Into the Crossfire (15 page)

Sam lifted her knees, moving impossibly deeper, touching

something...Nicole came with a wild cry, clenching tightly around him, shaking

and shuddering, sweating, tears leaking out of her eyes, the climax so intense she

lost herself for long moments, spinning way out in space, coming back to herself

only when Sam grunted and started coming inside her, long, hot spurts of semen

bathing her sheath.

He was moving inside her with enormous ease now. She was incredibly

wet, full of his juices and hers. Time stretched, became meaningless.

He stilled finally while Nicole drifted lazily on waves of pleasure. She was

incredibly sweaty, but it was more his sweat than hers. Their chests were stuck

together, she discovered as she pushed at his shoulders. Her entire groin area was

sopping wet, including her thighs. Her vagina was sore, super-sensitized. She

could feel every inch of his penis, still hard inside her. Her muscles felt lax, unable

to work.

She felt...wonderful. She'd be floating if she didn't have his enormous

weight on top of her. She pushed at his shoulders again and with an aggrieved

sigh, he lifted himself up on his forearms and smiled down at her.

A tiny forelock of dark hair had fallen over his forehead and she reached up

a hand to smooth it back.

"Are you hungry?" he asked and she was about ready to answer, No, of

course not, we just ate, when her stomach rumbled, loudly.

"Apparently, I am." This was amazing. They'd had a full meal and yet,

consulting her stomach, she realized she was famished.

Sam dropped a kiss on her nose and pulled out of her. So slowly it was

arousing. If that hadn't done the trick, seeing him standing by the side of the bed

naked would have been enough to turn her on.

Though he was huge, he was lean with it, perfectly proportioned, graceful

and strong. And--whew!--hung.

For the first time, Nicole was able to appreciate his, um, attributes.

Amazingly, after coming twice, he was still aroused. His penis, glistening with

their juices, a dark suede color, with big veins running up it, nearly reached his

navel.

Sam reached down to encircle her ankle for a second. "I'll bring you

something out on the terrace. We're going to need some fuel for round two."

71

Sam nearly laughed at her expression. She was ready to call it quits, but he

wasn't. Not even close. He was as revved as he'd ever been in his life.

Man, just looking at her, there on his bed...like some seventeenth-century

painting. Just the colors of her would be enough to wake a dead man. Midnight

black hair; porcelain skin; red, red lips, slightly swollen from his kisses. Cherry

red nipples, cloud of soft black hair between her thighs.

She glistened, from her sweat and his. From his come, from her girl juices.

She hadn't moved an inch after he'd pulled out. She looked as if she were fucking

some phantom lover--legs bent and apart, so wide open to him he could see the

puffy, deep pink tissues of her cunt, arms still outstretched, eyes half closed as if

still kissing him. He wanted to climb back onto her, slide right back into her. He

wanted that so hard he clenched his fists.

But she needed food. Sam was used to pushing himself, but she wouldn't

be.

He watched her as her eyelids slowly lowered until there was only a sliver

of that amazing blue, watched as her breathing slowed, watched as the wild

heartbeat over her left breast beat less frantically.

Shit, even looking at her was better than fucking anyone else.

That was a scary thought. He left it behind and went to the kitchen to

scrabble for food. He didn't cook much but his housekeeper sometimes left him

things and there was always fruit.

Five minutes later, he was carrying a big tray out onto the balcony, pleased

with what he was able to scrounge up. A big plate of grapes, a couple of slices of

cheese that, miraculously, had no mold on them. Half a loaf of frozen whole wheat

bread he nuked in the microwave.

Two stem glasses and a bottle of really good Chilean sauvignon blanc.

She'd know how to pronounce it. He placed the tray on the wrought-iron-and-glass

table outside and debated whether to turn on the outside terrace lights. It was dark

outside, maybe around midnight. They'd been fucking for three hours straight. He

switched on one of the halogen lights, just enough for them to see the food by, not

enough for a boat out on the ocean to see what they were doing.

Sam looked out over the dark ocean, then down at himself, at his boner that

simply wouldn't quit. He had plenty of stamina but after a couple of hours, he was

ordinarily ready to call it quits. Drive the lady home. Relax.

He wasn't anywhere near that point with Nicole. Couldn't even imagine it.

He was in deepest shit, he reflected, as he went back into the bedroom to

carry her out to the terrace.

72

San Diego

Early morning

June 29

The sky had turned pewter, a shade lighter than the ocean that still carried

the darkness of the night.

Nicole opened one eye, then closed it quickly.

Eyes closed, she tried to process what she'd seen.

A train wreck, that's what she'd seen.

She opened her eyes each morning to her calm, orderly bedroom, with the

four-poster that she'd slept in in seven countries, with its French lace canopy and

Frette sheets. The seventeenth-century armoire and eighteenth-century Italian

madia. The vases with fresh flowers, the ceramic bowls of potpourri, the big

Baccarat crystal vase full of multicolored sand. Her mother's lovely watercolors

and a collection of photographs taken by an old school friend who was now one of

the top fashion photographers in the world.

Everything in its place. Cool and quiet and neat, exactly as she liked it.

This room looked like it had been at war, particularly the bed. She looked

down at herself, naked, one leg trapped by the powerful, hairy leg of an equally

naked man. A man with hormones instead of blood, she'd swear.

Sam Reston did not have an "off" button. He'd finally stopped a few hours

ago because she was ready to go into a coma, after too many orgasms to count.

Time out, she'd gasped, and he'd laughed and slowly pulled out of her, the

act so sexy she'd mourned the absence of his penis immediately, though she'd been

the one to call a halt. He'd disappeared for a moment and come back with two

glasses of chilled white wine and a plate of ripe grapes.

