tightened again, her sex throbbing in time with his thrusts, Ellen could only hang on as another orgasm swelled inside. She went over the edge again with a throaty moan.
Christopher smiled, clearly very, very pleased.
Ellen closed her eyes, unable to face him, not with her sex gripping him greedily in the aftermath of orgasm, not with her chest heaving and her breasts quivering and her skin hot and wet from exertion. He still felt magnificently erect inside her, and she wanted him to say something—anything—to give her an anchor to latch on to.
But he didn’t say a word. Maybe he didn’t want to invite reality in on the moment. Or maybe his silence implied that what they shared was beyond description. Ellen didn’t know. She only knew that his touch was oh so tender when he brushed away the damp hairs from her temple.
Damn him, he wasn’t the one. Why wasn’t he the one?
The disappointment that had dogged her for so long reared up inside, and she wrestled it down. Christopher might take apart her senses. He might eradicate her will when his hands were on her, but she wouldn’t let him take apart her emotions. Not after the long months of beating them under control.
She wouldn’t give him that. Not when he was playing her, holding himself back just to watch her go to pieces. And she was annihilated, barely able to lift an eyelid, while he toyed with her nipple and waited for her to catch her breath.
She remembered this feeling from their night together, too, and didn’t have to open her eyes to know he looked all smiley and happy as though everything was just dandy in his world. But she was going to wipe that smug look from his face to prove he wasn’t the only one with power here.
She opened her eyes and one glimpse into his smoldering expression told her he’d been counting on her to do exactly that. And seeing that look, knowing Christopher’s need was as great as her own, was all it took to infuse her with new energy.
In an inspired motion, Ellen disconnected their bodies and shimmied away. Christopher groaned as his erection bobbed wildly, but she bit back her smile, shielded her expression beneath the fall of swingy hair as she rose to her knees and surveyed the tangle of fabric around her waist.
A visit to her dry cleaner would definitely be in order before wearing this skirt again. But she decided making love to Christopher was worth any expense.
The emotional cost would be another matter entirely.
Dragging a pillow beneath his head, Christopher settled back, his body spread out before her, his erection draped across his abdomen, primed and ready. Ellen wondered if a skirt and panties were enough to make a good show, and decided she’d find a way to make a Broadway-worthy performance of nothing but earrings and a wristwatch if it meant earning that hungry look in his eyes.
Tossing her shoulders back, she reached around for the clasp of her skirt and twisted it around. Her back arched, breasts lifted high for his pleasure, and the motion made them sway heavily, eagerly, taut with her arousal and still swollen from his touch.
Working the clasp at her waist, she unfastened the zipper slowly, slowly, letting the fabric fall open to reveal more bare skin as she rocked her hips back and forth to the soothing jazz music. The skirt slid over her hips and fell into a filmy puddle around her knees.
Sinking back to the mattress, she drew the skirt along her calves and past her feet, leaving her clad in only a thong.
It wasn’t much of a prop, but it was all Ellen had to work with and she was determined to make it go a long way. Rolling to her side, she slid off the bed, rose in an easy motion. The sultry air caressed her skin. Her short, full hair swung jauntily around her neck.
Keeping her shoulders arched, she turned just enough to give Christopher a shot of her in profile as she hooked her thumbs into the strings of her panties, began a leisurely swaying of her bottom to drag them down…down. With her own arousal damp between her legs, she moved languorously, her every motion, her every breath designed to hold his attention.
His hungry gaze followed her as she stretched out the moments, savored the feel of his gaze, arousal pumping a flush of heat into her skin, making her sex tingle with the memory of his hard thrusts, inspiring her to new boldness.
And when that little scrap of fabric fell to her feet, Ellen breathed deeply…and bent over to grab it.
Once upon a time, her long hair would have shielded much of her body during a move like this, played a sexy game of peekaboo she thought he would have enjoyed. But now her hair just swung forward onto her cheeks, leaving her exposed to his view—his pleasure, if the breath he sucked in was any indicator.
Grabbing her panties, she slung them off her finger like a slingshot aimed at his head. Quick as ever, he caught them, shooting her a wicked grin as he brought the scrap of lacy white fabric to his chest, pressed it directly over…his heart.
Damn him!
Everything inside her melted like winter’s first snowflakes hitting the pavement. Why did he try to turn a sexy game into something more? He was the one who couldn’t play by the rules, who’d been perfectly content to let her get away. No coming after her. No fighting to keep her.
This was just sex, damn it.
Diving for him, she straddled his hips before the surprise faded from his face. Slipping her fingers around that hot erection, she took aim…and sank down, taking him all the way inside her moist body in a sleek stroke. Gratified by his loud grunt and the way he bucked hard at their joining, she arched her back and rode him.
Of course he wasn’t content to let her control the game. Fastening on to a nipple, he drew her into the rough-velvet recesses of his mouth with a hot pull. She moaned, her whole body shuddering in reply.
This man and the effect he had on her was undeniable and utterly amazing, and she pressed a kiss to the top of his silky dark head, a stupidly tender urge she shouldn’t have given in to.
She couldn’t help herself. Not when his mouth drew on her nipple, first one and then the other, unfurling crazy ribbons of sensation inside. Not when he lifted his hips to meet her strokes, his heat branding her, making her drive down a little harder, a little faster to increase the friction.
And when he drew away from her breasts, leaving her nipples peaked and wet and tingling, he slipped his hands under her bottom, drove his fingers deep with his eagerness to quicken her pace. His thighs began to vibrate. His hips came up off the mattress, and he speared into her with a force that sent pleasure straight to her core.
His ridiculously thick lashes shuttered over those piercing eyes as he sucked in a hard breath and pressed his head back into the pillows. Ellen watched, unable to lift her gaze from the sight of his features sharpening with pleasure, that strong jaw clenching tight, the thick cords in his neck compressing as his body bucked hard.
He reached his own fulfillment with a low growl, and the sight and sound and feel of him coaxed another impossible climax from her, a liberation of senses that should have been depleted but were almost painfully intense.
Then Ellen collapsed on top of him, lay draped across his body, clinging, remembering the feel of his heartbeat throbbing against hers, the way her face fit perfectly into the curve of his neck, the way he smelled of their passion on his damp skin.
Why, oh why, couldn’t he have been the one?
And
