To Distraction (Bastion Club 5)

She murmured his name. Before she could turn to him, he leaned over her, raising her upper thigh, bending her knee, pressing it to the bed…he slid into her. Slowly, smoothly. Deep.

Until the hard hot length of him filled her.

Then he withdrew and pressed in again, stretching her sheath, filling her to the hilt, to the point where she felt he was nudging her heart when he thrust the last inch.

She heard a gasp as he repeated the slow, deliberate movement, realized that it was hers, that her fingers had tangled in the sheet, clutching spasmodically as he continued to ride her in this different way. Continued to pleasure her deeply, unhurriedly, languidly.

Over and over. The conflagration within her built, and built, the end approaching much more quickly this time—but then he slowed, eased back, penetrated her less deeply…and the firestorm, denied, retreated, shrank back.

Hovered. Then he returned to thrust hard and deep; the flames roared and greedily rushed in—only to be denied yet again…and the pleasure grew.

Burgeoned, filled her, sank to her bones.

Filled her mind, captured her senses.

She wanted to give the pleasure back to him, wanted, in an instant of startling clarity, to lavish on him the same sensual delights he was so assiduously giving her. But how?

His weight held her pinned, his chest to her back, one heavy arm snug over her waist, his hand cradling her breast, long fingers stroking, gently kneading in time with the rhythm of his loving.

She tried to twist to catch his eye but couldn’t, tried to shift her hips against him, then realized and tightened about him as he pressed deep.

And was rewarded when he halted, buried deep within her, and hissed in a breath. He held it for an instant, then exhaled and picked up his rhythm again.

He leaned close; his lips traced the curve of her ear, then his breath brushed over it. “All you have to do is lie there and be ravished.”

Coming out of the dark behind her, his tone, deep and gravelly, was perfectly gauged to send a shiver down her spine.

His lips returned to her ear, lightly brushing, then he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin beneath it, then trailed light kisses down the taut line of her throat. Then he spoke again. “Naked, in the dark of the night, in this bed…you’re mine, remember? My houri, my pleasure slave, to do with as I wish.”

He eased his shoulders back, released her breast, and sent his hand skating down, over her waist and around to evocatively stroke her bottom. “To possess as I wish. Like this, with your lovely arse to my groin, your body supple, soft and pliant, prone beneath me, helpless to prevent me taking all I want, as I want.”

Against the pillow, her lips curved. She didn’t think she was entirely helpless….

Lasciviously, seductively, she squirmed, flagrantly encouraging him to do his worst. To take her more aggressively, more definitely. To ride her more deeply.

Blatantly challenging him to forget about her pleasure and take his, to slake his lust in her very willing body.

He hissed in another breath. She tightened her inner muscles, simultaneously wriggling…

He swore. And the dam broke.

His hand clamped about her hip, ruthlessly held her down as he shifted, adjusted, then did as she wished. Set aside his control and took her without restraint.

The fire howled through them both, harsh and hot, ravenous and greedy. It burned and consumed, cindered all constraint, left them both gasping, senses reeling, struggling to see, to know, to grasp.

The pinnacle of pleasure.

And the consequent bliss.

The first shattered them, ripped and shredded them, hurling their senses beyond the world.

The latter fell on them, doused the last flames, enfolded them in the cocooning arms of satiation, and healed them.

Wracked, exhausted, they lay slumped in the bed, wrapped together, unable to move, the thundering of their hearts one beat in their veins.

She couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t care. At the last he’d roared her name, and at the last she’d been there, with him, together, in no way apart.