Midnight Man

  He’d think about that later. Now he wanted—no, needed—to touch his mouth to her.

  Leaning forward, he placed his lips on her neck, where the pulse was fluttering wildly. He could feel how the touch of his mouth excited her.

  It was good to have these signs, her wild heartbeat, the fast breathing, and the hard little nipples. God knows his excitement was hugely visible.

  But there was another way to see if she was as aroused as he was. He licked the pulsing vein in her neck, a long slow lap of his tongue as he moved his hand downwards. Past the soft breast, where the heartbeat could be seen and felt in her left breast, over the rib cage, across the flat little belly, down, down…

  The hair here was soft, almost silky and not stiff and crinkly as most women’s pubic hair was. She took the hint of his hand cupped over her mound and let her legs fall open. He slid his fingers down and around and touched her lips there. Soft, warm and yes, wet. His hand trembled as he spread the lips and inserted a finger, frowning at the difficulty and at her sudden intake of breath.

  She was so goddamned tight.

  He eased his finger in slowly, realizing that he must have hurt her the other night. His cock was for sure bigger than his finger. Even with his finger, he was having to enter her by degrees. The other night he’d just crashed his way in and started fucking her as if she were a ten dollar whore and he was a sailor on shore leave after a year at sea. He winced at the memory.

  He pushed in further and she closed around his finger like a fist.

  He withdrew his hand a little then penetrated her again, barely inside the entrance.

  “You haven’t fucked much, have you?” he asked hoarsely. She didn’t react to his hard words. He was used to soldiers’ talk—there wasn’t any political correctness at all in the Teams—but beyond that, he was too blasted by lust to look for other words, prettier ones, and softer ones. Just the blunt truth—you’re so damned tight I can tell you haven’t been fucked much.

  “No.” Her voice was low, an almost soundless whisper.

  “That’s changing.” There was a tightness in his chest. He could barely get the words out. His voice was harsh, strained. “Starting now.”

  Two quick swipes of his hands and he was naked. Then he was stretching out on the bed next to her, spreading her legs wider with shaking hands. He mounted her, opened her with two fingers, positioned his cock and thrust blindly…

  He stopped at her sharply indrawn breath, just an inch or two inside her. He was hard as a rock. He wanted to just plunge in so badly he was shaking with the effort to stop. But this is where he’d messed things up before. Once was bad enough. Twice and he’d lose her. He couldn’t do it this way. He pulled out.

  Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled them over, holding her upright with his hands.

  “Oh.” She looked startled, as if the idea of being on top of a man had never occurred to her before. The folds of her sex opened to ride along the base of his cock, her knees straddling his rib cage. They looked at each other and she smiled faintly. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders and clutched his biceps. “Well.” She stirred a little along his cock, riding him gently up and down, testing. “This is interesting.”

  “Mm.” He was breathless. He had no words, only heat so great he thought his head would explode. He put his hands on her waist and lifted her so she was half-kneeling.

  “Stay.”

  Did he say that or just think it? Whatever, she understood and hovered over him, moist lips pouting between her thighs. He lifted his cock upright and positioned it under her, holding it.

  His jaws clenched tight at the first brush of her sex. She slid along the head of his cock, trying to find the right position, sliding back and forth. She bore down a little, sliding forward and then yes! He was in.

  Barely. She wasn’t moving at all, dammit, hovering over him. Just the head of his cock was in and he was going crazy. She moved a little, circling her hips and he slid in a little further. It wasn’t enough. At this rate, it would take her half an hour to slide down enough to take all of him and he didn’t have half an hour.

  Already he was bathed in sweat, heart hammering, breath bellowing in and out, like he’d been out on a five mile run. And they weren’t even having sex yet. Not really.

  Her eyes were closed and she had a dreamy expression on her face as she moved slowly. She lifted herself away and he felt like screaming with frustration, but she didn’t disengage entirely. Just stayed still a moment, kneeling over him, gently moving, letting the head of his cock swirl over her lips. Then she found the right angle again and slowly moved down.

  And stopped.

  She was driving him nuts. Goddammit, why wouldn’t she just let him in?

  Teeth clenched, John held her hips and thrust upwards, hard, grinding into her.

  Suzanne gasped. Her eyes opened and met his. The dreamy expression was gone, replaced by distress, maybe even pain. No, no, no! He had to make it better for her this time.

  He windmilled his arms up and back. Fists clenched around the bars of the iron bedstead, he clung, shaking. He wouldn't touch her, he couldn't touch her. If he did he’d be too rough. What he wanted was to grip her hips and do her hard. Too hard.

  He lay still under her, waiting for her to do something. Giving her the lead.

  Suzanne stared down at him, breathing fast, fully impaled on his cock. Her pale pubic hairs meshed with his black ones. She was motionless; eyes open so wide he could see the whites around the gray-blue irises.

