by one he undid the little pearls until he could slide the snug fabric from her shoulders and down onto her arms before pulling it from her body.
She felt naked in her bra and she turned against his chest, hiding her face in the hollow between his shoulder and neck.
“Don’t be shy,” he murmured.
“I can’t help it.”
“Then let me help.” And he turned her on his lap, so that she faced away from him. And with her back before him, he lifted her hair, and kissed his way down her spine, kissing each vertebra until he reached her bra and then deftly he unhooked that, too, pushing the straps over her shoulders and off her arms so that the air rushed at her bare skin, puckering her breasts that already felt strangely heavy, strangely not hers.
She wanted something from him, something that would answer the drumming in her veins, but she didn’t know what it was. More kisses? More touch? More what?
And then his hands slid round to cup her breasts, and she closed her eyes, shocked by the sensation. Her body didn’t feel like her body. Her body didn’t feel like anything she’d ever known before, and with eyes closed, she focused on the new, seductive pleasure. He stroked beneath her breasts, stroked the soft, full sides, and, lips parting, she found herself arching into his hands, arching into what he could give her.
And he gave to her, alternately stroking and tugging on the heavy ripeness, drawing heat and fire from deep inside to every inch of exposed skin. Her hard nipples tightened again into taut, aching peaks, and she gritted her teeth helplessly, wanting more of everything, especially pressure, friction, sensation.
Lifting from beneath her breasts, thumbs pinching her nipples, he arched her the other way, back toward him, her body helplessly curving to his will, his arousal hard between her thighs.
His powerful thighs shifted, knees widening to part her legs so that she rested more fully on his erection. He was hard, so hard and warm, and the heat and friction were a new torment.
Ruthlessly Rou bit into her lower lip as he rocked her against him, the tip of his thick shaft sliding back and forth against the sensitive area between her thighs. It was wanton, it was shocking, it was maddening, and she couldn’t have asked him to stop even if she wanted him to. This was pleasure beyond anything she’d ever known, and somehow it was right with him, somehow she’d known it would be this way—darkly sensual, mind-blowingly erotic.
His hands slid down to her hips where he found the zipper of her skirt and with a quick unzip, a tug and a lift, the skirt was off her legs and he was resettling her on his lap, but parting her thighs wider, bringing her even lower, harder on his erection so that she could feel the length of him. There was a lot of him to feel. Her scrap of silk panties were of no use as she just grew hotter, wetter, more aroused.
With an arm beneath her breasts, he held her to him, and stroked her with the other hand, first over the delicate damp silk, and then when she was clenching her jaw, groaning at the pleasure, beneath the edge of silk, his fingers tracing the delicate folds and inner folds and then the tight highly sensitized bud between. One flick of his finger there and she bucked wildly. Another stroke and she felt her eyes burn, her body dancing for him to touch her, take her, possess her.
By the time he slipped a finger inside her she was desperate for him, all of him. Reaching backward she grabbed his hips, and ground down onto his lap. “You better finish what you started,” she panted, “and quickly, before I lose it completely.”
With a rumble in his chest he shifted her off him, dispensed with his shoes, socks, shirt and pants in no time and then she was back down on his lap, but facing him. Rou panicked, though, pushing her hands against his chest. “I can’t do it this way,” she said, “can’t be on top—”
“Yes, you can. And you can look at me, because you need to see what you do to me.” And then, cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her, deeply, fiercely, taking her mouth and tongue as though they were his, and in a way, they were. She knew somewhere inside her that a very real part of her belonged to him, had always belonged to him and that was why she’d been so afraid. She was afraid of this power he had over her, and he did have a power. Just look at her. She was putty in his hands.
And, kissing her, he lifted her up, and drew her slowly, so very slowly down on his hard, thick length. Rou exhaled in a quick puff, shocked by his size and the sense of fullness and invasion. He was stretching her, opening her and it stunned her body as much as it stung her heart. She wasn’t used to being shared, wasn’t used to being part of anyone else.
“Easy, baby,” he murmured against her mouth, hands beneath her bottom, supporting her weight until she could relax again and better accommodate him.
But she shook her head and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face against him. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I don’t know how to do this, don’t know how to feel this.”
“It’s just me, laeela.”
She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“You’re afraid of me?”
Despite her panic she heard the hesitation in his voice, and the shadow of sadness. Tears seeped from beneath her lashes. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him. “Not of you. Just afraid to love you.”
He didn’t move. She wasn’t even sure he was breathing.
“Someone has to love me,” he said after an endless moment.
Rou’s heart convulsed and the tears she’d been fighting fell. Lifting her head she looked into his eyes. He was so beautiful, and the expression in his eyes was so alone, so alone and lonely, and yet here they were, naked, pressed flesh to flesh.
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