One Hit Wonderful Read online

  “We can watch it again, if you like,” she offered.

  He shook his head. “I have another activity in mind.”

  “What about dessert?” she whispered, her eyes locked on his as he tangled a hand in her hair.

  “We’ll have it later,” he promised, and kissed her.

  Lily was braced for speed, but he was in no rush. There was heat, but it wasn’t the searing, burning flame of the night before. Instead it was a stealthy warmth that snuck into her limbs to make them heavy. Her pulse beat slow and heavy, and her head went light.

  She let her head fall back with a sigh as he trailed his lips over her face, brushing featherlight kisses over her cheeks, her eyelids. She shivered when his lips caressed the sensitive spot behind her left ear. Her hands, which had been lying limp and passive against his chest, curled into fists as she began giving back.

  His mouth came back to hers with a growl as he felt her respond, his hands sliding over her with increased intent. They tangled in her hair again, holding her head steady as his mouth devoured hers.

  Still, the speed didn’t come. Even when she pushed at his shoulders and climbed into his lap, he kept the pace ruthlessly controlled until she wanted to beg for more.

  “Please,” she murmured, her hands roaming restlessly over his shoulders down his chest. She went after the buttons on his shirt, but her fingers felt thick and clumsy, and her concentration was too shattered, too fragmented for her to focus on the task.

  “Too fast,” he murmured, and drew her hands away from his chest. He tucked them behind her, cuffing both of them loosely in one large hand. “I want to go slow this time.”

  Lily tugged at her hands, but his grip was implacable. “You’re trying to kill me, is that it? I snored and you’ve decided to murder me for ruining the movie.”

  He buried his face in the curve of her neck and shook with laughter. “I’m not trying to kill you,” he murmured, and sent her into convulsive shivers with a flick of his tongue against her neck. “I’m trying to give you pleasure.”

  “Oh, right there,” she breathed.

  “See?” he murmured. “Pleasure is good.”

  “Yeah, but you’re moving too slow,” she moaned, and tilted her head to give him more room.

  He chuckled and took advantage, sliding his lips—his clever, wonderful, marvelous lips—across her collarbone. When he bumped into the V-neck of her sweater, he simply shifted it aside and continued the trail of kisses to her shoulder.

  “It’s not a race, you know,” he murmured.

  She barely heard him over the pounding of her own heart. Her entire body felt heavy, her movements languorous, as though she were swimming through molasses. Her mind felt thick as well, her thoughts suspended in the fog of pleasure he was weaving around her.

  She gave her hands a tug, whimpering when she met the firm resistance of his grip. “I need to touch you,” she moaned, and he released her.

  She sighed happily, and would’ve raced her hands over his body, but somehow the signal to rush wouldn’t go from brain to bone. Instead they drifted, her fingers skimming over heated flesh and rumpled clothes with a sort of tingling pleasure that made her breath catch in her throat.

  “Oh my,” she breathed, and dragged her fingers down his back. She saw the flesh under his shirt shift, the muscles rippling in response, and had the sudden urge to watch it without the barrier of clothing.

  This time when she reached for the buttons on his shirt her fingers obeyed, slipping the discs through their holes with practiced ease. He made no move to stop her but leaned back to give her better access. She made quick work of them, tugging the tails of the shirt out of his waistband to finish the job before spreading the shirt wide to indulge herself in the textures of bare flesh.

  Hard muscle, smooth skin, the soft tickle of the hair that swirled around his nipples. It all fascinated her, and she spread her fingers into wide fans, eager to touch as much of him as she could all at once.

  His own hands were far from idle. They stroked over her legs where they straddled his, his fingers tracing imaginary circles over the worn denim of her jeans, leaving tingling trails in his wake.

  Her whole body tingled, she realized. Her skin felt hypersensitive, primed for the slightest touch. Her fingertips even tingled where they caressed his skin. Wondering if the delightful sensation would transfer to her lips, she lowered her mouth to his chest.

