself down on the bed, grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest. No matter where she went, she couldn’t escape: not Andrés, not this feeling that made her wish she’d invited him up to her room and let him have his way with her. She could imagine his lean, muscular body naked beside her, his cock hard and high, his eyes blazing with lust the way Neal’s never had. She saw herself lying on a reed mat beside him, enjoying the pleasures of their wedding night….

She pounded the pillow with her fists. She was wet again, desperate for release that wouldn’t come. It was too early to sleep. She jumped up, paced the small room for a quarter of an hour, turned on the television to some abominable made-for-TV movie, and finally decided on a nice, long, hot shower.

The bathtub was hardly luxurious…one of those featureless molded plastic stalls that was about as welcoming as a tombstone in a graveyard. Cat was too muddled to care. She turned on the spray to its hottest, shed her clothes and stepped in with a sigh of relief.

But her mind would not be still. The water cascading over her breasts and hips made her shiver. Her body was transformed, as if she had become a creature of pure sensuality. She stroked her stomach, suddenly fascinated by the slight mound that had never matched the washboard ideal but now seemed a proclamation of her womanhood. She cupped her breasts, circling her nipples until they rose to firm peaks. She turned her face up into the water and let it cascade over her face while her fingers skimmed down her thighs and came to rest on warm, plump flesh.

Andrés. Oh, God, Andrés.

Her imagination was so vivid that she could almost hear the shower curtain sliding aside, feel the heat of a body behind her, masculine hands resting on her waist and massaging her hips. She could feel his tongue licking moisture from her neck as his cock worked between her parted thighs.

“Mi gatita,” he whispered.

She turned, eyes tightly closed. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her urgently, tangling his tongue with hers. After an eternity of such kisses he bent his head, following the slope of her chest lower, lower, until his tongue found her breast.

“You want more, querida?” he murmured.

“God. Oh, God. Yes.”

He flicked the tip of her nipple and then took her into his mouth. The cool plastic of the shower stall supported Cat’s weight as he suckled, first one breast and then the other, demanding, devouring. He wedged his hands behind her bottom, squeezing, lifting. His cock was trapped between them, hot and heavy. He withdrew to reposition himself and worked her thighs apart. She made no attempt to resist. He rubbed against her, the head of his cock caressing her swollen lips.

“What do you want?” he asked. “Tell me.”

“I…” She gasped as he pushed a little deeper and then pulled back. “Please…” Someone knocked on the door.

Cat came crashing back to reality. She staggered and clutched at the shower curtain to keep her balance. There was no one else in the shower. She was alone, silently screaming for deliverance.

The knock sounded again. Cat half stumbled out of the tub and reached for the towels folded on the rack above the toilet. They were barely big enough to cover her from breast to upper thigh.

The door seemed a million miles away. She leaned against it and looked through the peephole.

“Who is it?”

But she knew even before he answered, his voice all seductive music.

She hesitated for a second, two. Then she opened the door. She didn’t ask how he’d found her, or why he had come. She grabbed his hand, dragged him into the room, and kissed him.

His reaction was everything it had been in her dream. He thrust with his tongue as he stripped the towel from her body and tossed it aside, leading her to the bed. She went willingly, expecting him to shed his clothes and take her then and there. Instead, he knelt at the foot of the bed, pulled her toward him, and spread her thighs. His lips pressed against her vulva, then his tongue stroked over the moist folds of her labia. She couldn’t remember the last time she had experienced such a sensation or wanted it so much.

Andrés licked upward and found her clitoris, already distended and burning with something very near pain. But he didn’t touch it. He kissed her mons, driving her crazy with need.

“You taste of wine and honey,” he purred.

Cat groaned. “Don’t stop.”

He bent and drew her into his mouth. She arched up, demanding more. His teeth grazed her, his tongue fluttered and teased, bringing closer, ever closer to the release she had so desperately craved. He thrust his tongue deep inside her. She spiraled toward climax, higher and higher.

And once again Andrés denied her. He stood and began to unbutton his shirt, revealing his beautifully developed pecs. Cat couldn’t take her eyes from him. He removed the shirt, folded it and draped it over the chair by the window. Then he unbuttoned his jeans. The zipper slid down with a sensual hiss. He wore nothing underneath. His cock sprang free, bigger than even Cat’s fantasies had predicted.

His jeans fell to the floor and he kicked them away. His cock arced high against his stomach, ridged below and capped with the silky-smooth head. Cat’s thighs slackened in anticipation. Andrés knelt on the bed and positioned himself between her legs. He worked his fingers inside her. She bucked and moaned. He stretched out atop her, his cock gliding easily over the slickness of her sex. She strained against him, urging him to end her torment.

Deliberately he rubbed himself over her, glazing his cock in her wetness. His lips closed over her nipple just as they had in her shower dream, circling her breast while he flicked at the aching tip with his tongue.

Cat was delirious with pleasure and pain. She felt a vast, searing emptiness that only Andrés could fill. She lifted her legs higher, praying that his next move would send him thrusting into her. But he held his body still and kissed her mouth with the greatest tenderness.

“Andrés,” she whispered.

He licked her chin. “I told you once that I would not do anything you did not wish me to do,” he said, his voice husky with lust. “Tell me what you want.”

But Cat didn’t speak. She pushed him away and kept pushing until he was forced off the bed. He stood there, uncertain for the first time, his eyes reflecting much more than disappointment.

Cat moved to the foot of the bed, sat on the edge and took Andrés’s cock into her mouth. He gasped in surprise and pleasure. He laced his fingers through her hair and held on as she sucked and licked and tugged, moving his hips as his breathing quickened.

Within a few minutes he was rigid and ready to come. But he drew back, panting hoarsely. He lifted her to her feet, turned her around and laid her face-down on the bed. Strong, calloused hands raised her hips and buttocks, holding her in place.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly.

“Yes. Oh, God…”

He hesitated, and for a shattering moment she thought he was going to leave her. But then, without warning, he drove into her from behind. She moaned his name. He withdrew, taking a firmer grip on her hips, and thrust again. His movements slowed. He pulled out, waited, and then slid inside with astonishing gentleness. He was massaging her to orgasm, but she didn’t want it soft. She’d gone too far.

“Harder,” she begged.

He continued to move with steady strokes. “We have waited so long,” he said. “We can wait a little longer.”