stopped if the ceiling caved in.
Touching her from chest to knee, it was all he could do not to spread her legs and thrust into her and keep going until he passed out. But he curbed his impulse, choosing instead to smooth his hands from her breast to her belly, caressing the curve of her waist, her hips, her sides, and then lower still.
The tips of his fingers stroked gently along the vulnerable skin of her inner thighs. “You comfy?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, drawing out the word into a long hiss of satisfaction as he brushed the soft hair of her pussy. Patiently, while he stole kiss after kiss, he stroked her open.
She sighed with pleasure, but he wanted more.
“Tell me.” He dipped the pad of his middle finger into her, sliding the wetness up to her clitoris, tracing swirls around and around the hard bud, relishing the feel of it as it hardened under his touch. Her breathing changed, became shallower, her kiss wetter. “Remember, you can ask for anything you want.”
“I like you touching me,” she whispered.
When she kissed him again, it went on for a long slow time when she explored the soft slick on the back side of his upper lip, then back down, testing, teasing. His finger never stopped moving inside her warmth, growing bolder as the tension built. She jerked her hips, a little spasm, a preview.
He kissed her chin and nipped down her neck, breathing in her hot scent as he continued to make her writhe. He wanted to taste her, but not this time. Not yet. Now he wanted to watch her come apart.
She moaned as her body started trembling again, a whole different kind of quiver. Hips thrusting, breasts rising and falling with each deep breath. He looked down to find one hand gripping the sheet, the other moving on her belly, her middle finger mimicking the quick flicker he used on her clit. Damn.
She shifted on another moan. He pressed his mouth to the tender skin just below her ear, while one finger, then two glided into her.
Her body stiffened further and he leaned back so he could see her, careful to keep his thumb rubbing her clitoris even as his fingers plunged into her wet heat.
“Oh, God,” she said, her voice as tight as her body. “Oh—”
She spasmed around him, arching off the mattress, squeezing his fingers. Her hand pulled the sheet until he thought it might tear. He didn’t stop as she moaned words he couldn’t make out, as she gasped and twitched.
He was harder than he’d been in a hell of a long time. One brush of his cock against her skin would set him off. Watching her climax was so damn hot he didn’t want it to end.
Finally, her hand touched his and, reluctant as all hell, he moved so his palm rested on her tummy, watching it rise and fall, the rhythm matching the heartbeat he felt as he kissed her neck.
“That was so...” She looked into his eyes and grinned full-out.
His laughter must have tickled her, if her little squeal was any indicator. “Natalie,” he said, realizing with a jolt that he had no idea what her last name was. “You are amazing.”
* * *
N ATALIE TURNED TO him as she tried to collect herself. The look in his eyes was a little smug and a lot wanting. She felt as loose limbed as a rag doll. “This wasn’t anything like...” She stopped, feeling foolish for being embarrassed now. She’d been more out there with Max than any guy she’d ever been with, and it wasn’t even midnight. Or maybe it was, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. “That wasn’t what I was expecting,” she said, finally. “I mean. It was strong.” She gripped his arm, needing him to understand. “So. Much. Better.”
“Sweet Natalie,” he said, kissing the top of her breast, “that was only the appetizer.” His grin made his eyes crinkle, but when his penis brushed against her hip, he winced. And stopped.
Her hand went to his erection. He gasped at the touch. She gasped at the heat and hardness. “Why didn’t you...you know...do something...for
Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child