  She heard his breath hiss out of his lungs when she made contact, felt his hands slide up her back to tangle in her hair, but she was so absorbed in what she was doing she barely felt it. He felt wonderful, warm and vital and male with a dark, spicy scent that made her just want to sink inside his skin.

  She was doing her best to do just that when suddenly the universe shifted. She squealed, grabbing his shoulders for balance as her head came up to see what was going on.

  “You’re carrying me?”

  “I have to,” he muttered, and boosted her up a little higher. He grunted when her legs came up around his waist automatically.

  Lily wrapped one arm around his neck and decided since he was going to do all the heavy lifting, she might as well go back to work. “Why?” she murmured, nuzzling one flat male nipple.

  “Because,” he ground out, “if I don’t, we’re going to end up making love on the couch.”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” she murmured. She flicked her tongue out to taste the nipple, sighing in delight when it puckered in reaction.

  “I mind,” he said, and picked up his pace until he was practically jogging up the stairs. She giggled and held on tighter, bouncing against them as they ran.

  “Why?” she asked. She could feel his erection prodding her gently whenever her pelvis bounced into his, and since she had a hand free and they didn’t appear to be anywhere near their destination, she decided to amuse herself.

  “Jesus Christ, are you trying to kill me?”

  Lily smiled against his chest and worked her hand farther into his pants. She cupped her hand under his balls, cuddling them in her palm and giving the gentlest of squeezes. A small squeak escaped her as his hands clenched on her ass hard enough to leave bruises.

  The squeak became a full-fledged squeal as he shifted her in his arms, tipping her back to land on the bed. She laughed in delight when she realized her hand in his pants left him no choice but to follow.

  He grasped her wrist, tugging until she released the warm weight of his balls and allowed her hand to be drawn free. He drew it up, pressing it into the pillow next to her head as he twined his fingers with hers. He did the same with her other hand then came down on top of her.

  She sighed with pleasure as he pressed her into the mattress, her legs automatically parting to make room for him. Her hands flexed within the confines of his and she took a deep breath to push her chest up into his.

  “You like that,” he murmured, and eased more of his weight onto her.

  “Yes,” she murmured, shivering in delight. The press of his body into hers awakened every dark, submissive fantasy that lurked in her mind. She felt small, dainty and vulnerable under him, and for the first time in her life the feeling didn’t make her uneasy.

  Instead she wanted to revel in the differences between them. His hard strength against her yielding softness, his male to her female. The contrast made her want to stretch and purr, like a cat with a belly full of rich cream. So she did.

  He rumbled his approval as she rubbed against him. “This is why we had to get up from the sofa.”

  “Why?” she breathed, enthralled in the textures and friction of her body against his.

  “There’s no room for this on the sofa,” he explained.

  She laughed softly. “I feel drugged,” she admitted, and arched her back to press her breasts into his chest. “Did you slip something into that mac and cheese?”

  He shook his head, the stubble of his beard rasping against the tender skin of her neck. “Nope.”

  “No?” She sighed, lifting one
foot to lazily rub her arch against the curve of his calf. Even that simple, innocent touch sent tingles racing through her blood.

  “Not a thing,” he assured her, and took a gentle nip out of her shoulder. “You’re not drunk, are you?”

  “I only had two glasses of wine,” she reminded him.

  “Hardly enough to make you drunk,” he decided.

  “It must be you then.”

  “Me?”

  “Hmmm.” She lifted her other foot to join the first, curling her toes into the muscle of his leg. “Making me feel all tingly and achy and…”

  “Horny?” he supplied, and she laughed again.

  “Horny,” she agreed. “You’ll have to do something about it.”

  “Really?” he asked, humor and lust tangled together in his voice. He picked up his head to regard her with dancing eyes.

  “I can’t go to work like this tomorrow,” she explained, and arched into him again so she could watch his eyes go cloudy.

  “I’ll do my best,” he promised.

