Maggy's Child (35 page)

He plunged inside. Nothing he had ever experienced had felt so good. Groaning at the sheer exquisite pleasure of it, he clutched her tightly and lost his head completely.

The ride was fast, wild, and like none he’d ever taken. The feel of her hot, wet sheath hugging him drove him insane. He lifted her legs till they were wrapped around his waist, thrust his tongue into her mouth, and fucked her brains out.

It was good.

When the release came, he buried himself inside her, shaking as if he had palsy, as his loins exploded in fierce hot bursts that were pure ecstasy.

It didn’t come any better than that.

For a few minutes afterward he couldn’t even think.

Then he could. And that was worse.

Had he scared her to death? Rapidly conducting a mental review of what had just transpired between them, he could recall no shrieking, no fighting to be free, no indication from her that she was not perfectly happy to be where she was.

Had she fainted? Not his Magdalena. She wasn’t the fainting kind. But why, then, was she so quiet? Nick summoned all his resources, lifted his head, and looked rather shamefacedly down into her eyes.

I
t was over, Maggy realized jubilantly. She’d done it. No, Nick had done it. Nick had broken through the barrier that had strangled her sexuality for years. She was free, free to be a normal woman again, free to love her man.

The idea was exhilarating. She hadn’t realized how heavy the burden of fear had been until it was smashed.

When Nick lifted his head to look down at her, she smiled at him. He looked so guilty that she couldn’t help it, though the urge to tease him had not entirely dissipated. Looming above her, the weight of his upper body braced on his bulging arms, his shoulders were broad enough to block her view of the rest of the room. His chest with its thick mat of black hair was only a few inches from her eyes, and she admired its masculine beauty before shifting her gaze to his face. Her eyes ran lovingly over the blunt pugilist’s features, the square jaw that was almost black now with whiskers, the wide, thin mouth that was unsmiling as he watched her. She absorbed the crooked nose, the broad cheekbones, the thick black eyebrows, the wildly tousled black hair. Then, and only then, did she meet his eyes. The hazel-green depths were dark with worry.

And that was when she smiled at him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, not sounding particularly relieved by her expression.

She nodded.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I? I didn’t even think about the bruises.”

Maggy shook her head.

“Did I scare you?” He looked guiltier than ever as a frown pulled his brows together over his nose.

Maggy shook her head again.

“Damn it, Magdalena, talk to me,” he ground out. “I feel like three kinds of heel, and you aren’t helping.”

With that he rolled off her, flopping over onto his back and lying with one arm bent under his head as he glared up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” she said meekly, coming up on one elbow to look down at him.

His eyes slid to her face. “No, that’s my line:
I’m
sorry,” he said with contrition in his voice. “I didn’t mean it to happen like that.”

“It was fine.” Maggy was feeling more cheerful by the second.

“Well, thanks a whole heap of a lot.” Nick, on the other hand, sounded positively grumpy. His eyes rolled up to once again contemplate the ceiling.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Maggy said placatingly, and giggled, which was something she probably shouldn’t have done. From the expression on his face it was clear that his masculine pride was now thoroughly affronted. This, for some reason, she found hilarious.

“Actually, it was great. Really great. I mean it,” she said. He gritted his teeth, and she giggled again.

“Don’t give me that.” If his expression was anything to go by, his temper was turning sour faster than day-old cream. She’d better cut the chuckles in a hurry, Maggy thought. Or else he’d be stalking out of there buck naked before she had a chance to explain what she meant. But she felt so good suddenly, so young, so
normal
, that it was hard not to laugh from sheer joy.

“It
was
great,” Maggy insisted softly. Then, as his gaze slued down to her face and he glared at her, she clarified:

“I didn’t get scared. I didn’t scream. I didn’t even
think
about anyone but you. And that’s what made it great for me.”

An arrested expression flickered for a moment in his eyes, and then he smiled, a slow, rather grudging smile, but still a smile.

“You’re telling me you didn’t come.” It was an accusation, but a humorous one.

“Not this time.” Her admission was meek. A roguish smile quivered around the edges of her mouth, and she all but twinkled at him. “In the truck, now, was a different story.”

“Oh, yeah?” He lifted his eyebrows interestedly at her.

“Yeah.” Maggy nodded, and grinned down at him.

He sat up suddenly, caught the edge of her T-shirt, which was twisted around her hips, and pulled it over her head. Maggy lifted her arms for him, shaking her head to settle her flying mane of hair as, tossing her night attire on the floor, he left her naked and smiling at him.

“My women
always
come,” he growled, turning on her, his hands on her shoulders bearing her down onto the bed. “Are you trying to spoil my record?”

For a moment he held her down, his expression mock ferocious as he took in the tangled clouds of auburn hair that spread capelike around her body, the delicate beauty of her features, the smile in her eyes, the softness of her generous mouth. Then his gaze moved down over her smooth white neck to her slender shoulders and the lush bounty beyond. Though she was a slim woman, she had always had plenty on top, and Maggy felt a spreading warmth begin inside her at the gleam in Nick’s eyes as he looked at her. Full, round, creamy-smooth breasts with pinkish-brown nipples already erect and clamoring for his attention—Maggy knew what brought that look to his face. And, to her surprise, she reveled in it.

But then he froze, not moving, hardly seeming to breathe as his expression darkened.

