Skin on Skin (19 page)

“Do you like this?” Another kiss, another lick. Down, down his chest.

“Yes.”

“This?” She took the small nipple bud she had stirred to life with her hands, and licked it with her mouth, grazed it with her teeth. Raised him from the bed.

“Oh, God, yes.” A prayer. A groan. A deep masculine mutter.

She smiled and he felt the curving lift of those small lips against him. Then he felt nothing but her as she took his nipple fully into her mouth and sucked and sucked and pulled upon it like a playful kitten.

She lifted up, shifted her upper torso over him, and watched with eyes sparkling like dark, precious gems as he raised his head and prepared to repeat the caresses on her—their agreed-upon game.

Those eyes, so dark, so shiny as he rose up, closer, closer. His lips touched her shoulder, and he could no longer see her eyes. Could only feel her—skin so soft. Could only smell her—like sweet pleasure. Could only taste her—like newfound desire, awakening. Like fine sugar sprinkled with crystals of salt. Like the incomparable taste of willing, wanting woman.

“Sweet, so sweet,” he murmured, kissing, licking, nibbling his way across her delicate collarbone, like his, but so different. So finely made. He feasted, like a man come across life-giving water after a long trek across a barren desert. Like a drunken man imbibing grape juice, fermented and aged, for the very first time…intoxicating. Making her breath shudder out past her lips. Making her shake and tremble gloriously above him, so frail, so strong. Woman. His, in this moment, as he was hers.

His lips—so hot, so soft, so wet, so firm—dear God, she’d never known, never known a man’s lips could feel this way, could make
her
feel this way. Down they went. Down the soft rise of her chest. And beneath those hot tender lips, she didn’t feel small. She didn’t feel inadequate. She felt like a goddess treasured, like a bounty discovered. She felt cherished, like she had never felt before. And the warmth of that feeling brought tears to her eyes. Made water rise and well. Made her squeeze her eyes shut so all she could do now was feel, not see.

She felt the soft, ticklish brush of his beard like wiry silk across her chest. The brush of softer, silkier hair. Then hotness—such heat, such wetness, such gentle force—hotness engulfed her nipple, and tears were forgotten.
All
was forgotten as waves and waves of hot, sweet sensation swept over her, flushed across her chest, arrowed down like an invisible trembling wave, down, down to that secret place inside her. Making her clench, making her cry out, arch, tremble above him. Not in release, but in a taste of what was yet to come. “Oh!”

Tug and pull. Tug and pull. Like a relentless baby that had just found succor. But the feelings of these lips, this mouth, this tongue…the feelings those wicked, wicked teeth inspired were not feelings she’d ever felt before. She wanted to twist, to groan, to pull him to her, to push him away. She shook, trembled, swayed above him as if a powerful wind had suddenly swept her, and it had. Desire. Hot, sweet, unfamiliar desire. The wetness trickling down her thighs shocked her, surprised her, lifted her up away from him, from those sweet sucking lips that did not wish to give up their prize just yet, so that she popped out of the forceful seal of his mouth with a jarring sharp sensation that was painfully pleasurable.

She swayed like that for a moment, half-sitting, half-kneeling, drunk with the punch of passion, with unexpected pleasure. Dazed. Eyes wide but unseeing.

Too far away. Like a magnet she drew him. Like the pulling north pole. Up, up he went until he knelt beside her, and saw the crystal drops that had leaked out of the corners of her eyes. Such bewildered eyes. Irresistible. He didn’t even try to resist. He bent to her, drawn, like a lover, like a protector, to those tears. Her eyes closed as she sucked in breath after trembling breath, and he kissed her, feathered his lips over those lovely eyes and drank her tears. Salty, sweet. What were they? Tears of passion? Please, God, don’t let them be tears of fear.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. “I won’t hurt you.” Inadequate words, but he knew nothing else to say.

She laughed, a short, sharp sound. A sound more of surprise than of humor. Hurt. He
had
hurt her…by showing how sweet making love could be with the right person. But how could he be the right person? This stranger. This rough, gentle, wild man.

