Page 38 of Bedroom Therapy

“I never used one of these things,” he murmured. “It makes your skin tingle—just holding it in your hand.”

“Um.” He was making her skin tingle. And she knew she wasn’t the only one affected because she now felt the unmistakable shaft of an erection pressing against her bottom.

They were standing beside the bed, and she felt trapped between his body and the edge of the mattress. She could step around him and leave the room. But she had the feeling her legs wouldn’t carry her across the carpet now. When she swayed on her feet, he crossed his free arm over her chest, pulling her back so that most of her weight rested against him.

“You should let me go,” she breathed.

“Why?”

“It’s . . .”

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“Very arousing,” Zach finished the sentence for her. Then he dipped his head, kissing the side of her neck, the edge of her jaw, loving the feel of her silky skin against his lips.

He couldn’t believe he was holding her like this, doing the things he was doing, but there was no way he could stop himself now—not unless she pushed him away.

And he had to give her that chance, because he didn’t want either one of them to conclude he was forcing her into anything. With that thought in mind, he ordered himself to loosen his hold on her. When she stayed where she was, he breathed out a small sigh.

Slowly, deliberately, he moved his other hand, the one that held the vibrator.

“I’ve seen ads for these things in magazines. In the ads, they always show the shaft against the woman’s cheek,” he said, stroking the plastic shaft against that very part of her anatomy, then her neck.

The low buzz of the plastic wand close to his own head had set off a muzzy sensation in his brain. Probably anything he did now would set his head spinning.

Carefully, he shifted his other arm in order to move the plastic wand lower, playing it over her breasts, over their hard, distended tips.

The small gasp that escaped from her lips was like a jolt of electricity through his own body.

Closing his eyes, he nibbled at the edge of her cheek. “You are so, so sexy,” he murmured, “so responsive.” He opened his eyes again, looking down at her breasts, liking his vantage point. “When we were talking on the phone, I was picturing how you looked. I wanted to touch you so badly.”

He played the vibrator across those nicely rounded swells for another moment, then eased away just far enough that he could reach under the back of her knit top and unhook the snap of her bra. One-handed. Very proficient, Grant, he thought, with a satisfied grin.

He felt her breathing accelerate as he shifted his free hand to the front of her again, then pushed her top up, taking the bra with it, bunching the fabric around her neck and shoulders. He drew in a quick, sharp breath as he looked down at her breasts, following the creamy curves to their tight, hard centers. The color looked darker than apricot to him, probably because of the increased blood supply.

The vibrator was an extension of his hand as he used it to circle those hard tips, first one, and then the other, feeling her arch into the caress.

He wanted to taste her. But he couldn’t do it now, because that would violate the rules of the game he was making up as he went along.

He kept the vibrating wand on one nipple, then used his free hand to play with its mate, loving the feel of her puckered flesh between his fingers.

“Oh . . .”

“You like that?”

“Yes,” she gasped out.

He liked it too. Very much. But it wasn’t enough. Not hardly.

The waistband of her shorts was elastic—made for easy removal. He kept the vibrator at breast level but slid his free hand down her body, pausing to caress the expanse of skin below her breasts before flattening his hand and sliding his fingers under the elastic of her shorts.

It pulled away easily, permitting him comfortable access to the treasures hidden by the garment.

She moaned and wiggled against him, pressing her bottom against his rigid cock. He swallowed a gasp of pleasure.

He itched to tear off her clothing, strip her naked. But the part of his brain still functioning suspected that might be going too far, under the circumstances. He contented himself with slipping his hand farther under the fabric, combing his trembling fingers through the springy hair at the juncture of her legs, and then dipping lower, into the hot swollen folds of her most intimate flesh.

When he pulled his hand away, she whimpered in protest—he hoped because now she needed him to do something about the fire he’d kindled in her blood.

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