Even after dinner, even after the impromptu midnight picnic on the terrace,

she'd been ravenous. Nonstop sex, it appeared, was an appetite stimulant, in more

ways than one.

As she sipped the wine, she couldn't help but give an admiring look at him

sitting beside her, muscles bulging as he fed her grapes, big, thick, erect penis

dark, engorged with blood, twitching when she looked at it.

She'd glanced at his lap then looked away again, but she could feel the flush

rising from her breasts to her face. She thought she'd stopped blushing in her teens,

but apparently not. Close proximity to Sam Reston made the blood pound through

her body, rise to her face, color her nipples deep pink.

He'd looked at her, really looked at her, from her flushed breasts, the left

73

one moving slightly with the hard pulses of her heart, the vein beating in her neck,

the pearls of moisture in her pubic hair, a mixture of his semen and her excitement.

His eyes had lifted to hers and her entire body thrummed. But it was like

asking a car to start on fumes, after having been pedal-to-the-metal running

straight through every molecule of gas in the tank. She was sore all over,

particularly her sex, and the desire she felt was only a faint echo of the allconsuming drive to have him in her she'd felt all night in his bed.

There it was. She'd hit her own personal wall. Finally. It had been a night of

excess that had astonished her, but she had her limits and she'd reached them.

Sam had moved his free hand to her knee, cupping it, narrowed dark eyes

burning into hers. He'd brought his mouth to her ear.

"Nicole?" The deep voice had been like a caress. How incredibly sexy it

had sounded in her ear while he'd been moving heavily inside her. Her stomach

clenched at the memory.

Oh God, he was ready for another round. How could he? With a sigh,

Nicole realized she wasn't being fair. She'd nearly crawled into his skin up until

now, matching him heat for heat. If she'd reached the end of her rope, and he

hadn't, it wasn't his fault.

"Lie down," he'd said softly.

Heart pounding, she let her back settle on the mattress. How to do this?

Maybe she could psych herself up for another round.

He shifted on the mattress and she controlled a wince. But instead of

climbing on top of her, as she expected, he smiled and positioned his glass of wine

over her belly and slowly, slowly, poured a thin, cold stream of the fragrant

Chardonnay over her.

It felt good on her overheated skin, the fragrant fruity notes rising to her

nose.

And then Sam had bent to lick the wine off her stomach, slowly, like a cat

lapping cream. She'd tried to rise on her elbows, but he'd simply put a big hand on

her chest and gently pushed her back down.

He lifted his head and smiled at her. "No, honey," he said, his voice a deep,

dark whisper. "You don't do anything at all. You just lie back and let me pleasure

you."

That was good, because her muscles felt like water, incapable of holding

her up.

Sam's tongue moved lower, lower and she gasped as he licked around her

sex, gently, as if aware of the fact that she was sore.

"Close your eyes." The deep voice came from far away.

"Okay." She closed her eyes, heard the faint click as he turned the bedside

lamp off. Her eyelids turned from pink to black.

Sam nuzzled her sex, nose against her clitoris, tongue gently swirling,

dipping into her, where his penis had just been. Her breath came out on a sigh, his

own murmur of satisfaction echoing hers.

74

Soft plashing sounds came through the open French windows, gentle and

regular, as if the sea were breathing. There were soft gentle sounds coming from

down her body as Sam worked her with his mouth.

Such a strange sensation, slowly becoming aroused while the mantle of

sleep bore down on her, as she drifted further and further away, to a land of

pleasure that grew ever darker...

Unlike the other contractions of orgasm, so sharp at times they poised on

the knife-edge of pain, this climax was gentle, dreamy, her body a boat rocking on

the soft waves of the sea, rocking, rocking...

It was the last thing she remembered.

The sky was growing lighter by the minute. Soon it would be dawn.

Nicole rose slowly from the bed, wincing at all the sore muscles, making

her halting way to the bathroom. She passed a mirror and winced at the sight of

the unknown woman in the mirror, clearer by the minute as the world outside

lightened, like an image emerging from the fog. Wild, dark hair tangling around

her head, huge eyes, swollen lips.

She looked back at the bed, at him. He was so long, his feet hung off the

bed. Even his feet were gorgeous, long, lean, high-arched. One thick arm was over

his eyes, the other outstretched to her side of the bed. Deeply asleep, completely

still except for the expansion of his broad chest with each breath.

Well...he'd made love all night. Literally. She'd had no idea that any male

over the age of fifteen would have been capable of that, capable of coming so

many times she'd lost count. Even now, in complete repose, in a sleep so deep it

could have been a coma, his penis looked full, veins visible, semi-erect on his

thigh.

If Sam's eyes were to open right now, and if he were to see her naked, that

penis would swell fully erect in an instant. She'd bet the bank on it.

Something in her seemed to set him off. Certainly, something in him set her

off. She looked like she was making love right now. Her breasts were swollen,

nipples red and hard. And oh God, just looking at him, like some Greek statue

come to life, her thighs trembled.

She had to get out of here. Fast.

For a second, she looked with longing at the bathroom door. A shower. A

shower would go a long way toward making her feel like herself again, washing

away the smell of him permeating her skin. He'd touched every inch of her last

night, marked her irrevocably, inside and out. She wasn't used to not feeling fresh

and she definitely wasn't used to smelling of someone else.

She stared at herself in the mirror, this face she'd never seen before, eyes

wide, pupils dilated.

And then she was aware of something else. Wetness between her legs,

running down her thighs. For a moment, she thought she'd unexpectedly got her

period, that her body had simply disobeyed the pill and gone ahead and had a

period, breaking the hormonal schedule. An entire night of wild sex surely would

75

be enough to knock her for a loop, hormonally speaking.

She looked down at herself, expecting to see drops of blood, but all she saw