She slid her fingers into the damp strands of his hair, holding him as she lifted her hips and did her own stroking. "If I wanted an easy ride, I'd find a merry-go-round."
His entire body tightened, and his eyes burned laser blue. He seemed to lose his ability to breathe. She did it again, lifting to take him deep, then clamping all her internal muscles on him and holding him tight as she pulled back, milking him with her body. A harsh groan burst out of his throat. "Then hold on tight, honey, because it's gonna be long and hard." 'Actually," she purred, "it already is." The smothered sound he made was almost a laugh. "That wasn't what I meant."
"Then show me what you did mean." That look was back in his eyes again, that unreadable wall behind which something elusive moved. "A lot of different things," he murmured. "But for now, we'll concentrate on this one."
>Chapter Twenty-Six
Niema woke in his arms the next morning. She lay quietly, still drowsing, slipping back and forth between sleep and awareness. She was curled on her left side and he was a solid wall behind her, his legs tangled with hers and his arm a heavy weight over her hip. His breath was warm on her shoulder.
She hadn't slept with a man like this since Dallas, she thought sleepily, the name resonating gently in her mind. No-John was the last man she had slept with. The realization was a shock. She remembered that awful time in Iran, the way he had held her and gentled her to sleep, then held her the next morning while she wept, when she woke and realized he wasn't Dallas, that Dallas would never again hold her in the night.
She couldn't see the clock, but it was almost dawn; the sky was beginning to lighten. They had been in bed-what, sixteen, seventeen hours? Making love, sleeping, making love again. He had gotten up once and brought back a tray of bread and cheese and fruit, and that had been their supper. Other than that they hadn't left the cabin except to visit the head.
She felt lethargic, content to be right where she was. Her entire body was relaxed, sated, well-used.
His lips brushed the back of her neck and she realized he was awake. She made a slight nestling movement, sighing with pleasure. How she enjoyed this, waking in the early morning, held close by the man she loved; there were few things in life more satisfying.
His morning erection prodded her, rising insistently against her bottom. She started to turn over but he stayed her with a murmur, adjusting his position and guiding himself to her opening. She arched her back, giving him a better angle. He put his hand on her stomach, bracing her, and pushed. He went slowly inside her; she was morning soft, morning wet, but their positions made her body yield reluctantly to his intrusion. She breathed through her mouth, trying to stay relaxed. With her legs together there wasn't much room inside her; he felt huge, stretching her to the limit.
The sensation bordered on pain, but was also its own turn-on. She pressed her head back against his shoulder, struggling to contain the feeling and yet take more of him. Another inch pushed into her and she moaned.
He paused. "Are you all right?" His voice was low, smoky with sleep and desire.
She didn't know. Maybe. "Yes," she whispered.
He stroked his right hand up to her breasts, lightly rubbing his fingertips on the lower slope, the way he had learned she liked. The subtle caress lit a gentle glow of pleasure, prepared her nipples for more direct contact. That came from his thumb, slowly moving over them, circling them until they hardened and stabbed into his covering palm. It was scary how fast he had caught on to all the small subtleties of how she liked to be touched, scary that his attention had been so focused on her that he hadn't missed a single hitch in her breath. After just one night, he knew her body as well as she did.
He slipped his left arm under her, curving it around her waist and cupping his hand over her mound. His middle finger slid between her fold, pressing lightly on her clitoris. Not rubbing, just pressing, holding his finger there. Then he began to thrust, using long, slow strokes that moved her body back and forth against his finger.
She cried out, jerking under the lash of pleasure. He whispered something soothing and steadied her, then resumed the motion.
"I wanted you the first time I saw you," he murmured. "God, how I envied Dallas!" His right hand stroked up and down her torso, piling sensation on top of sensation. "I stayed away from you for five long, fucking years. I gave you every chance to settle down with Mr. Right, but you didn't take them and I'm through with waiting. You're mine now, Niema. Mine."
Her thoughts reeled with shock. He wasn't given to a lot of swearing: For him to say what he just had was a measure of the strength of his feelings. "J-John?" she stuttered, reaching back for him. She hadn't had any idea any of that had been going on inside him. How could she? He was too damn good an actor.
His hips recoiled and plunged in a steady, unhurried motion that was completely at odds with the way his heartbeat was hammering against her back. "I talked you into coming on this job because I couldn't let you go." His mouth moved on her neck, finding that exact spot between neck and shoulder where the lightest touch made her go limp with pleasure, and a bite would light her up like a Christmas tree. He licked and kissed, holding her quivering body as she strained against him. She tried to part her legs, to lift her thigh over his, but he anchored her leg and held it down.
Niema squirmed, almost frantic with need. As good as his finger felt between her legs, with her legs held together the contact wasn't quite enough; his strokes inside her weren't quite deep enough, or fast enough. He had brought her to the boiling point, with touch and words, but wouldn't let her go over it.