Up Close and Dangerous (Page 70)

Bailey’s entire body clenched. The wave of desire was so sudden and intense that her head fell back as her spine arched.

“I like biting into a marshmallow.” His tongue soothed over the barely noticeable sting, then he plucked at the muscle again with his teeth while his hand swept up to her breasts and mirrored the action with her nipples.

Abruptly her heart was hammering and her breath was coming in rapid little pants as a deep throb began between her legs. She had never before been aroused so fast and so intensely, but her body was already accustomed to his touch. This was the fourth night she’d slept in his arms. He’d kissed her, touched her. Her body had been ready a long time before her mind caught up.

In one long caress he slid his hand down her stomach again, slipped his fingers beneath the elastic waistband of her sweatpants. The heat of his palm scorched the coolness of her butt as his hand moved down, then back up. When he reversed its path yet again, she felt the tug on her pants, felt them being pulled down to bare her.

She was so tense she was trembling, but it was a tension that was far different from what she’d suffered before. Even though she was still fully clothed except for her buttocks, still covered by all their protective layers, that part of her felt excruciatingly naked, the damp folds between her legs exposed and vulnerable.

He went straight there, to the heart of her. Those lean, hard fingers delved into the folds, found her, opened her. “I like peaches, too,” he whispered as he worked two fingers deep into her. “All juicy, and warm from the sun. Pull your legs up a little, sweetheart. That’s good.”

He played with her, the slow motion of his hand rasping over exquisitely sensitive nerve endings, bringing them achingly alive. She choked back a moan as it went on and on, driving her mad and pleasing her all at once. Then his fingers left her, left her body, left her panting and quivering, left her wanting. She lay motionless, paralyzed with anticipation, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she heard his zipper slide down, a whisper of sound as he tore open a condom and rolled it on, then he adjusted his position a little and pressed himself to her.

Her breath hitched, caught in an agony of suspense as she waited. She lifted her arm to reach back and touch his face, slide her hand around the back of his neck.

Slowly, so slowly, he pushed…just a little, then he pulled back. Her flesh had barely begun giving, opening to him. She waited, and he returned, with a leisurely rocking motion that applied just enough pressure to begin entering her before he pulled back yet again.

“Cam…” She whispered his name, the sound floating in the darkness. The air was cold but they were snug in their shelter, cuddled together, heat burning between them in the places where their naked flesh touched. She said his name, just his name, and nothing else was needed.

He came to her again. His palm flattened on her belly, bracing her, holding her as he applied pressure and steadily held it. She felt her flesh begin to dampen, to open. The urge to push back, to hurry the process, was almost irresistible, but what he was doing was too delicious to forgo. She heard a whimper, knew it was her own, and yet she held steady.

She had never been more acutely aware of her own body, or of the hot reality of the sex act. The thick, bulbous head of his penis simply pressed, demanding entrance, and slowly her body gave to the demand until suddenly the surrender was complete and she stretched around him as the tip sank into her.

He went no deeper, but held there while she shivered and trembled, accustoming herself to the hot bulk of his intrusion. She was surprised by the intensity of the sensation, bordering on pain. It had been a long time for her and she’d expected some small discomfort, but not this feeling of shock, of being overwhelmed.

With the same slow, agonizingly gradual movement, he pulled himself out of her. Her flesh released his as reluctantly as she had accepted it; her inner muscles clenched, trying to hold him. His breath hissed out as he dragged free.

“What are you doing?” she cried in protest.

“Playing,” he said, the single word rough, almost guttural. Once more his hips pressed, her flesh parted, and he lodged the head within her before pulling back. Over and over she accepted that shallow penetration until he was slipping easily in and out of her, until her body was burning and her mind was fogged so that she was aware of nothing but him, wanted nothing but him. Dimly she was aware that he was trembling, too, from the effort he was making at control, that his breath was ragged and that low, harsh sounds were tearing from his throat at every dip he made with his penis into her body. She was glad that he was also suffering. She wanted to come, she desperately needed to come, but their positions prevented that. She wanted her legs around him. If she couldn’t have what she wanted, it was only fair that he couldn’t, either.

She didn’t know how much time passed before suddenly his “playing” was more than either of them could bear for even one minute longer. He jerked out of her and rolled her to face him, pushing violently at her sweatpants in an effort to get them off of her. She tried to help, kicking and writhing in an effort to reach them, and managed to get one leg out before he was on her, pushing his legs between hers and spreading them wide before surging into her to the hilt with one strong thrust.

Bailey hooked her legs around his, clenched his ass in her hands, and pulled him into her as hard as she could, coming on that first deep stroke, her back arched and animal cries tearing from her throat. He rode her through it, and she was just beginning to fall away from the crest, her body going limp, when he began shuddering with his own climax.