He tugged at the top of her dress. Thank God for stretchy clothing.
The word that matched the expression on his face when he had her peeled was: “Hurrah!”
But what he said aloud was something like “Ungh,” and he closed his hands over her breasts as if he’d found the grail.
He cupped his hands beneath them and as he dragged his fingers she made a sound, some hybrid of sigh and whimper and filthy oath. It might as well have been the first time anyone had ever touched her there. Never had it been quite this electric.
And then it got even better when he closed his lips around her nipple and sucked lightly. She felt that everywhere, all at once, as if it had been a lightning strike. She felt nearly savage with a building want. His arms went around her to brace her as she arced helplessly into the sensation and then she took control.
She looped her arms around his neck and slid along the length of his cock, teasing, both herself and him. He arched his hips up to meet her and she slid just out of the way, but the friction was shredding her control. And finally he gave a short, breathless laugh, nearly a mad one, and took matters, and his cock, into his own hands: he held her fast, and guided himself in.
He looked up at her with wicked triumph:I’ve got you now.
He held on to her hips, and arched up into her, eager, begging, as she came down and rose up again. But she took her time about both. She set the pace. Steady, but slow. She wanted to savor his sawing breath, the taut cords of his neck. Her hair dropped down over her eyes, and she whipped it back. He was flushed now, his mouth a slit through which his breath came in hot short gusts, his eyes burning. She smiled down at him. Torturing both of them deliberately.
Somehow it made sense to do this in broad daylight, in front of the hummus and the dog, with her dress furled both up to her waist and down to her waist, her looking down at him looking up at her. His pupils like mirrored black dimes in which she could see herself riding him, slowly, rising and falling slower than his breath. He bucked up to meet her, urging her on; he swore and begged under his breath; he moaned as the release banked.
And their eyes met. And locked. There flashed across his face something raw and unguarded. Something close to awe, maybe yearning. She closed her eyes, because she was afraid he’d see something like that in her own, times a dozen.
She half suspected she was seeing her own reflection.
“Avalon... please... have mercy, for fuck’s sake.” His hands slid to her hips to brace her, to buck his hips, and she could have tormented him because something buried deep in the strata of her heart believed he deserved a little torment. But in truth her control was nearly gone, she wanted what he wanted and that was the explosive release she could feel hurtling toward her. Even now she could feel it preparing to yank her right out of her body.
“Oh God oh Godyes...” He made it a breathless prayer and a Hosannah as their bodies collided, harder, and faster, and then the world began to get blurry around the edges as if she were about to be launched into space, and her skin was spangling and she heard her voice as if from light years away. “Mac... I’m...oh God,I’m...”
And then it was like a detonation.
She shattered into what felt like smithereens, all of those smithereens made of bliss. It whipped backward and shook her and shook her.
Seismic.
She might have keeled over if he hadn’t gripped her and drummed relentlessly toward his own release as she nearly toppled.
“Avalon... Christ...”
He went still and with a roar reminiscent of gladiators going at each other with spears, his eyes shut, his head falling back. His big body quaked and shuddered.
She collapsed against him and he held on to her as if they’d narrowly missed a building cave-in and were celebrating life. Lungs heaving. Bodies sheened in sweat where skin was visible. Heathens that they were, the only article of clothing on the ground was her underwear.
His hair was a shambles.
It had been only around fifteen minutes from the time he rang the doorbell.
She ought to get up now.
“Where’s Chick Pea?” he murmured suddenly.
“She must have gotten bored and left. If she’d had a remote she would have changed the channel.”
He gave a muffled laugh. He was still breathing warmly against her sternum. And then he placed a whimsical little kiss there, a chaste one, right over where her heart was still thudding hard.
She scanned the room.
Chick Pea was on her dog bed near the big window, ignoring them, having a bath and making snorkeling noises into her flank.
She slid from Mac’s lap.
This part was always a little awkward. The return of sanity, the reassembly of clothing.