  Her clothes seemed to simply melt away under his clever hands. She was aware of him pulling her sweater over her head, cognizant of him unclasping her bra and sliding her jeans and panties down her legs, but it was lost in a haze of lust and longing, in the fog of desire that seemed to cover their twined bodies.

  His own clothes disappeared just as quickly, and Lily sighed with pleasure as her hands made contact with bare skin. She couldn’t get enough, touching and tasting whatever bits of skin she could reach, reveling in his moans of pleasure. Knowing she could give as much pleasure as she received was a heady feeling, an aphrodisiac added to the already potent mix of shared longing.

  Needing to give more, to share more, she pushed at his shoulders until he rolled to his back. She paused for a moment, enthralled by the sight of him sprawled on the bed, hers to do with what she pleased. That incredible, amazing thought propelled her into action, and she slid over him.

  They both moaned in delight at the slide of skin on skin, the gentle friction making Lily’s nipples pucker with need and Nate’s cock twitch against her thigh. She felt her own response in the sudden flood of moisture between her legs, in the pulse that beat heavily there. But her own needs were taking a back seat to the sheer delight of his body. The urge to lose herself in the scents and textures of him was overpowering, so with a sigh she gave in to it.

  She reveled in the sighs and moans, the murmured endearments and incoherent pleas that spilled from his lips as she explored. She learned that a firm touch on his nipples made him groan, and the delicate dip of her tongue in his navel made his hands clench almost painfully in her hair. The slight sting only added to the dark sensuality of the moment, and spurred her on.

  She acquainted herself with the strip of skin where leg joined torso, first simply breathing in the warm spice of his scent then testing it with her tongue. His taste was darker here, more potent, going to her head like the finest whiskey and making her yearn for another sip.

  She worked her way inward from his hip, little kisses and licks that fed both their desires. His hands were clenched in her hair but he wasn’t directing her movements. He simply held on and let her go where she wanted, and the heady sense of control, of being in charge of his pleasure as well as hers, emboldened her.

  She ignored the thrust of his penis, though she knew she wouldn’t be able to do so for long. Her own needs were becoming more urgent, the need to have him deep inside her again rising up and demanding attention, but she wasn’t nearly finished exploring him.

  She slid farther down on the bed, wedging her shoulders between his thighs so she had an up close and very personal view of his balls. They were already drawn up, snug against the base of his shaft. Curious, she reached out with one finger to trace circles around the sensitive flesh.

  He groaned, the sound loud and guttural in the quiet of the darkened bedroom, his thighs automatically shifting farther apart. She took that as an invitation to repeat the caress then simply leaned forward and put her mouth on him.

  It was darkly exciting. She could feel the springy tickle of coarse hair against her lips, smell the musk of his need, taste the salt on his skin as she swirled her tongue over and around his sac. Moving carefully, she gently tugged his sac slightly downward and sucked one heavy, swollen testicle into her mouth.

  He gave a hoarse shout, his hands clenching so hard in her hair she saw stars. He used his grip to tug her off him, and she let go immediately.

  “Did I hurt you?” Worried, she pushed herself up so she could see his face.

  He was gasping for air, panting as though he’d run a marathon—or just had his balls sucked. “You’re killing me,” he told her, “but it doesn’t hurt.”

  “Oh. Good.” She sent him a sunny smile then ducked her head back down between his legs.

  By the time she picked her head up again they were both breathing raggedly, and Lily’s own needs were making themselves known.

  “Condom,” she gasped.

  He twisted to reach the bedside table, digging a condom out of the drawer and ripping the wrapping with his teeth. She reached out a hand for it, and he gave her an incredulous look.

  “What?”

  He simply shook his head and rolled on the latex sheath himself. “No way in hell,” he told her, and snagged her arm to drag her closer, tucking her under him and spreading her legs with his knees.

  “I wanted to do it,” she pouted.

  “Next time,” he promised, reaching a hand down to line up the head of his cock with her pussy.

