Chapter 7 #4
But I’d have happily zapped both boys with a real version of the space guns they held, and when I was through doing that, I’d have happily zapped their parents.
The boys raced off at the fourteenth floor and were instantly forgotten.
Peter wove a handful of fingers into my hair, leaving his thumb to caress my mouth.
My lips parted under their gentle pressure, but only to allow that caress to spread inside.
He didn’t kiss me, and I didn’t miss it, because his eyes, holding mine in their thrall, were silently telling me of all the things he intended to do once we were alone and undressed.
A frisson of excitement shook my limbs, adding to the quivering inside that I couldn’t control. It didn’t help that beneath my very lovely navy silk suit, my very lovely white teddy was wide open. That was but one of the things Peter was saying with his electric green eyes.
We nearly missed my floor. The elevator opened, waited, then began to slide shut before Peter bolted forward and put a shoulder to the door. He drew me out with his other hand and didn’t let go as we hurried down the hall.
It took him a minute to fit the entry card into the slot. I could hear the frustration in his impatient growl. The door finally opened. We went inside. It closed. We were alone at last.
The silence in the room was broken only by the muted sounds of the city far below and the beat of our thunderous hearts. We didn’t waste time listening to the message in the beat. We already knew it. There was no time to lose.
Our coats were no sooner gone when we came together, Peter pulling me so hard and high against him that my feet left the floor.
Our mouths fused in a wet, tongue-tangling kiss.
I began to push at his suit jacket, then went at it more efficiently when he returned me to the floor.
Breathing hard, he ignored my jacket and went straight for my blouse.
But his fingers caught on the small pearl buttons, and, while I tugged at his tie, he rasped, “You do it, Jill. I’ll tear it.
” He abandoned my blouse and displaced my hands from his tie, which he proceeded to tear at irreverently.
Hastily I dispensed with my jacket. Taking shallow little breaths, I kicked my shoes aside, unzippered my skirt and pushed it down my legs, then hopped from one foot to the other until I was free.
Heedless of the fine fabric, I tossed it blindly aside.
My fingers raced to my blouse, but there I paused, because that was what Peter had done.
His tie and shirt were gone, his belt unfastened and his trousers unzipped, but he was staring at me, at that part of me between my waist and my knees that was so erotically displayed.
I didn’t give a damn about erotic displays, at least not about mine.
I wanted to see Peter. I wanted to touch him, taste him, satisfy the awful craving that was eating me alive.
So I covered the small distance between us, opened my mouth on his chest and I slid my hands, palms flat, into his trousers.
He was hot and heavy, fully-aroused and throbbing with desire. My fingers closed around him. I strained upward in an attempt to align our body parts.
Peter wasn’t having that just yet. Capturing my mouth in a suctioning swoop, he forced his hands between us, fiddled with the buttons of my blouse for another impatient second, then tugged.
The pearls didn’t make a sound as they fell to the carpet, not that we’d have heard if they had.
We were too busy trying to kiss, trying to breathe, trying to get me out of my blouse and Peter out of his pants.
Buck naked, he was a strong and beautiful animal.
I only had a second to register that fact when he slipped one arm around my back and the other under my bottom and lifted me against him.
His mouth met mine. I coiled both arms around his neck, overlapping them tightly. My legs wound around his waist.
In a single fluid movement, he turned, lowered me to the turned-back bed and thrust deep into me. The shock of it brought a sharp cry from my throat.
He went very still. “Jill?”
I panted softly and tightened my arms around his neck.
“I’ve hurt you.”
“Oh, no.” My body had already begun to adjust to his size, and even at that very first moment of possession, my reaction was more one of surprise than pain.
As we lay coupled so tightly, I could feel tendrils of pleasure blotting out surprise, and at the tips of those tendrils were tiny pinpoints of heat.
A fine sheen of sweat broke out over my skin. I closed my eyes. The thought that Peter was embedded inside me was nearly as electric as his eyes.
In a gentle move, as though he were gauging my ability to take him, he carefully undulated his hips.
But if he’d intended it as an exploratory measure, it was his undoing.
“I can’t stop,” he breathed hoarsely, then more frantically, “I can’t stop, Jill.
