Emma Holly (16 page)

"Pretty," he said, drawing closer to inhale her scent.

His exhale made her quiver. "Eric…"

"Don't come when I kiss you," he warned, loving the way she shook. "I want to save that for my cock.

Relax into the sensations. Push them out instead of trying to pull them in."

"Push," she repeated huskily.

He took the whole of her swollen button into his mouth, sucking gently, working his tongue a little against the shaft. Her taste went straight to his spinning head. Apparently, she liked his technique. Her nails dug into his shoulders, nearly pricking right through his skin.

"Boy," she breathed, obviously struggling to relax, "do you ever know what you're doing!"

Even as he grinned, he kept up the motion of his mouth and thumbs, not touching her entrance but massaging over the channels where her sexual nerves rooted deep. Her hips began to push at him in slow, rocking rolls, her button swelling even fuller, her sighs coming long and low. When her nails started pricking him again, he stopped.

"Now you can lie down," he said, his voice gritting out like sand. "Now you're wet enough to take everything I've got."

She shook herself as if she'd been in a dream, then clambered slowly onto the mattress. When he shifted around to face her, her gaze slid from his face to his cock.

He didn't have to look to know how hard he was. Every bursting inch was screaming to his brain. A tiny spot of coolness told him his slit was seeping pre-come.

Seeing it, Charity bit her lip, then licked where her teeth had been. "You need the condom now."

He loomed in front of her on his knees, rolling on the sheath himself, loving the way her eyes followed every motion. "I need the cock ring, too," he said. "Want to put it on?"

She laughed shakily. "I'm afraid my hands aren't working well enough."

"I'll wait, if you want. I'd enjoy having you try."

Sensing acquiescence, he handed her the box he'd slipped into the pocket of his pants. Watching her fumble it open had him fighting a smile and at the same time feeling like a king. He knew how much experience she had. That he could inspire this awkwardness did things to his insides he was pretty sure he shouldn't like so much. His heart was beating fast enough that he could have been racing toward a quickie instead of wanting to linger in her for hours.

"I'm supposed to wrap this around you?" she said, staring dubiously at the flexible snake of black rubber.

"Around my base and testicles. The tail goes around twice and then you push this little protrusion through the hole that fits best, just like a belt. That way, if you need to, it's easy to get off."

"Easy to get off," she muttered, but she maneuvered it on with ease. Whether she realized it or not, she was naturally dexterous. When she was done, his balls were lifted against his shaft and his cock stood nearly straight. The increase in pressure made him feel simultaneously more excited and more relaxed.

The relaxation worried him. He knew better than to take his self-control for granted. This was going to be a fight.

"Wow," she said, her hands lingering on the end result. "This ring really makes you thick."

His hips pushed forward without his will, adding pressure to her measuring touch. "Not as thick as Maurice."

"You're longer," she said, her fingers skating upward on his darkened skin. "And fuller around the head.

God, I love the way this looks. It's so fucking brutal."

He ground his teeth together as she drew a circle on his crown. "You felt what size he was with him behind you?"

"I felt everything, especially the way you steadied him when he slid in."

He growled, the only possible word for the lustful sound.

"I liked that part," she admitted even as he crowded her back onto the pillows. "I liked knowing how excited you were about helping him get inside me. I wished I could see your hands on his cock, just like I watched my hands on you now."

He couldn't wait, couldn't answer except to grunt. Pulling her thighs apart, he poised his rigid cock at her opening. The moment his crown touched her heat, his pulse doubled.

"It's only us," he rasped, surprised to hear it come out a threat. "No matter who might be watching, it's only us tonight."

"Good," she fired back. "You're the one I've been wanting all along."

The words were more than enough to get to him, but her pupils swelled as he pressed inside her bit by bit, deeper and deeper, until their hipbones bumped and tilted for the closest fit. Holding as far as he could reach, Eric closed his eyes and savored her clutching hear. Every woman felt different inside, and every woman felt good. This, however, was the first time any woman had felt perfect. Charity's fit was magic, a glove-tight harbor to guide and reward his strokes.

Sweat beaded his forehead as he fought the urge to pop off the cock ring and ride her
to
his finish.

"Aren't you going to move?" she asked, a bit plaintively.

In spite of his inner struggle, he smiled, his eyes opening slowly. "I want you to touch yourself first. I want you to bring yourself off with me rammed inside you. I want to feel you come against the skin of my cock."

"Taking notes?" she said with a humorous lift of one brow.

"You know it. I intend to use every chance I
get
to learn what you like. Go ahead, Charity." He kissed her temple. "If you're going to be punished, you might as well get the most out of the sin. If I can't make you come half a dozen times, I'll be disappointed."

She laughed, but she didn't argue, squeezing her hand between their close-fit hips. If he hadn't had years of practice holding back, the bumping of her knuckles would have set him off. She came quickly and hard, as if she'd needed the release. Its ripples stroked his shaft like fluttering velvet.

"Nice," he said as she panted in the aftermath. "Now hold my shoulders and let me thrust. I want to push you over again."

She moved her hands as he asked, the embrace adding an unexpected intimacy. Up on his elbows, he was able to meet her gaze. Her expression was so open, so trusting, it made his throat tighten. He regretted he couldn't stay like this, but he knew he had to catch her while she was primed.

True to his expectations, he stroked her to her next climax in seconds.

"Oh, God," she moaned, wriggling beneath him. "Oh, God, it's not enough."

He gave her more pressure, as much as he could stand without exploding, adding the deftness of his hand to his thrusting cock. Even with that, this orgasm took longer. Her body might be eager, but her nerves needed to build to a higher level before they fired. The increase in friction made him want to weep. It didn't help when her hold slid restlessly down his back. He tensed as she found the flaring base of the anal toy, now being clenched and released by his glutes.

