To tell herself she’d reached her first climax would do no kind of justice to the incredible, irresistible force Jake had released in her. Or his skill in achieving it, she thought, her body blooming with warmth.
She felt him move, raise himself above her and look down into her dazed, incredulous eyes. His own gaze was faintly questioning, and she responded silently, lifting a hand to touch his still-damp hair and stroke his face, running her fingers almost wonderingly over the slight shadowing of stubble along his jawline.
Jake captured her hand and brought it to his lips, caressing its palm, then grazing the soft mound at the base of her thumb with his teeth, and she felt the enticement of it shiver sweetly through her nerve-endings.
He took her hand back to his chest, back to the harsh rhythm of his heartbeat. He whispered, ‘Touch me,’ and lay back against the pillows, his eyes half-closed, waiting for her.
At first, her compliance was hesitant, but gradually, as she discovered the marvellous strength of bone structure and play of muscle under her fingertips, she forgot everything but the overwhelming need to know him. To learn and enjoy the texture of his skin and the planes, angles and curves of his lean, firm body. To hear him sigh with pleasure as her hands became more confident, more daring, until finally she reached his loins and the jutting male strength of him, her hands trembling as she clasped him, fondling him gently, aware that her own excitement was starting to build again. The memory of her own delight still potent, she bent her head, caressing him shyly with her lips.
‘Darling.’ His voice was a hoarse groan. ‘Oh Christ, my sweet…’
He moved, lifting himself over her. Started with immense care to enter her, easing his way into the wet, yielding heat of her willing flesh.
She felt a brief, burning pressure, and gasped. Felt him pause, sensing her sudden tension and, knowing that he could not—must not stop, she grasped his shoulders, raising herself towards him in blind and total surrender. Offering herself to the one long, controlled thrust that sheathed him in her with utter completeness, the pain of her body’s resistance over almost as soon as it had begun.
When it was done, Jake stayed very still, his blue gaze quietly watchful, as if anticipating some other sign of reluctance or discomfort from her. And she looked back at him, wanting to let him know that she was ready and more than willing to give him everything he wanted from her. And smiled, breathing his name.
He bent his head, kissing her smile with his own, and began to move in her, his loins barely rocking against hers in the gentlest of motions. Marin felt the sweetness of this new rhythm in her blood, her bones. Found her response to it as natural, as necessary as drawing her next breath. But was bewildered by it just the same, because it wasn’t what she’d expected.
Of course, what she knew about men and their behaviour during sex was less than minimal, she reminded herself as her breathing quickened helplessly, but she’d imagined rather more—urgency would be involved in his need for satisfaction.
‘What’s the matter?’ Jake asked softly.
Her voice was a small, husky croak. ‘I don’t understand. Don’t you want to…?’
‘Very much,’ he said. ‘But I’m waiting for you.’
‘For me?’ Marin stared up at him. ‘But I won’t—I couldn’t…’ She broke off, her colour deepening helplessly.
‘No?’ He was smiling again as he shifted, subtly altering his position, his movement inside her slow and smooth but at the same time more forceful. His mouth was warm and lingering on her parted, astonished lips. Hot and demanding on the hardening excitement of her nipples.
He pushed more deeply into her, withdrew a little, then pushed again, reaching some secret place far inside her and creating another kind of new and exquisite sensation there with an erotic mastery that had her twisting helplessly under him, her mind and will wiped of everything but the wicked, beautiful things his body was doing to hers.
There. There…
She said, her voice drowning, ‘Oh, God, no—no,’ as she felt the first quivers of ecstatic abandonment rippling within her, then building fiercely to their inexorable crescendo, her muscles clenching powerfully around him.
And heard Jake’s harsh groans of rapture as he at last allowed himself to attain his own release.
She was aware of quietude and a profound peace. Of lying still wrapped in his arms, their bodies joined, his dark head against her breasts. Of sudden, unexpected tears on her face.
And, as if he was aware of this last reaction, he separated from her with the same care he’d used in his possession of her, gently drying her wet face with a corner of the sheet then stroking her dishevelled hair as he held her, his voice a soothing murmur.
Eventually, she said, mumbling, ‘I’m not sad—really, I’m not.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He kissed her eyes and her lips.
‘I wanted you to know that.’ She tried to stifle a yawn and failed. ‘Oh God,’ she added, mortified. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ He switched off the lamp and drew her close to him, pillowing her head on his chest. ‘We could both do with some sleep.’
Sleep? thought Marin. How could she possibly do that with everything that had just happened still churning in her mind?
Especially when she’d never shared a bed before with anyone before—let alone a man.
But she hadn’t expected to find his warm body so comfortable to relax against, or the resonance of his heartbeat under her cheek so soothing, she told herself with a little contented sigh. And slept.
A pale, grey light was beginning to penetrate the room when she opened her eyes. For a moment Marin lay still, slightly disorientated, aware of little more than the delicious lassitude permeating her entire being, wondering drowsily what had disturbed her slumber.
Then she turned her head slowly and saw Jake propped up on one elbow, watching her, and realised with a lift of her heart that she’d been woken by the touch of his lips.
‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘Remember me?’
She stretched languidly, deliberately, observing the flare of his blue gaze as the covering sheet slipped down her body. She pretended to frown.
‘I’m not altogether sure. Maybe you could—jog my memory?’
‘With pleasure.’ His hand cupped her breast, the ball of his thumb rubbing slowly across the nipple. ‘Does that strike a chord?’
‘Mmm,’ she murmured thoughtfully. ‘Something seems to be stirring in the back of my mind.’
‘Is that all?’ There was a quiver of open amusement in his voice as he let his hand slide down her body to the soft mound at the junction of her thighs. ‘Maybe—this will be more help…’
It was suddenly difficult to breathe or even to think as his fingers caressed her, lightly, teasingly. She managed, ‘If you could be—a little more specific…’
And made a sound between a laugh and a sob of delight as he pulled her towards him, under him, raising her legs to lock round him as he entered her.
Impossible, she thought, her senses in free fall as she clung to his shoulders, that she could be so ready for him. Impossible, even shameful, that she should be so eager—so hungry, enclosing him in her moist and willing heat, as her body offered the counterpoint to each firm and powerful thrust that was carrying her away with him to heaven.
Even so he made her wait, keeping her balanced for an eternity on some knife-edge of trembling desire before driving her into the harsh sweetness of orgasm. And when she cried out, her voice ragged, she heard him answer her.
She