She shook her head, bewildered, wondering. Dazed, confused. Lost but somehow feeling found. She kissed him, this sweet man. Tasted the salt of her tears upon his lips. Found the flavor of him to be lovely. Dark, honest, and clean. She moved her lips against his, learned their shape, their feel—soft but firm. Wanted more.

A touch, a sweep of her tongue, and he opened the seam of his mouth, inviting her to enter and explore. Soon, soon, but first…She angled her lips lower, opened her mouth and sucked in the fullness of his lower lip. Ripe, tender, like delicious fruit. She savored him—with lips, with tongue, with teeth, with gentle firmness—fastening her teeth on the ripeness of him, nibbling, pulling, stretching him taut with some of the wildness that he made her feel.
Mine. You are mine.
And he groaned his want, his need, his desire. Only then, when he had given her his need—his pleasure—did she delve in to explore the bounty within. Wetness, silk. Hot breath that she took and gave back. A sweet tongue that she stroked and pulled and sucked into her own mouth.

And then it was his turn to explore. To learn her. To sweep across her small, even teeth—dainty like the rest of her—to find and dance and duel with that surprisingly wicked, agile tongue. She was like a cat, a mix of naughty and shy, minx and kitten. And God, he wanted to touch her, to put his hands upon her, but she hadn’t touched him yet, hadn’t given him permission. But how he wanted, wanted, wanted to. And the wanting slipped out of him in a low harsh sound. God, she made him wild. She made him hot. She made him want to be gentle while he ravished her with sweet passion.
More. Give me more.

She was drowning in him. In his desire, in his touch, in his taste. In the erotic feel of his tongue sliding against hers, rough, tender, promising more. Nothing but his mouth touched her. But that mouth, that tongue…He pulled his tongue out, then sank it back into her. Out. In. In a slow, steady motion that parodied the dance yet to come. He surged into her like a strong wave, moving in her mouth, across her lips. While down below, more secret lips swelled, ripened, grew pungent with wet, musky arousal that made her pull back, gasp, stare wild and bewildered and panting at him.

He trembled, swayed toward her like a rushing wave eager to fall upon her. But he held. Held. Oh, the restraint in him, this man so much bigger and stronger than her. His eyes burning and flashing with more passion than she had ever seen in a man. Yet, still, he controlled himself. Who was he? How could he make her feel so safe, so cherished?

“Please.” The word was a harsh, grating sound pulled from him.

A man who begged for her touch.

Her eyes softened. She didn’t want him to beg. She wanted to give him what he needed, to satisfy his want. She wanted to please him, pleasure him, as he had pleasured her already. More than she ever expected. More than she knew she could feel.

“Lie back,” she murmured with promise in her eyes. He did, feeling vulnerable, exposed, open. Open to her gaze, which whispered down to that part that could not hide, could not lie. That had swelled up with heat and need, so taut that it lay flat against his belly, aching, just past the dimpling of his belly button, a heavy, burning weight against his own skin. Throbbing, throbbing with its own heartbeat that echoed a whisper behind the beating of his heart.

Like grace, her hand descended upon him and touched him. Made him quiver, shake, clench his teeth. Made him weep from another eye. The single one.

“You’re crying,” she murmured and swirled that clear liquid precum over him, over his sensitive head, making him jerk, arch his back, almost break his teeth.

Those eyes, eyes that swirled with passion and wonder, looked up and held him in an unbreakable grip. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, it feels wonderful.” His next words slipped out unbidden, unstoppable. “Just touch me more.”

“Like this?” She slid those smooth fingers down him, and the feel of her touching him was like cool rain hitting parched earth, a wet, nourishing benediction, making him shiver, swell, jump beneath her hand. Making him want more.

“Ah…yes!” he cried.

She pet him like she was petting a living creature. Light fingering strokes, exploring, touching, learning him—his sensitive mushroom head that drew a low sound from him as she circled and circled him there. His thick stalk that she wrapped her small hand around and came up short, unable to reach thumb and fingers together unless she squeezed down on him. And not even then.

His back arched and he cried out, surprising her, pleasing her with his reaction. Oh, he liked that.