  “I also wanted to be on top,” she gasped. The broad head of his cock was pushing into her, stretching her wide, and her back arched as sensation exploded through her.

  “Next time,” he repeated, and pushed forward.

  He felt huge as he moved inside her, impossibly large, and she felt a real moment of panic as the sensation bordered on pain. He pulled out halfway then pushed forward again, seating himself to the hilt. Her senses went riot as she struggled to adjust to the invasion, to accommodate the length and breadth of him tunneling inside her.

  “God, Lily.”

  She opened her eyes at his tortured groan. He hung above her, still as stone except for the fine quiver that occasionally stole over his body. He was sweating, she realized, with the effort of holding back.

  Her lips were dry, so she wet them, feeling a burst of heat as his eyes tracked the movement. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words couldn’t squeeze past the sudden lump of emotion in her throat. So she decided to communicate with her body.

  Her legs came up, her pelvis tilting to meet his as they wrapped around his hips. Her hands clung to his rib cage, her breath came in pants as she arched into him.

  His face spasmed, a brief flash of exquisite agony then he began to move.

  Time seemed to stand still as they moved together on the bed, in the dark. Flesh slid over flesh, tongues tangled until Lily lost track of where she ended and he began. Each surge of his hips brought fresh sensation, each brush of his hands and caress of his lips dark new delights until her entire focus, her entire being was centered on the thrust and glide of his body into hers.

  Her head tossed on the pillow, hands grasping for purchase on his sweaty flesh as the tension began to build. “Faster,” she murmured, whimpering as a flash of sensation tore through her, a fluttering precursor to the greater pleasure that remained just out of reach. “Faster.”

  “Don’t want to,” he breathed, his breath puffing hot against her cheek. His hips continued to roll, advancing and retreating at the same steady pace. “You feel so amazing, I don’t want it to end yet.”

  “Too much,” she moaned.

  “Not enough,” he countered, and kept going.

  He refused to speed up, no matter how she begged and pleaded. They were both damp with sweat; it dripped from his forehead to splash against her chest, it beaded on her temples to run in rivulets into her hair. The slick friction of skin on skin was dri
ving her crazy, holding her climax just out of reach. She needed more, harder, heavier, faster, and he didn’t look as though he was willing to give it to her.

  She pulled her hands from his back, but before she could slide them between their damp bodies, he grabbed for them, twining their fingers and pressing the backs of her hands into the pillow beside her head.

  “Hold on,” he told her, eyes dark and intense and screaming with lust. “Just a little longer, baby, just a little more.”

  “You’re killing me,” she cried. She tried to push her hips up, to force him to move, to drive, to finish it for them both goddammit! But he simply pushed his weight into her, controlling her without effort and making her sob with frustration.

  “I hate you,” she groaned.

  “No you don’t,” he panted. “Stay with me, Lily. Be with me, I need you with me.”

  “I can’t…” Her head was tossing mindlessly now, her hair tangling on the pillow.

  “Yes, you can. Look at me.” He squeezed her hands. “Look at me, baby.”

  Her eyes flew open, brown eyes locking onto green with the desperation of the damned.

  “That’s it,” he murmured, and ever so slightly picked up the pace. “Stay with me, keeping looking at me. I want to see you go over, I want to watch.”

  It was so intimate, she thought, so intimate and intense and crazy to be looking into his eyes at such a moment, when the pressure and the pleasure came together in the pit of her belly in a big ball of fire that threatened to swallow her whole.

  But he wouldn’t let her look away, wouldn’t let her close her eyes or turn her head to ease the knot under her heart. So she was staring into his eyes, brown drowning in green, when the spasms took her, when her body convulsed, unable to hold the tension any longer and the orgasm poured through her like fire.

  And he was staring into hers when he followed.

  Chapter Eleven

  “When I get my strength back, I’m going to kill you for that.”

  His weak chuckle tickled her ear. “I think you already did.”