  She rested her hands on him, feeling the deep, quick rise and fall of his chest, watching him. She seemed to him like some wary wild animal, a deer in the forest, pierced by an arrow. Watching the hunter, gauging intentions.

  “Bend down to me,” he whispered, clinging so tightly to the iron rods it was a miracle he didn’t pull them away. He couldn’t touch her with his hands, not yet. Lust was boiling inside him, slick and hot, totally uncontrollable. He had big hands, strong hands. Hands that couldn’t stroke and caress. Not now. Not yet. He’d bruise her if he touched her with his hands.

  She was bending down to him, close enough so he could smell the sweet warmth of her skin, rising above the smell of arousal and sex. Her hair brushed his cheek, filling his nostrils with her perfume. His jaws clenched.

  “Lower.” The word was guttural and came from deep within his chest. She swayed lower and his mouth opened and clamped on her nipple. She tasted sweet and salty at the same time. Smooth around the nipple, hard little bud in his mouth. He drew on her, long deep drafts of her, suckling with the strength of his mouth. His mouth worked rhythmically, hard, faster now. In time with her breathing, loud in the room. Her thighs, clamped along the sides of his chest, trembled.

  She was panting, little moans coming from deep in her throat. The moans starting coming in rhythmic spurts, in time with his suckling.

  Their eyes locked. He watched her eyes carefully, because there he could read what was happening to her. She was fully aroused. The pupils expanded until there was only a silver rim around them, glowing bright in the dim, failing light. He was connected to her only by his mouth around her nipple and his cock deeply embedded in her, but it was like he was touching her all over. He could feel what was happening to her body as keenly as he knew what was happening to his.

  He wasn’t moving and neither was she, but they were both on that knife-edge, hanging there, ready to tumble over.

  She was trembling deeply, shaking all over. He sucked hard, rubbing his tongue over her pebble-hard nipple before biting lightly and suddenly she gasped.

  Her cry echoed around the room, in time with the sharp contractions of her cunt around him, in time with his groans, in time—oh God!—with the spurts of his cock as he came and came and came. She was milking him dry, pulling the come out of him from what felt like his backbone.

  They watched each other, trembling, motionless, until finally, after endless moments, she softened and stilled. With a soft moan, Suzanne slid bo
nelessly down on top of him. Her narrow rib cage rose and fell. Her head nestled into his shoulder and he could feel her breath on his skin, the flutter of her eyelashes, and the soft silk of her hair brushing against his chest.

  “Wow,” she whispered.

  He waited until his breathing slowed, until he could control his muscles again. Slowly, he unclenched his hands from the iron bars, finger by finger, and brought them down to curve lightly around her back.

  He could touch her now, finally.

  Now that he’d taken the edge off.

  * * * * *

  Suzanne lay on John’s massive chest, rising and falling with his breathing. His chest was so broad her thighs, riding along his sides, were open to their maximum extension. Somehow it wasn’t uncomfortable, though she knew she’d be sore later. What did it matter? She glowed from head to toe with the aftermath of an explosive orgasm. She was surprised she hadn’t been struck blind. Her body was rippling with an impossible mix of crackling energy and complete lassitude.

  He was still hard inside her. How could that be? He’d climaxed, too. There was no mistaking it, that incredible feeling. He’d got harder and harder and finally just exploded. She wriggled a little, feeling the wetness filling her. She was wildly excited but that wasn’t the source of the wetness. She was filled with his semen.

  And yet he still felt like a rod of warm steel. Amazing. Though what was she going to do with a rock-hard penis inside her when she could barely gather the energy to breathe?

  John’s hands stopped running up and down her back and moved downwards to cup her backside. His hands were big, warm and rough. He pressed down as his hips flexed upwards and she gasped. He filled her to the edge of discomfort. Almost, but not quite pain. More a complete fullness.

  His short hair rasped on the pillow as he turned his head and kissed her neck, then her ear. When he spoke, she could feel the vibrations more than hear the words.

  “That’s the way we’re going to have to do it from now on, darlin’.” Again, that intriguing hint of the South in his voice, low and languorous. It only came out during lovemaking. The rest of the time, his deep voice was clipped, accentless. “We’ve got to come first, you and me, make you all soft and wet. Now you’re used to me. See? Now I can slide in and out, easy as you please.”

  While he was talking, he was moving inside her in long strong pumps of his penis. She was exhausted. She should be beyond arousal, but somehow she wasn’t. Each stroke was an electric shock.

  “I love being inside you, darlin’,” John whispered in his dark, black magic voice. “It’s like you were made just for me. I can’t keep my hands off you.” She could feel his lips moving against her skin, the puffs of air as he spoke. The smell of sex rose, sharp and pungent, in the air. Normally fastidious, she should have been appalled, but now all she could do was open wider for him, clutch his shoulders for balance as the speed and depth of his strokes increased.