She tried it again.
Squeeeze
. Yes. A groan, a faster pulsing in her hand. More groans as she slid that tight hand down him. More groans, more clenching of teeth as she slid back up. Tighter, squeezing tighter, drawing out more moans, more groans. Making his tanned muscles sheen and glisten with sweat.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No, no. God, no. It’s great.”
Wonderful. Freaking fantastic
. And then it got even better as her other hand cupped him, squeezed his balls. “Oh, fuck!” The words came out of him blindly, squeezed from him with the wonderful sharp-dull sensation shooting from his balls.

Touching him like this was like touching his nipples, Anna thought. So sensitive. Would her mouth feel even better on him?

Wetness touched him. Heat, silk. Different yet so similar to what a woman felt like when he sank himself between her legs. Soft, luscious heat and wetness, tugging, sucking, wrenching a startled cry from him. A wicked tongue, laving, exploring. Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God…it felt so fucking good.

“No more,” he gasped. “Please, no more, or I’m going to go and I don’t want to go yet. Not until I’m inside you.”

Reluctantly, Anna’s mouth left him. He tasted different down there. And not unpleasantly so. Fascinatingly. Intriguing. Did he taste the same all over? Even lower? Questions that must seek an answer another time.

He sat up, his eyes hot, eager, avid. “Lie down,” he said, voice gritty. And then it was her turn to shake, to shiver, to anticipate, while his eyes gleamed. “Your turn.”

Her turn.
Oh, no.
But the rules of game had been set, somehow. He could touch her in the same manner that she touched him.
Oh, God.
She hadn’t thought of that when she’d touched him there. She’d just wanted to please him.

Lying there like that felt incredibly vulnerable, with him over her, so male, so big, yet safe, restrained. Eyes holding hers, he smiled like a pirate about to plunder. To scoop up treasure that lay naked before him, waiting for him to discover, to take. And take he did. He lowered his head down to where that most secret part of her lay hidden, and she closed her eyes, unable to watch. Only able to feel. That first touch. His hand, a fingertip, made rough from physical labor stroking her springy curls, smoothing through them. Making her jump at that first touch, so sensitive. Jump again as he dipped that finger lower.
Oh, God.
Even more sensitive down there, at those hidden lips, swollen, wet.
Sweet Jesus!
Pleasure speared through her like it never had before, parted her legs, panted her breath, clenched her fists into the bedding. Rippling, rolling, shivering pleasure as he played with her deftly, delicately.
Oh, oh, oh!

Her hips lifted, rolled into his touch, begged him for a deeper delving. He gave it to her and it was her turn to cry out “Oh, my God!” as one finger slipped into her—male, thick, wider, much bigger than her own. He slid, wet and slippery and hard into her, and she sucked and clenched about him, trying to stop him, trying to hold him, but he pushed in deeper.
Oh!

She held still, suspended, her hips lifted up like an offering to him, legs splayed wide, incredible sensations flooding her, almost overwhelming her, as he pushed in even more, then pulled back out, leaving her hollow, bereft, empty, aching, until he filled her once again. Slow glide in, pushing his way gently in, making room. Pulling out in that unending dance, in the most primal rhythm of life, of desire. She trembled, taut, suspended on the brink of something huge, something monstrous, a great force like a tidal wave swelling up within her. Another slow push in of that finger—deep, deeper than he had been before, all the way in, touching a certain spot—and she toppled, crashed. Broke apart. Crying, spasming, clenching that thick finger tight within her, her whole body shaking, vibrating, inundated with sharp, piercing, overwhelming pleasure that burst over her in a flooding wave of crashing sensation, tingling her fingertips, her toes. Clenching, clenching, clenching. And then it was over. The rolling waves of ecstasy receded, leaving small rippling aftershocks echoing in the wake of that great smashing wave. She was boneless, utterly spent, gasping. Only able to breathe. Only then able to see—a face with eyes like the churning ocean gazing down at her, hot above her, his face so flushed that he looked sunburned, as if her passion had burned him.

“What…what was that?”

“That,” he murmured, his face lowering, “was your first orgasm.”

