She didn’t need a second invitation. Life was moving too fast as it was. She needed to get Sammy out and disappear, so this could be her only chance, over in the blink of an eye. She swallowed back the lump of regret that formed in her throat.
Funny, though, because the progression to this moment had actually been long and slow. She’d watched him for years, memorized his shape—from far away, at least. Above the neck, she knew every line, scar, and freckle. Every frown, every questioning curve of the brow. But she knew only one facet—like smelling a meal and never getting to taste. She wanted more. And Lord, wasn’t that just her in a nutshell?More, more, always more, Mama would say.
Now, she was assailed by the prospect of tastes and smells and the feel of him under her skin. All of the experimentation and discovery she could do with that body at her disposal.
She voiced her last remaining fear. “What if I do it wrong?”
“There is no wrong.”
“And if you don’t like it?”
He smirked. “I’ll like it. What does your body tell you to do, Abby?”
Everything!her skin screamed, nerve endings so alive that even the burns truly hurt for the first time after being numb for hours. But it didn’t matter. The pain was sensation, and that was key.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she scooted closer to him, subconsciously licking her lips, as if admiring a feast spread out. From the top of his windblown hair to the bottom of his toes, she wanted this man.
He patted his knee. “Come here.” She hesitated, and he went on. “Put your leg up and over.”
With alacrity, she hooked one leg over him, straddling him so that their sexes fit snuggly together, with just the fabric of his underwear between them. The need to rock her hips and rub against him was too strong to resist, and she shuddered as pleasure ran up her spine, something like an ache settling in her belly.
Her body took over, leaving her mind behind to watch in shock from her perch above him. The noise she made was primal and ugly as her hands tore at Luc’s hair. Luc, instead of being offended or hurt or angry, as she’d imagine any other man would be, seemed just as hungry. His eyes ate her up, and his hands guided her, urging her this way and that, all the while fulfilling his promise to let her do the doing.
He shifted below her, his movements almost frenzied as he rubbed and rubbed. She answered in kind, her body making the decisions her mind hadn’t yet considered.
But my bodyisme, she recognized. She took the idea and owned it, letting it light her up from the tips of her fingers to the depths of her soul.
It shimmered inside, that sensation, high and floating and spinning in the air. It settled into her limbs until they grew limper with every new shift of her hips, every lifting of his. All the while, he watched her with those deep-sea eyes. Playing her, accompanying her, coaxing her body for more, until there was nothing left to give, and she slumped forward against him. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, but something was still missing.
“Luc, I want…”
“What,mon coeur? What?” He was breathing hard, his face tense and concentrated, the look of him… Goodness, was there anything more lovely than the expression on this man’s face? So serious as his gaze flicked to hers, then down to his hands on her body, then farther to where they connected—or nearly, if it wasn’t for that cloth barrier. Sucking in a breath full of their combined, earthy scent, she glanced down.
In shock, she took in how lewd it all was—that navy-blue cotton stained by her. She couldn’t tear her eyes away.
“Fuck me, Abby,” Luc begged, sounding nothing like himself. The same voice, familiar but lost. Abby blinked in shock at that word.
“I don’t…” She swallowed. “I don’t know how.”
“Up,” he ordered, swatting at her bottom. It was too gentle to hurt, but the sting echoed with pleasure.
Using his shoulders as a support, she pushed up to kneeling and watched as he shifted, pulled down his shorts, and used his hand to lift his…his what? Frustration swept up inside of her. She didn’t even know the words for these things.Manhood, she’d heard, but that sounded stilted and wrong.
“What do I call your…your…” She reached out, gingerly, and ran a finger up it.
“Ma bite? In English, people say ‘cock.’”
“Your cock,” she said, eyeing it on a satisfied exhale, hovering somewhere between hunger and uncertainty. That was what Hamish had put inside of her? No. No, it couldn’t be. This was so much bigger…more imposing, and appealing. She yearned to taste it.
Could she? He’d put his mouth on her, hadn’t he? Could she maybe just…
“It’s big, Luc.” It hadn’t looked nearly that big against his hand earlier.
He stilled, his expression somewhere between pride and uncertainty.
“Oh yes?”
“Can Ic”