"I want to touch this," she said. "I want to move it around."

"Don't," he gritted through his teeth. He might be willing to let her see him suffer, but that extra stimulation would be too much. Bad enough that the thing was such a strong presence.

Her hands pushed at the base when her hips came up, his involuntary shudder making her moan. "I don't know which is worse," she gasped. "Thinking your boss might be watching or wondering if we're free to do what we want."

"Don't talk about that. I'll have to stop."

"But it's exciting." Her hands skimmed up his spine, coaxing him faster in spite of himself. "Maybe he
is
watching. Maybe he's jacking off and dripping like you were before." She grinned. "Maybe he got out the Crisco."

He kissed her to shut her up, but the images stuck in his mind. B.G.'s lubed-up erection. B.G.'s fisted hand. His hold would feel like the cock ring, like the milking grip of Charity's sex. Some crucial barrier began to crack. He pistoned into her harder, recklessly using the sensation to blot out her words.

"Eric," she gasped, clearly on the edge.

The sound of his name went through him in a long quiver. Desperate now, he shifted angles to stroke her upper wall. If he caught her G-spot, he could make her come. If he made her come, he could pull free.

Groaning, he pinched the hood of her clit and rubbed it hard.

If she'd been less aroused, it might have hurt. She screamed instead, her neck arching violently with her spasm, her hips cocking up with impressive force. A gush of moisture told him he'd hit her right, but his success was two-edged. The first ball-tightening threat of a climax surged against his constricted base, threatening to burst past the barrier. He stopped it only by biting his lip hard enough to bleed. Even then,

he barely stuck with her until the end. The way her sex contracted made every cell in his hard-on ache.

When she finally settled, he sighed in relief.

Charity seemed embarrassed by what she'd done.

"Oh, my God," she said, pressing both hands over her mouth. "No one's ever made me scream. I thought women faked that to stoke their boyfriends' egos."

Because he was—at that moment—pulling carefully out of her body's hold, his laugh shook more than a bit. "Works wonders," he assured her once he was free. "My… ego feels quite secure."

The sight of his bleeding lip distracted her from his joke. "You cut yourself!"

"It'll heal," he said, almost as flattered by her concern as he'd been by her screams. He let her touch the injury and cluck, then lowered himself to her side. The cock ring and the rubber were a pleasure to strip off. Despite the continuing frustration of his needs, he felt satisfied. He'd fulfilled one of her secret desires, and he'd done it better than anyone had before.

"Rest," he said as she snuggled her head into his shoulder. "I want another go when you've recovered."

Her breath rushed out in what could have been disbelief or a laugh. "You rest," she countered, her arm draping his waist. "I'll let you know when I need your 'ego' again."

Her mockery didn't bother him in the least. How could it, when her drowsy tone assured him her earlier fears were a memory?

Considering
how thoroughly satisfied Eric had left her, Charity had been sure she'd drop off right away.

Instead, she drifted while he sank. She was almost afraid to hold him but couldn't bring herself to let go.

Worse, she didn't think she could blame the strangeness of being at Mosswood for the feeling's strength.

Eric was really, really good in bed. Good in a way that suited her tastes so perfectly it seemed unfair. His occasional bossiness seemed no threat; he'd let her tease him with impunity. And she could tell his mind was as much a sex organ for him as hers was for her. When she'd started talking about B.G., he'd stiffened inside her like he was stone. Instead of being jealous, she'd wished she had a window to see if the scenario she'd spun was true. At that instant, she'd have thrown out every rebel principle she possessed to get the three of them in one bed. She wanted to watch them do each other. Even more, she wanted them to do her.

Though it scared her to admit it, she was beginning to see why the threat of being sent home was, in and of itself, enough to keep Mosswood's guests in line.

Charity
lifted her head from the pillow and rubbed her nose. The clock glowing on the bedside table said one fifteen. Eric slept like a baby, but for a night owl like her, this was the evening's shank. Careful not to wake her companion, she padded to the bathroom for a quick shower in the slate-tiled stall.

Feeling much fresher, she returned to bed.

Eric was blindly patting the mattress as she climbed in, his hair standing out in peaks like soft-serve ice cream. The fact that he'd missed her left a glowy feeling in her chest.

She was pretty sure cuddling his charges wasn't part of his job.

"There y'are," he mumbled, tucking himself against her again.

She could really take in his height when he curled close, the muscular length of his legs and arms. It was a strange sensation, but one she liked. The fur on his chest felt nicer than most men's. She smiled to herself, thinking maybe he groomed it. Maybe bisexual guys had the same fashion instincts as gays.

"Everything okay?" he said into her shoulder. "Not still worried about demonic furniture?"

"No." She pulled his near-limp hand to her breast. "That thing at dinner threw me, but I guess a jumping glass isn't as dangerous as plenty of ordinary stuff."

"Not even close." He dropped a kiss half onto her ear. "Driving I-5 at rush hour's far more dangerous than that."

His breathing slowed, but—sleepy or not—she thought he probably wouldn't mind answering the question she'd been reluctant to ask B.G.

Better to hear the response from Eric. Since he wasn't a genius, she could always tell herself he got it wrong.

"Eric?" she said and waited for his prompting hum. "Do you know how B.G. would have explained what happened?"

He took a breath to bring his mind back to consciousness. "A slip of the time track is
my
guess. B.G.

believes that time is only linear from the human perspective, a product of our neural makeup and social conditioning. According to him, humans join an unconscious agreement to perceive this world as one of cause leading to effect, of minute one preceding minute two. But in his and a number of other physicists'