H
e moved between her legs, in the space Anna had unconsciously created for him. She felt the heat of him first, that hot, hot skin hovering over her, between her open legs that were splayed wide and wanton. Only then did she become aware of her position, but not enough to care. It took energy to care and she didn’t have any just yet. All she could do was breathe and recover. Learn to feel again. Feel first, then move.

Feeling returned with his touch. The touch of his hair whisking like gossamer silk over her thighs. The touch of his hot, puffing breath falling upon her like a prayer, a soft tingling benediction, blowing over her wetness, bringing her into awareness of that wetness and the first touch of embarrassment. It was as if his breath infused energy back into her. And then he touched her, really touched her. With the wiry silk of his mustache, the tingling brush of his beard, the press of his soft lips firm against her.
Oh!
Just firm enough, soft enough, not to tickle, not to hurt. Just there against her swollen lips, her wetness, the liquid expression of her desire peaked and satisfied, but once again rising like a phoenix from ashes. Rebirth. Renewal.

Feeling returned with a pulse, with a press of lips, with a wafting of hot breath across her, blowing over her, stirring her sticky hair, her sticky renewing desire. She was too sated to tremble. To boneless to move. But she could feel—his lips, his tongue, hot like the rest of him, sweeping out, tasting her, licking her in sure, steady sweeps. Not too much, not too little. Just right. He swept up her sticky length, then back down, lapping her like a cat lapped cream. A deep sound rumbled from him, passed up her legs, thrilling through her, making something deep inside her clench once more. Stirring her back to life from her sated bliss, building hunger back up with each lick, each lap. Her hands drifted down to feel the softness of his hair. Beautiful, smooth, a pleasure to touch and hold and stroke as he stroked her with that steady, gentle, but not too gentle tongue. Up again. This time, he burrowed a little deeper, as if her touching him had been a signal. He burrowed deeper and found a hidden pearl. Hard, taut, over-ripened like a sweet fruit ready to burst again.

“Ohhhh.” The word-moan-sound was pulled from deep within her with the rasping of his tongue over her ripeness. And then it was gone. She relaxed once more as he licked and lapped his way back down, over her thickened lips that tingled once more with life and sensation beneath his rough-gentle ministrations, enervating her with odd languor even as she began that pleasure-seeking climb once more. She knew what it was now, that feeling, that pressure, that building, building force. And she no longer feared it but welcomed it. Yes! More…

“Aaaahh!” He touched her once more, there, burrowing deep and finding that secret, sensitive plumpness. Touch, taste, swirl, away…like washing waves advancing and retreating from a sandy shore. Then something new, as if the sound of her cry had prompted him on to his next step.

His tongue pushed into her opening, like a thick, gentle marauder, seeking treasure and finding it. She gasped.

He pulled back out, retreating with a last gentle swirl of his tongue at tender, shivering tissues, hidden, discovered.

Out, down, around that hidden button that shot sensation after blinding sensation through her, in her. Then a lower, deeper delving. A stabbing of the tongue. In, around, out, dancing in her sheath. Making her groan.

Her hips lifted in the delicate dance of desire, building, building, making her feel empty, needing something inside her—his finger, his tongue. Anything. Just more.

As if another signal had been given with the rise of her hips, his hands came up to grip her waist, to control her, open her more, so that he could dip his stabbing tongue deeper into her, push into her more, retreat back out, making her cry out with want, with need, as he left her, her hands fisting desperately in the softness of his hair. “No! Don’t go,” she cried, lifting herself up to that incredible mouth.

Like a sweet reward, he parted her once more. With a jolt, she felt his teeth clamp around her at the base of her ripened pearl. He bit down lightly and then sucked her into the hot, wet cavern of his mouth.

What she had felt before was pleasure. What she felt now as he bit down and pulled and sucked and laved at her ripe swelling was ecstasy so fierce, so hot, so overpowering, it bordered on the sweetest kind of agony. It burst from her, a sharp explosive climax, rocking through her with almost punishing pleasure, filling her up, then spilling out, bursting from her, over her. Rocking her up, rocking her over, then crashing her down in gentle bucking waves, leaving her awash with amazement that he could do this to her. She, who was no virgin, who had borne a baby that was a woman full-grown now.

Anna had never known this was possible. And she felt like weeping now that she knew.