At Any Price(86)

I kissed my way down his abdomen, over his perfect six-pack. “Can you ravish the willing?”

“Good point,” he said with a hoarse laugh.

His briefs were tenting with his arousal and I rubbed the taut ridge before reaching into his underwear.

“We seem to have a big problem here.”

His lips were on my breast when he started laughing.

I rubbed again. “Yes. A very, very big problem.”

“What does the doctor prescribe?”

“Friction. Lots of friction will reduce this swelling.”

His eyes darkened. “I can get behind that treatment.”

I laughed. “I’m sure you can.” I tugged on his briefs and he took a moment to shuck them.

“Yours come off, too,” he said.

I sat up, pulling off my T-shirt and panties. His hands grasped my hips, then traveled up my waist, heading right for his favorite place.

I pulled his hands away. “I believe I was in the middle of prescribing treatment.”

He smiled and lay back. “As the doctor commands.”

I leaned forward again and kissed him over his chest—quickly this time and then down, over his flat, muscular stomach. And, then, gathering my courage, I traveled even lower.

My hand encircled the base of his shaft and quickly, furtively, I touched my mouth to the soft skin.

He sucked in an entire chestful of air and sat up immediately. I didn’t pull away.

“Don’t do this.”

Defiantly, I lowered my mouth, taking the entire tip of his erection between my lips.

“Emilia—” he said shakily. “You don’t have to do this.”

I pulled my head away. “I know I don’t have to. I want to. Just…whatever you do please don’t put your hands in my hair.”

He didn’t move for a moment and I still held him in a tight grip at his base. Slowly he relaxed and lay back. I said, “Just enjoy.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to tell me to do that,” he breathed.

And tentatively, I lowered my mouth again, trying to ignore the quick rush of my heartbeat. This fear was a barrier, a hurdle that I needed to overcome. I needed to lose myself in the moment and dispel the past, realize that I was giving pleasure to someone I cared about and I need not be afraid.

But the cold dread was there when bits from that past scene flashed into my memory—memories of gagging and sobbing. I closed my eyes, blacked them out, concentrated, breathed through the panic that threatened to rise up at the very back of my conscious. My therapist had taught me some techniques and I rarely had to use them anymore, except for in triggering situations. And this could be one.

Fear was a hurdle—an obstacle whose greatest power was in keeping me locked in to one place, one moment in time. I focused on the positives of this particular situation, of the throaty gasps of my partner, who was obviously enjoying himself. Of the rush of power, knowing I was making him feel this way. That I was on top and I was controlling the situation. I could pull myself away whenever I wanted.

Soon my mouth sank lower, taking more of him in, my tongue running along his length. His hands grasped at the bed sheets, his legs tensed. My hand tightened around him. I hesitated, wondering what the culmination would be—would he give me warning? Would I be able to pull away in time—or would I want to? I hadn’t even decided yet.

Instead of worrying about answering those questions, I concentrated on the now, losing myself in that moment so that I had no awareness of the passage of time, of how long it had taken to bring him to this point. All I knew was that his deep breaths and hoarse murmurings of my name tore currents of desire through me, each one of them a pebble dropped into deep waters, my soul rippling from their centers.

I moved my mouth up and down until suddenly he tensed, sitting up. He moved my head away and grasped himself. He came on my breasts and stomach instead of in my mouth. His protectiveness warmed my heart. And I thought back over his behavior since the beginning, from that strange moment on the terrace of the penthouse in Amsterdam. He’d been like this from the start—even when he didn’t know me very well.

A few minutes later, in the shower, I told him. “You are a very special man, Adam Drake.”

He looked at me for a moment, hesitating as he washed his hair. “What did I do wrong now?”

I laughed. “No. I mean—just—thank you for being you. I know that sounds corny, but that’s exactly what I wanted to say.” I moved up to him and kissed him soundly and then backed away. He resumed washing his hair, watching me, a smile on his sexy lips.

We kissed each other good-bye—I in my beach cover-up and bathing suit, ready for my day tour, and he in his business suit, sans the jacket. Before he walked out the door, I blotted some perspiration off his forehead.