  It started as a flutter, ballooning into warmth, then exploded in a fireball of heat. All of a sudden, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. This couldn’t be happening again, not so soon, not so quickly. She’d never…

  Suzanne stilled and cried out, throbbing with intense, almost painful pleasure. It went on and on. John’s steady movements kept her on the edge for so long she thought she would faint from the pleasure-pain. After what felt like hours, he licked the skin behind her ear, lightly bit the lobe, then whispered, “It’s got to be hard and fast now, darlin’. I can’t control myself much longer. But if I get on top, I’ll pound you through the mattress. Gotta be from behind.”

  She could barely understand his words. What was he talking about? That unbridled lovemaking, hot and hard—that had been controlling himself?

  When he pulled out of her, she felt a sudden emptiness. But there was no time to mourn the loss of his body in hers. He flipped her over, stuffed both pillows under her stomach and lifted her hips. Her muscles were lax, rubbery. She couldn’t react, could barely move. He moved her like a little doll.

  His knees slid between hers, opening them and then suddenly he was there, slamming in so hard and fast she gasped.

  He gave a few experimental thrusts. He slid in deep and stopped, touching her womb. He rotated his hips, measuring her sheath, testing her for wetness and reception.

  “Not yet,” he muttered. Bending forward, he wrapped one strong arm around her. “You need to come one more time.”

  His hand moved through the folds of her sex, touching her where she was clenched around his penis, then sliding up where he caressed—so, so carefully—her clitoris. It was like being struck by lightning. Suzanne stiffened and moaned.

  “Oh, yeah,” he breathed. Though the pad of his finger was rough, his touch was delicate, as were the light rocking motions he made inside her. Slipping in and out, barely moving, in time with his sliding thumb on her clitoris…

  She stopped breathing, stopped thinking, stopped seeing…everything inside her clenched, gathered…

  And leapt. Her heart started pounding as she pulsed around him. A hard, tense orgasm, which brought tears to her eyes. Her cry was muffled against the mattress. He held himself still, tightly wedged inside her, unmoving until she quieted. She lay with her forehead against the mattress, trying to catch her breath.

  Finally, Suzanne arched her neck to look behind her—and froze.

  “Brace yourself, because I’m going to do you hard. Grab the bedstead.” His deep voice was choked, almost unrecognizable. The softly liquid southern intonations were gone.

  He looked frighteningly dangerous. His features were sharp with arousal. Red flags rode his cheekbones and his lips were dark with blood. His eyes—glittering shards—watched her with laser-sharp intensity. The huge muscles in his shoulders and biceps were corded with tension as he held her hips with his hands, clutching so tightly she knew she’d be bruised later.

  Even if she wanted to, there was no turning back, no escaping his powerful grip. She searched his face for traces of mercy and found none. No softness, no sign of affection. Just pure lust. A strong, rampant male in full rut. Whatever was going to happen next was completely out of her control.

  And maybe out of his.

  She felt so vulnerable, so completely open, crouching there with her backside in the air. They touched in only three places. His knees keeping hers wide apart, his hands clenched on her hips and his penis in her sheath.

  His knees pushed hers further apart, and he tightened his grip on her hips. She could feel the dark crisp hairs of his thighs against the inside of hers, the hair around his sex against her bottom. In this position she couldn’t control the depth or rhythm of his thrusts. She was totally and completely at his mercy.

  It seemed as if the whole world were still. Silent. Dark. Waiting for a sign.

  Suzanne studied his face, the strength and the lust and the frightening male blankness. It was too much for her. She closed her eyes, turned and buried her head in the mattress. Her hands reached up, fingers curling around the bars of the bedstead.

  It was a signal—of submission, of surrender. He bucked, once, and she grunted. For a moment, she thought he would stop, but then he moved, suddenly and furiously, pumping hard and fast.

  Afterwards, she never knew how long it lasted. An hour, two hours, all night. There was no way of telling. He rammed into her mercilessly, endlessly, using the full strength of his body. On and on in a steady, driving rhythm. The bed creaked so much with the force of his thrusts she was vaguely surprised it didn’t collapse.

  No limits. And there seemed to be no limits to the pleasure he was able to call forth from her. She climaxed over and over again, completely out of control of her own body.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, when her trembling and sweaty hands were losing their grip on the iron rods of the bedstead, when her throat burned from the gasps and her nipples were rubbed raw from the sheet, she felt him swell, grow even harder. With a shout, he erupted inside her. His rough
hands clamped around her hips were the only things holding her up. He ground hard against her as he came and groaned as if he were dying.

  She felt like she was dying herself, completely outside herself, completely beyond the bounds of what she’d always considered herself.

  “Jesus.” The word was half-whisper, half-moan as John collapsed on top of her, his heavy weight pinning her to the mattress. He was sweaty and smelled of musk. His penis, even now partially erect, still lay in her and she could feel the wetness of his semen trickling out of her vagina, along her thighs.