Chapter 3
HOLLY
Oh dear God. I’m going to hell. Like the really bad hell that’s below all the other hells. I lay flat on the floor and don’t move as Danny crawls on his hands and knees towards me. I should be righting myself. Telling him no. Telling him absolutely not.
How will I ever face him again?
But my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and I just lay there, my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest, my gaze glued to his slow, measured prowl. I want it. I want this. Want him.
I want him to put his hand down my pants and make me come.
I absolutely believe if any man can make me see angels, it’s him. Even though it’s such a sacrilegious thing to think, which is another reason I’m going to hell, but damn… the man has a way with words.
What happens in the elevator stays in the elevator.
More great words. Their permissiveness echoes through my head and whispers in my ear as his body looms over mine, and I’m too far gone to do anything other than follow their lead. It’s like I checked my morals at the door when I stepped in the elevator.
His knees are either side of my hips now, although they don’t touch, and his hands are planted either side of my shoulders, his arms straight, his body held at arm’s length from mine as he stares down at me and I am caught in the warm, blue heat of his gaze.
My pulse flutters erratically at my temple, pounds hard in my chest, and throbs heavy between my legs.
Not taking his eyes from mine, he lifts his right hand. It hovers down my body, and I suppress the urge to arch my back so it makes contact on its way to its destination. My nipples are so hard they feel as if they’re about to pop right off.
His hand lands softly just above the drawstring waist of my sweatpants. I gasp as my stomach muscles contract. I can’t stop it, can’t call it back, and he just smiles.
Like he knows.
And I hate him a little bit, but I need him to keep going.
He does, his hand burrowing beneath the layers of fleece and long johns and underwear until it skims against bare flesh, and I shiver and cry out and really do arch my back now as his fingers slide against the aching flesh between my legs.
‘Is that where it hurts, Doc?’ His gaze is like a missile locked on mine. I want to shut my eyes, to look away, but I am mesmerised. And he knows that, too. ‘Is that where you need me?’
‘Yes.’
A pent-up sob falls from my lips as his fingers find my clitoris and start to tease. My hips lift, circle to the motion of his hand. My heart crashes against my rib cage, and I’m panting, and he’s barely started.
‘Oh yes,’ he whispers, his eyes burning bright. ‘I knew you’d be this wet for me.’
Two fingers find my entrance, and he shoves inside me, and I cry out and grab his arm. The edges of my world start to fold in on themselves.
‘So tight.’ He draws them slowly out. ‘So wet.’ He pushes them slowly in.
I can barely breathe for the sensations swamping me. I want to shut my eyes, but I can’t. I can’t look away from him, from the way he’s looking at me, like he’s getting off on it as much as I am.
‘You know what you should do now?’ he asks as his fingers slide in and out so freaking good.
I shake my head. I can’t form a coherent thought. I doubt I can move to do anything.
‘You should pull up your shirt and play with your tits.’
I suck in a breath at the suggestion. At the profanity of it. At the dirtiness. The analytical part of my brain rejects it even as my hands reach for the hem and yank up both layers of material.
The air is hot and sizzles against the taut tips of my nipples. But it’s not enough. I need these clothes off. I’m hot, burning up. I want them gone. I wrest them off my head, and Danny smiles at me as he drops his gaze to my chest.
‘Oh yeah.’ His voice is rough and low as my hands slide onto my breasts. ‘That’s it. Pinch them. Twist them. I bet you get off on a little pain.’
I mentally reject the notion, but something dark and dormant stirs to life inside me, and my fingers are a slave to its dictates.
My nipples are already elongated with arousal, and I pinch the tips and twist them at the same time.
A shard of white, hot pain lances through them.
The sensation shudders through my body, and I moan.
It hurts so damn good.
‘Hell yessss. I felt that all the way down here.’ His eyes are darker now, hotter, as his fingers scissor inside me, and I moan. ‘Oh yeah… your pussy likes that too, clamping down so fucking tight.’
Danny obviously doesn’t believe in using the proper terms for body parts. He lifts his gaze to meet mine. ‘You look hot touching yourself, Doc.’
The compliment cascades over me, and I twist my nipples at the same time his fingers thrust inside, and electricity arcs between the two, a white-hot streak of lightning, vicious in its erotic intensity.
