Sleeping With Her Enemy(29)

He shot her a grin and was up off the bed so fast it might as well have been made of hot coals. He made quick work of the buttons and—oh my God, he was shucking off his pants, too. She hadn’t even thought that far ahead. He had either grabbed his underwear in the same pass or he wasn’t wearing any because all of a sudden there he was. All of him. All the canoeing and kayaking had given him a surfer’s body, all lean muscle and long lines. She let her eyes fall from his sculpted chest down taut abs and traced the smattering of dark hair that ran from his waist all the way down to his penis. His fully erect penis. Had she done that? It looked almost painful. She felt an absurd rush of pride at the thought and was hit at the same time with an almost overwhelming desire to climb on top of him. So she sat up. See? That wasn’t so hard.

She had hardly a moment to savor her newfound boldness before he sank to his knees and began kissing her inner thighs. “Oh my God.” Had she said that out loud? She feared she must have because he paused for a moment in his ministrations and shot her a wicked look before returning to his mission. She couldn’t get her breath under control as he slid his lips up, up. When they hit the edge of her panties—she’d worn a crazy bright purple silk pair even though they clashed with the green dress—he stuck a finger under the fabric. “These,” he said, lifting the elasticized edge and letting it snap back against her skin, “are evil.” She didn’t know if he meant he didn’t like them or he did like them.

It was a moot point when he shoved them down to her knees and pressed his face against her center. She could feel her face heat up and her pulse skitter out of control as he took another deep breath.

The sensation of his exhale against her sensitive flesh was like a shove. If she’d been turned on before, she was teetering now, on the edge of a cliff. How could it be this easy? She’d been prepared to throw herself into their coupling, to work hard. How did he just…do that?

He let his tongue slide against her, groaning his pleasure, and she had to bear down to stop the wave that was coming at her. She had to push it away. It couldn’t be this simple. He couldn’t be allowed to just do this.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart.”

A hand flew to her mouth. Apparently she hadn’t just pushed her oncoming orgasm away, she’d pushed Dax away. Oh my God, and with some force, too, judging by the way he was sitting back on his heels a good two feet from her holding up his hands like she had a gun.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she said, mortification rushing in to fill the empty space where desire had been just moments ago.

“It’s okay.” He levered himself up and started pulling on his boxers.

She opened her mouth to protest and surprised herself by bursting into tears. Why did she have to keep doing that in front of him?

He’d been just starting to put his pants back on, but he abandoned the task, walked over to the closet and produced a big white robe. As he held it open, she stepped into it gratefully, her tears leaving as quickly as they had arrived. It seemed now almost as if someone else had taken over her body for a brief time. Someone who was prone to overreaction and hysterics. Gah, he was going to think she was a total amateur. “I’m really sorry,” she said again, looking at the floor, too flooded with shame to meet his eyes. “I don’t know what happened.”

He tipped her chin up and, amazingly, smiled at her. “I do. Mason did a number on you. You’re not ready—you got spooked.” The smile became a grin. “Unless I really am that bad. I have to say, I’ve never had a woman burst into tears before.”

The fact that he wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it was a huge relief. She sat on the bed and scrambled back against the headboard. Now that the panic was subsiding, regret was beginning to creep in. All that sensation, barreling down on her. She didn’t have an orgasm every time with Mason, and when she did achieve one, it was usually the result of some intervention on her part. Not that there was anything wrong with that, just that she was accustomed to pleasure being…a lot of work. Getting there so quickly, with so much intensity, had felt like driving too fast on a slippery road. Like he would see something about her she wasn’t ready to show—something she hadn’t even seen herself.

But now, looking at Dax stretched out beside her, the golden light of a bedside lamp painting the gorgeous planes of his torso, she was berating herself for not just…faking it in reverse. She almost laughed then, because that obviously wasn’t the right terminology. But God knew, she’d faked it enough with Mason. Well, not faked it exactly, but allowed him to assume that she had…enjoyed herself. The point was, if she could pretend to have an orgasm, why couldn’t she actually have one and pretend that it was a normal thing that people did, that it was happening to her but not, like, vanquishing her soul?