Chapter Sixteen #2
She slithers out of her dress. My brain nearly short-circuits at the sight of a thin band of black lace barely covering the skin between her thighs, tiny straps looped over her thighs.
“Diana.”
One corner of her mouth curves up. I see her confidence in the lustful glint in her eye, the upward tilt of her chin, the proud set of her shoulders that make her breasts jut out toward me.
She holds out a hand.
“Make love to me, Ari.”
I’m on the bed before the words are out of her mouth.
I ease her back onto the silk sheets, slant my lips over hers and claim her with a kiss that has us both groaning into each other’s mouths.
My hands are sliding up her sides, my fingers grazing her breasts, my cock straining against the tiny scrap of fabric.
Her fingers slide into my hair, anchoring my head as she kisses me with an uninhibited passion I greedily take.
I finally tear my mouth from hers. Her huff of protest turns into a long, drawn-out moan as I trace my tongue down her neck, place an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive dip at the base of her throat.
I trail farther down still to her breasts.
One graze of my lips on the swell of her breast. A gentle nip on one hardened tip.
A long, slow lick of the fullness beneath.
“Ari.”
I suck her into my mouth, feel like a god when she arches up against me. I alternate between gentle and demanding, drink in her cries as our thighs press together, our hips undulating in rhythm.
I do the same to her other breasts before kissing my way down her belly. Her breathing quickens as I reach her hips. I trace one finger over the material and nearly embarrass myself when I feel the wet heat, inhale the scent of how much she wants me.
“God, Diana.” I clamp my hands down on her hips, trapping her in a vise as I capture her eyes with mine. “Do you know what you do to me?”
Her throat bobs. Doubt intrudes.
And then she lets out a shuddering breath.
“The same you do to me.”
Humbled, burning, I lower my head. Breathe her in. Then, slowly, I run my tongue over the fabric, taste her through wet silk. Her hips bow off the bed as she cries out.
“Ari!”
I turn my head, lick the skin just beyond where the fabric ends. I continue to taunt her, tease her, until all I can smell is her and I’m so goddamned hungry for a taste I can’t take it anymore.
I hook my fingers in the fabric, pull it aside, and feast. Her scream of pleasure fills me, spurs me as I lick, suck, nibble, kiss every inch of her. Her hips pump faster. Her breathing is coming in rapid gasps. Her hands grasp the sheets, move to my hair, pull at my shoulders.
When she comes apart, I drink her in, savor every drop until she’s limp and trembling. I start to move up her body when she raises her head off the pillow.
“My turn.”
My harsh exhale has her grinning. She rises up, her breasts grazing my chest before she plants a hand just above my stomach and pushes. I lie back, grabbing a pillow and tucking it under my head as I watch her.
God, she’s beautiful. It’s not just the stunning slash of her cheekbones or the elegant shape of her face. It’s the fire in her eyes, the sweetness in her smile even as she shoots me a look that’s anything but innocent.
It’s her. Diana. And I’m in love with her.
Before I can even begin to recover from that realization, she wraps a hand around my cock and gently squeezes. I suck in a deep, harsh breath.
“I don’t think we got around to this last night.”
Her husky voice wraps around me, slides over my burning skin as her fingers caress, glide, stroke.
“We got a little distracted.’
“Just a little.”
She leans down, her hair falling over her shoulders and around her face.
“Wait.” I reach out, grasp her hair in one hand and gather it to one side. “I want to see you.”
Roses bloom in her cheeks, but her smile is pure feminine power.
She trails teasing kisses down my hard length, one hand wrapped around me and the other braced on my thigh.
The more she taunts with quick flicks of her tongue and slight grazes of teeth, the harder it becomes to not simply tumble her back onto the bed and slide inside her.
Her lips part. She takes me into her mouth and I nearly come right then and there.
“Diana.”
Her name is a groan, a prayer. Every touch brings me closer to the edge.
“Now.”
I sit up, ready to push her back and take her. But she stops me, puts a hand to my chest.
“Ari.”
Did I think stopping myself from following her out of the living room took effort? Because holding myself back now is pure torture.
And then she does the last thing I ever thought she would do.
She turns her back to me.
I see them through her hair. Four scars. Thick, raised, discolored. Evidence of one man’s derangement. Evidence of a young woman’s bravery and giving heart.
Slowly, I reach out. Lay one finger on the top of the first scar. She sucks in a breath and I snatch my hand away.
“Diana—”
“Don’t stop.”
Her voice is thin but determined. I reach out again, trace my fingers up and down. One scar, two, three. Then down the fourth, shorter than the rest. The one interrupted by the two people who saved Diana’s life.
“It’s a mystery to me,” I say quietly, “how you think you’re not enough.” I lower my head, kiss the back of her neck. “Thank you.”
She looks back over her shoulder at me. The fear lingers. But so does the desire. She leans forward, plants her hands into the mattress. Need slams into me as she arches her back and pushes her hips back against mine.
I clamp my hands down on her, the heat of her skin searing my palms. One thrust and I’m inside her. Her body tightens around me, pulls me deeper as I struggle to draw the pleasure out. Hard to do when she’s pushing back against me, back arched and skin gleaming in the moonlight.
“More.”
Her command rips away the last of my control.
I reach around and press a hand to her stomach, urge her to arch up until her back is flush against my chest. My hand drifts up, cups the weight of her breast as she turns her head and I capture her mouth with mine.
Each thrust drives us both higher. She moans into my mouth, pushes back against me as she takes me deeper.
Then she’s coming apart, her body demanding more even as she spirals up and over. I follow moments later, groaning her name against her lips as I keep her body pinned against mine.
It takes a few moments to regather my strength. To remember to ease her down onto the mattress and collapse on the sheet next to her. I reach out and wrap an arm around her waist, pull her back against my chest. I’ve never been a touchy lover after sex. Once it’s over, it’s done.
But making love with the woman I love… Even though I’m temporarily spent, I can’t stop touching her.
“That was…”
“Incredible,” I finish for her as I press a kiss to her neck.
“Yeah,” she murmurs sleepily. “That.”
Thirty seconds later and she’s out, her soft breathing punctured by the occasional snore that makes me grin.
A grin that quickly disappears when I remember what precipitated our lovemaking.
I brush another strand of hair from her face, stare down at the woman who has quickly become more important to me than anything else in my life. The dark contrast of eyelashes against fair skin. The lips parted in sleep.
I draw her closer still, needing to feel her in my arms as I pull a sheet up over both of us. She didn’t just show me her scars; she trusted me with them. A massive step for us.
But I also remember the pain, the fear just before she asked me to make love to her. I know the kind of power those emotions can wield. How they can drive even the most logical person to make mistakes they never thought they would.
I stare at her for as long as I can before sleep finally pulls my eyes shut.