Shades of Twilight

He didn’t have to imagine the physical details now; they were laid out before him. Her pubic hair was a neat, curly little triangle. It had drawn his gaze, and he’d been entranced by the delicate folds, shyly closed, that he could glimpse under the curls. The mysteries of her body had made him ache with need. Roughly he’d told her to spread her legs so he could touch her, and she had.

He’d put his hand on the most private part of her body, and felt her startled response. He’d petted her, stroked her, opened her, and eased one finger into her startlingly tight sheath. He was so hard he thought he might explode, but he held back, because here was the proof that the lust wasn’t all on his part. She was slick and damp, and her soft, low moans of arousal had nearly driven him crazy. She seemed shyly bewildered by what he was doing, what she was feeling. Then he’d tried to slip another finger into her, and couldn’t. He’d felt her instinctive withdrawal, and a sudden suspicion flared in his tequila-fogged brain.

She’d never done this before. He was abruptly certain of it.

Swiftly he tumbled her down onto the bed, dragging her body across his. With more deliberation he’d probed her body, watching her reaction, fighting the alcohol as he tried to think clearly. He’d been the first with a couple of girls, back in high school and college, and even once since he’d left Alabama, so he noticed the way she blushed, her slight flinch as he pushed his rough finger even deeper. If it hadn’t been for her years of horseback riding, he doubted he would have been able to even get his finger inside her.

He should stop this, now. The knowledge seared him. His body damn near revolted. He hadn’t meant to let it go this far anyway, but he’d been undone by the tequila, and by his own arousal. He’d had just the wrong amount to drink, enough to slow his thoughts and make him not give a damn, but not enough to soften his dick. He was disgusted with himself for making her do this, and he’d opened his mouth to tell her to put on her clothes when, for an instant, he saw how terribly vulnerable she was, and how he could destroy her with a careless word even if it was for her own good.

Roanna had grown up in Jessie’s shadow. Jessie had been the pretty one, Roanna the plain one. Her physical self confidence, except where horses were concerned, had always been close to zero. How could it not be, when rejection had been more the norm for her than acceptance? For a split second he saw the raw, desperate courage it had taken for her to do this. She had stripped naked for him, something he was certain she’d never done with any other man, and offered herself to him. He couldn’t imagine what it had cost her. If he rejected her now, it would devastate her.

"You’re a virgin," he’d said, his voice hard and flat with frustration.

She hadn’t denied it. Instead she had blushed, a delicate rose tinting her breasts, and the delectable sight had been irresistible. He’d known he shouldn’t do it, but he’d had to touch her nipple, and then he’d had to taste her, and he’d felt the answering need in her slender body as it arched to his touch.

He’d offered to stop. It took every ounce of willpower he had to rein himself in and make that offer, but he’d done it. And Roanna had looked as if he’d slapped her in the face. She had gone white, and her lips had trembled.

"Don’t you want me?" she’d whispered, the plea so faint that his heart had squeezed. His own defenses, already weakened by the tequila, went down with a crash. Rather than answering, he had simply caught her hand and dragged it down to his groin, pressed it over his erection. He hadn’t said anything even then, staying silent as he watched the sense of wonder creep into her eyes, chase away the pain. It was like watching a flower bloom.

Then she had turned her hand to hold him and had said, "Please," and he was lost.

Still, he had tried grimly for control. Even as he shucked off his clothes, he had been sucking in deep breaths, trying to cool the fire inside him. It hadn’t worked. God, he was so ready he’d probably come as soon as he put it in her.

He had damn sure wanted to find out.

Somehow, he managed to hold himself back. His control hadn’t extended to prolonged foreplay. He had simply mounted her, tucking her delicate body under his much more powerful one, and kissed her while he forced his erection in her to the hilt.

He’d known he was hurting her, but he couldn’t stop. All he could do, once he was inside her, was make it good for her.

"Ladies first" had always been his motto, and he had experience in achieving his objective. Roanna was startlingly, overwhelmingly responsive to his every touch, her hips moving, her back arching, hot little cries breaking from her lips. Jessie had always held back, but Roanna gave herself without restraint, without pretension. She had climaxed fast, and then his own orgasm had seized him and he had come violently, more violently than he’d ever experienced before, pounding into her and flooding her with semen.

She hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t jumped up to run into the bathroom and clean herself. She had simply dozed off with her arms still looped around his neck. Maybe he had dozed, too. He didn’t know. But eventually he had roused himself and slid off her, turned out the light, tucked her under the covers, and joined her there.

It hadn’t been long before his cock had stirred insistently, lured by the silken body in his arms. And Roanna had welcomed him without hesitation, as she had every other time during the night that he’d reached for her.

It was almost dawn now.

The effects of the tequila had faded from his system, and he had to face the facts. Like it or not, he had blackmailed Roanna into this. The hell of it was, he hadn’t needed to. She would have fain down for him without it being a condition for his return.

Something had happened to her, something that had robbed her of her zest, her spontaneity. It was as if she had finally been defeated by all the efforts to force her into a certain mold, and had surrendered herself.