He smiles. ‘I knew you’d be like this. I knew you’d be hot and tight and wet.’ His fingers punctuate each word with a deep thrust. ‘I knew your tits would look like this as you gave it up for me.’
His words fill my head with their arrogant certainty. They make me mad as hell and so freaking turned on I can barely breathe.
‘I knew you wanted me.’ He adds another finger, and my hips rotate as the stretch burns so damn good.
‘That you’d spread your legs for me.’ He withdraws and slams into me again, and I moan as he sets an insane rhythm, ploughing his clever fingers into me over and over.
‘I knew you’d do whatever the hell I wanted when I got you on your back. ’
I want to deny it, but he’s right – I’ve known it, too. Known it was only a matter of time before this happened, before I was flat on my back for him. Giving him whatever the hell he wanted. It’s why I’ve been running so damn hard in the other direction.
His mouth, as he speaks, is as mesmerising as his eyes, and I want to kiss it despite his arrogance. I want to feel it against mine. I want his tongue thrusting inside me as deep and sure as his fingers.
‘Kiss me.’ It comes out on a gasp as he adds another digit, and my hips buck at the invasion. I lift my head, my lips seeking his as my fingers clamp tight around my nipples.
He lowers his mouth so it hovers just over mine. He smells like soap and coffee. He smiles and shakes his head.
‘Can’t. A deal’s a deal, Doc.’
I growl my displeasure as he removes his mouth from my vicinity and I collapse back against the duvet.
He laughs, and I hate him some more, but he’s relentless then, pulling his fingers out of me, ignoring my moan of protest as they glide to my clitoris, pinching and flicking and rubbing hard, just like I need it, just like I’ve always needed it.
No guy has ever known that about me. But Danny – a virtual stranger – knows it instantly. Knows that I need relentless pressure on my clitoris – almost brutal. Not soft or slow or gentle but fast and fierce and furious.
The orgasm starts in my toes and spreads north like wildfire, gathering momentum as it rolls through every muscle group and along every nerve ending until I shake with it.
But I’m scared to give it free rein. Scared it’ll consume me and I’ll burn up in this elevator and never know anything like this again and, perversely, I don’t want it to keep going because then it will end, and I don’t want it to end.
‘Let it go, Doc.’ His voice is low and rough and urgent as he hangs over me, his eyes boring into mine, hot, insistent. ‘Let it go.’
I can’t. It’s trembling hard through my muscles, but I push it back. I just can’t.
His head swoops down then, and he kisses me, licking into my mouth, and the electricity is in his tongue and I break, crying out his name as my body bows off the floor, consumed by the maelstrom.
The blizzard is inside me now, but it’s hot, not cold, lashing me with heat and raining me with fire. It buffets my body, and I am lost to its push and pull.
I give in to it. To the fork and sizzle of the lightning, licking hot tongues everywhere. To the deep plunder of his mouth. To the mad pound of my heart. My body is the grateful beneficiary of his experience, and I let him tutor me right to the end.
My orgasm reaches its crescendo, and I cry out as it takes me, my pulse as loud as the blizzard inside my head. Danny’s fingers know just what to do to prolong the ecstasy, and I buck against them, wringing out every last second of pleasure, holding on as long as I can.
But then it’s over, the storm spirals away, and I’m so excruciatingly sensitive where he’s touching me I whimper against his mouth and grab for his wrist, wrenching it out of my pants.
‘Stop,’ I gasp against his mouth.
I vaguely hear him chuckle, and his smiling face floats above me as he looms there again for a beat or two before he collapses beside me. I know how he feels. I’m like a toasted marshmallow at the moment – a burnt crisp on the outside, a puddle of goo in the middle.
We contemplate the ceiling together. Only the sound of our breathing disturbs the silence. I love that his is as erratic as mine and I listen to it as I slowly recover, my eyes drifting shut.
‘You want to talk about the weather now?’
I laugh. It’s been my experience that round about this time, a new sexual partner usually asks how it was. Not Danny. He doesn’t have to. The man knows I just had the best sexual experience of my life.
And there hadn’t even been proper… penetration.
I can barely keep my eyes open now. An intense orgasm on top of zero sleep is a lethal combination.
I’m only just conscious of rolling on my side, of snuggling against him, of his warm arm sliding around my shoulders.
I think I sigh and I vaguely feel his lips brush the top of my head, but then sleep pulls at my eyelids and I fall headfirst into slumber.