For a moment Maggy was at a loss. Then she glanced down at herself, at where his eyes rested. The bruises on her rib cage stood out in all their purple-and-yellow glory against the creamy whiteness of her skin. That was what had brought that terrible look to his face.

Funny, she’d almost forgotten.

“They don’t hurt,” Maggy said. “Not now.”

Then she reached over and flicked off the bedside lamp. The room was immediately plunged into darkness so dense that she couldn’t see the tip of her nose, much less him.

“So get busy,” she said, her hands lifting to encircle his neck and pull him down. “Make me come. You don’t want to spoil your record.”

“Magdalena …” He held back, sounding almost somber.

“Shut up, stupid, and kiss me,” she whispered, tugging, and at last he did. Maggy felt the impact of his big, naked body pressed intimately to hers all the way to her toes.

His mouth found hers, kissing her with loving care. His tongue penetrated the sweet depths of her mouth, exploring the wet darkness, teasing her tongue with his. She kissed him back without urgency, with a warm sense of rightness. Her hands stroked over his broad shoulders, down his back. The warm dampness of his skin tantalized her. She loved touching him.

He put his hands on her breasts. Maggy almost ceased to breathe as he caressed her nipples. The soft mounds swelled, and the peaks grew hard.

His mouth left hers, took over from his hands. He suckled gently at first one needy breast and then the other. At the touch of his mouth, Maggy felt a throbbing ache spring to life in her loins.

As if he knew, his hands went in search of it. She caught her breath as his hands slid down over her stomach, stroking the silky skin there, and then moved to rest
lightly on the vulnerable triangle of curls between her thighs. He stroked her there, petted her there, teased her there, while his mouth continued to make a leisurely meal of her breasts.

With a wordless murmur of pleasure, Maggy clasped his head to her breasts, her fingers threading through his thick black curls. Her eyes closed and her legs trembled as she grew hopelessly, helplessly aroused.

His mouth slid down to take over from his hands. Maggy felt the warm wetness of it trail down to her belly button, where his tongue paused for a minute to delve inside. She shivered, then grew momentarily still as his mouth went lower yet. Her fingers clenched in his hair as he nuzzled her triangle of curls, while his hands slid beneath her to cup her buttocks and lift her up for the full possession of his mouth.

“Please, Nick,” she begged as she felt his mouth burning intimately against her, felt the slick caress of his tongue. But whether it was said as protest or prayer she was too far gone to sort out.

Maggy was aware of nothing but the heat of his mouth on her, the strong possession of his hands holding her and serving her up for his delectation, the aching pleasure that was coiling ever tighter inside her, wound by that devilish mouth.

Her hands were flat against the sheets, clutching them, tugging at the cool cotton with fingers that shook. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her head tossing restlessly from side to side.

God, she loved what he was doing to her! She never wanted him to stop.…

But he did. Just as she thought she couldn’t bear it for so much as another instant, he lifted himself away from her, sliding his hard length back up her writhing body, his mouth stamping a hot, wet brand over her clamoring flesh every inch of the way. He paused to savor her breasts, and she cried out.

He moved up again, his hard, hair-roughened thighs sliding between hers as if they had been made to fit there, the red-hot tip of his shaft probing at the throbbing entrance his mouth had just thoroughly claimed. Maggy felt him there and made a little mewling sound. She heard it without even realizing that it came from her own mouth.

“Not yet, baby,” he whispered, and kissed her mouth. She kissed him back, panting with eagerness for his possession, her arms clutching him, her nails scoring his back. Still he wouldn’t be hurried, easing slowly, so slowly inside her, filling her inch by maddening inch until she was squirming beneath him, thrusting herself up against him to hurry him up.

But he wouldn’t hurry. With his hands on her breasts, his tongue in her mouth, he filled her and pulled out, filled her and pulled out, in slow deliberate strokes designed to drive her out of her mind.

When she came, it was with an earth-shattering intensity that made her lock her arms and legs around his body, arch her back, and sob out his name.

“Nick! Oh, yes! Yes! Nick!”

The shock waves of ecstasy that racked her pushed him over the edge as well. Maggy felt him stiffen against her, and then he shuddered. She could feel his climax as he plunged deep inside her, and the knowledge of his pleasure intensified her own.

For long moments afterward they were still, locked together, his body a dead weight pushing her down into the mattress. She held him, stroking his hair, a dreamy smile curving her mouth. Finally she turned her head and brushed his unshaven cheek with her lips.

“I came,” she whispered into his ear.

“Told ya,” he answered with a cockiness so reminiscent of the boy he had been that she had to smile. Lifting his head to drop a quick kiss on her lips, Nick rolled off her, taking her with him, cuddling her against him with one arm as he pulled the covers over both of them. He found
the pillows that had been shoved back against the headboard, pulled one under his head, left the other for her, and kissed the tip of her nose.

Moments later, the steady rasp of his breathing told Maggy that he was asleep.

Worn out, poor thing
, she thought. And fell asleep with a lingering grin on her face and her head pillowed on his chest.

T
he thought that woke Maggy was that they hadn’t used birth control. Her eyes popped open, wide with horror as the enormity of her deed struck her like a baseball bat to the head. She of all people should know better than that. Unless Nick had had a vasectomy during the last twelve years, which she very much doubted, he was fertile. And so was she.