Page 32 of Dangerous Lover

Would it work with her breasts? Jesus, why didn’t he have three hands? One to keep touching the soft, wet folds of her sex, one to cup her neck, leaving one free to touch those delicate, firm breasts. He only had two hands, though, so he was going to have to take one away. Removing his hand from between her thighs was unthinkable, it would have to be the hand cupping her head.

Only he loved the feel of her hair spilling over his hand, fingers gently holding her still for his kiss. He pressed her harder against him, as if to say—stay.

She did, and didn’t pull away even when he probed more deeply in her mouth with his tongue.

Jack cupped her breast, loving the silky firmness. She wassmall, and fit perfectly in the palm of his cupped hand. At that precise moment, Jack Prescott stopped being a man who was turned on by big breasts and switched forever to small, dainty, perfectly-shaped breasts topped by delicate pink nipples.

Were they hard yet? Only one way to find out. He gently circled the nipple with his thumb, the velvety texture a soft delight against his rough skin. When he touched her nipple, she clenched tightly against the finger deeply embedded inside her and moaned gently in his mouth. A drop of moisture collected in his palm.

Shaking, he pulled his hand out of her and lifted his head. It took Caroline a second for her eyes to open and she looked, dazed, into his own.

“Undress me,” he whispered.

“Okay,” she whispered back. He had no idea why they were whispering. Maybe it was the semi-dark room or the idea of being secluded in the middle of a snowstorm, or just the intensity of feeling that seemed to fill the room.

Hesitantly, Caroline reached out and touched his stomach. Jack had to stop himself from groaning as she fumbled her way to where his sweater covered the top of his jeans. In lifting it up, the backs of her fingers brushed against his hard-on and they both jumped. Her hands flew away, as if they’d touched something scalding hot.

Jesus, he had to clench his groin muscles tightly so he wouldn’t go off.

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly, looking up at him wide-eyed.

Jack couldn’t answer. He knew he was a second fromcoming. If she touched him again there, he’d spill and embarrass himself forever.

“Maybe I should do this.” Breathing heavily, his skin coated with sweat, he stepped back and crossed his arms to pull the sweater off. A second later, his hands were at the button of his jeans and he was shucking them off, together with his briefs, socks and boots.

His cock sprang free. Her eyes widened and Jack looked down.

He couldn’t blame her for the wary look on her face. Fuck, his cock almost scaredhim.

It was dark red and swollen, hard as a club, big veins visible, weeping at the tip. He didn’t let her get more than a glimpse of him. Cupping both hands around her head, he stepped forward and kissed her, more deeply than before, a complete possession of her mouth, while walking her backwards the few steps to the bed. When the backs of her knees met the mattress, he picked her up and lay her gently in the middle of the bed, following her down.

The feel of her under him was mind-blowing. He was operating on blind instinct now, unable to strategize, unable to think in any way. In a second, he’d opened her thighs with his own, hands cupping her head as he kissed her deeply.

There was no waiting possible. Spreading his thighs wider to open her fully, his cock slid along the folds of her sex and then he entered her in one hard thrust, his cock parting the tight tissues, the heat and pressure unbearably exciting. It felt like he’d stuck his dick into a plug. Prickles erupted all over hisbody, an explosion of heat and light went off inside his head, an electric wire raced along his spine and with the next beat of his heart he was coming in long, hard streams that made him shake.

It was totally unstoppable, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Every muscle in his body clenched and he shook and groaned as he exploded inside her. Though he was incapable of thinking clearly, at some deep level he realized he could bite her in his excitement, so he took his mouth from hers and buried his face in the cloud of hair, the smell of roses prolonging his spasms. It felt like he came forever, shuddering and groaning, as every drop of liquid in his body came spurting out of his cock. He was holding on to her hips in a death grip, pushing with his toes, grinding into her so he could be as deep in her as he could, and simply hung on while he exploded, heart beating double-time, breath pumping in and out of his lungs like at the end of a fifteen mile run.

Sweat poured out of him and plastered her to him.

It took ages before he was able to settle. When he got his breath—and his brains—back, and took stock, his heart sank.

Jack lay sprawled on Caroline, making no effort to keep some of his weight off her, though he outweighed her by 100 pounds. She was sticky everywhere from his sweat and the gallons of come it felt like he’d poured into her. Their groins were wet and he knew come had seeped down to stain the pretty flowered sheets.

He was known for his stamina but tonight it was as if he was fifteen again and green. He hadn’t even lasted a minute—he’d come the instant he’d entered her. The explosive climax had wiped out most of his memory, but he knew one incontrovertible fact.

Caroline hadn’t come.

Man, he’d fucked this up, but good.

Chapter Six

Well, she’d asked for it.

Caroline lay under Jack’s heavy weight and tried hard to breathe without wheezing. The man weighed a ton. She tried to quietly expand her lungs and contemplated the etiquette of the situation. She needed oxygen and some space. How could she do this? Would it be okay to push at his shoulders to hint that he should get off her? Would it be rude?

How soon after sex was it okay to cuddle? And of course, the big question—was he a cuddler?

He actually didn’t look like much of a cuddler. He’d been grim and mainly quiet all evening. Most cuddlers were warm and chatty. Maybe he was the kind of man who had sex, rolled off the woman and then got up, the saddest kind of lover therewas. The kind who left solitude and melancholy behind in the bed. She’d known a few of those.

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