” His broad shoulders trembled under the force of restraint as, devoid of gentleness, he reared up over me.
He drew back, then slammed forward. I cried out again, this time at the fire his thrust stoked, and when he drew back again, I matched his motion.
There was no stopping either of us, then.
His body grew slick with sweat. His hair fell in swaying spikes on his forehead as he drove into me again and again.
I met each thrust head-on, raised my legs on his back to deepen his penetration.
I couldn’t seem to get enough of him, nor could he of me.
Sliding a hand under me, he lifted my bottom and drove even higher.
I think he’d have possessed my entire body if he’d been able—not that what he was doing was much different.
The point of his possession seemed to control everything else about me, from the way my fingernails raked his damp back, to the way my head thrashed from side to side, to the short, sharp bits of breath I labored to take.
In a soul-shattering moment, I sucked in a lungful of air and arched into a powerful climax. The spasms went on and on. They were enhanced by Peter’s explosive movements, then his final grunting plunge. As his big body shook, I felt the surge of liquid heat deep inside.
For what seemed an eternity, he lay over me, but I didn’t mind the weight. It was warm, male, delicious, as was the scent that hovered around us. Eyes closed, I savored that, like an afterdinner drink taken on the tails of a fine red wine.
When he started to move, I clenched my legs tight around him. “Don’t go,” I whispered, suddenly afraid that he’d up and leave. I might have climaxed, but I was far from sated.
Taking me with him, he rolled to his side.
I looked up into his face to find his green eyes heavily lidded and warm.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said hoarsely.
Levering himself up on an elbow, he closed his hand around my leg, which was under him, and gently pulled it forward.
“I don’t want to crush it.” He eased it down next to the other.
His expression was almost reverent as he watched his own fingers skim the silk-clad length.
I looked down then to see what he had, but I saw nothing reverent in a pair of legs sheathed in sheer navy, a pure white garter belt and a white teddy whose lacy hem was bunched up under my breasts.
Peter was looking there, too. He ran his fingertips under my breasts. “You are beautiful,” he whispered.
“I think wanton is the word,” I whispered back. Though there was no one to hear us, it was an intimate moment.
He fanned his hand over my stomach. “Wanton matched the way I felt. I don’t know how I made it through your show.” He grunted. “I don’t know how I made it through the past few weeks.”
I sank a hand into his hair and tugged. “You didn’t call me.”
“You didn’t call me.”
“You’re the man. You’re supposed to do it.”
“These are the eighties. You’re an independent woman.”
“Not that independent.”
“How was I to know? You women have us so confused sometimes we don’t know whether we’re coming or going.”
His reference to women in the plural was a generic one, which was the way I took it. I wasn’t about to consider the other women he’d known personally, not at a moment when he was all mine.
But he felt it important. Sobering, he shaped his hand to my jaw and said, “I may have been pretty wild as a kid, but lately there haven’t been a whole lot of different women in my life.
” His thumb coasted over my skin. “I’m clean.
You won’t catch anything from me, but I haven’t guarded you against pregnancy. You’re not using anything, are you?”
I shook my head. “I bought condoms.” My cheeks went red. “They’re in my purse.”
“That’s good. I wouldn’t want a pregnant purse on my hands.” His thumb moved higher to explore my flushed skin. “Are you embarrassed because you left them in your purse, or because you bought them in the first place?”
“Both. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“What kind of risk did we take?”
“Not a big one. It’s the wrong time of the month. Besides, I don’t get pregnant easily.” His eyes requested an elaboration that I felt it only fair to give. “I didn’t use anything for three years, and nothing happened.”
“You wanted children then?”
I nodded, but I refused to dwell on what might have been.
I refused to dwell on anything that might take away from the moment and Peter.
Knowing the perfect diversion, I dropped my gaze to his toes and slowly drew my eyes north.
I’d seen his upper half before, but the lower half was new and exciting.
His legs were long, lean and scarred, but beautiful nonetheless and spattered with the same dark hair that painted patterns over his chest. His thighs were tightly muscled.
His sex, at rest now, lay in a thick nest of hair.
Suddenly he shifted, rising to his knees.
“Where are you going?” I asked in alarm.