Night Hunter Page 9

  He was looking down at her. How could something so ordinary feel so erotic?

  “It turned me on.”

  “I know.”

  Of course he did. “Right up to the end when it all came crashing to an end. It was everything a woman could ever want. You played me like a harp. I felt, hell, like I’d become your plaything. Maybe I didn’t like everything you did but—all right, I got off on every second of it, but I don’t want it to be like that today.”

  She thought he tensed, but couldn’t be sure.

  “You’re bigger than me. So much stronger. Sometimes that scares me.”

  “Does it?”

  He hadn’t apologized, didn’t even seem particularly concerned. “You don’t know what that’s like, do you? It’s easier for a man, having greater strength and all.”

  Was she babbling? The truth was, part of what had nearly driven her over the edge had been the difference in their strengths. In today’s dog-eat-dog world, there was something terribly erotic and exciting about being sexually dominated.

  Her arm began to ache, and she reluctantly released the bag. Only then did she remember that it was full. What was in it? Maybe, sometime, she’d learn.

  “Women always—women have to take that in consideration when they’re with a man,” she continued. “Will we be safe? Can this man be trusted?” Did she care or was she willing to do whatever it took to have him bury his cock inside her?

  “Do you trust me?” He held up his hands as if asking her to judge them.

  “Should I?”

  “No.”

  No. Damn him for speaking the truth. Although her parents would have locked her in her room and thrown away the key if they’d known what she was doing, she took his hands and brought them near her breasts. The thought of his fingers exploring their heat and weight was all it took to tighten her nipples so they pressed against her bra, their aroused state obvious. “Then I won’t,” she said.

  “Good.”

  He cupped his hands over her breasts, but although they fit perfectly within his embrace, he went no further than that. Hating the damn blouse and bra, eager for more, she reached up and ran her fingers over his jaw. Although she couldn’t completely ignore the heat between her legs, most of her attention was focused on her heavy, swollen breasts.

  “How many women have been in your bedroom?” she asked.

  “I do not know.”

  Her breasts felt sheltered, protected. She wanted to look down at his penis to see what was going on there, but didn’t.

  “More than you can count?”

  “That is the past, Mala.”

  She wanted to believe him, but she needed reassurance that she was different from all those other women. She was, darn it. None had followed him into the Everglades. None knew what had happened to him or how fragile was his tie with the real world. Surely he’d never made an erotic mental condition with them and turned them into mindless sex addicts. If he had, they would have followed him into the Everglades.

  That’s why she’d come here, she reminded herself. To rescue him. To keep him with her. Because she couldn’t imagine life without him. The world beyond him held no meaning.

  Leaning forward, she kissed the space between his breasts, savoring flesh, muscle, and bone. He clamped a hand around her throat.

  “Don’t do that,” she warned. “I’ve gone through too much to stop now. Surely you know that.”

  “This isn’t a game.”

  “Like I don’t know that? What is it? Something…”

  Holding her head immobile, he studied his surroundings. She did the best she could to duplicate his actions, fear nibbling at her.

  “It’s all right,” she told him although of course she didn’t know that. “Laird, please, we need and deserve to live in the moment. To do what we both want.”

  He didn’t argue, and when he relaxed his grip on her, she kissed his chest again, then licked her lips and tasted his sweat. Needing more, she ran her damp tongue around the outside of his left breast. The salty taste only made her hungry for more. Switching to his right, she slowed her exploration and drew out the journey.

  His skin was smoother than she’d expected, an exciting contrast to the hard muscles underneath. She felt her cunt twitch and boldly acknowledged it by reaching between her legs and rubbing herself through the fabric there. The crotch of her panties slipped easily over her flesh, proof that her juices were flowing. She was ready, ready, willing and beyond eager to be invaded.

  For a moment, her thoughts again snagged on the male voice that had called him from her side before. Whoever that had been might be watching.

  It didn’t matter because words like invaded, penetrated, speared, but most of all fucked hammered at her.

  Before he could grow accustomed—or heaven forbid—bored with what she was doing, she turned her head sideways and nibbled at his nipple. At first she toyed with him, tested and teased while he roughly massaged her boobs, but all of a sudden, her body flamed, causing her to nip the puckered nub. He jerked away, but before she felt the loss, he released her so-sensitive breasts and planted his widespread hands over her buttocks. He pulled her toward him until their pelvises were pressed together, leaving no doubt of his arousal.

  Fumbling a bit because with her face a scant inch from his chest she couldn’t see what she was doing, she unfastened his loincloth. His fingers dug into her butt cheeks, imprisoning her against him. Unless he ordered her to stop—and maybe even if he did—she’d continue her seduction.

  Maybe she was going at it all wrong. She loved to be romanced and seduced, and there was a great deal to be said about getting to know a man before jumping into bed with him, but although she didn’t know a great many things like the size of his bank account, what his favorite time of day was, whether he wanted children, what made him laugh or cry, those things didn’t matter. They wouldn’t until after they’d become lovers. Lovers? What she needed and suspected he did too was a lot earthier than that.

  Her neck ached a little from the way she had to turn her head in order to again take his nipple between her teeth, but it was worth it. Whew, was it! This was supposed to be about her getting to him, but even more liquid heat flowed into her throbbing clit. Unfortunately, she could no longer reach herself there. She’d give anything to have his cock fill her!

  Ignore it, somehow.

  Concentrating or at least trying to, she slid her hands down his thighs and took possession of his hard cock. At first, the feel, weight and promise of the swollen shaft stopped her. With this simple and complex organ, he could satisfy her, blow her mind. If she did things right, she could make him forget every other woman he’d ever known. Vowing to do that, she cupped both hands around the shaft and twisted slightly, creating friction. After a few seconds of that—a few seconds of his fingernails digging into her buttocks as if trying to reach clear through to her heated clit—she abruptly stepped back and spun away from him.

  “Don’t,” she warned when he moved to come after her. Shit! This was supposed to be about him, for him! But my body— “Don’t move. Just stand there.”

  She thought he might ignore her, but he seemed content to remain where he was with his cock at full attention and his eyes riveted on her. Aware of her every movement, trembling and weak in the legs, she pulled her shirt over her head. Then she flung it from her and reached for her bra hooks. Him, not you! Don’t forget that!

  “This is going to take time,” she whispered. She barely remembered how to speak.

  She couldn’t be sure if he’d heard, but maybe it didn’t matter because, truth be known, he couldn’t jump her bones fast enough. She was crazy making that kind of promise. She’d once gone to a bar advertising Girls, Girls, Girls, All Nude with friends. Fortified by drinks, they’d laughed themselves silly watching strip acts, but despite the haze of booze, she’d remembered some of what the girls had done to turn on the paying male customers.

  One thing had stood out. They’d never once stopp
ed moving, never risked letting the men’s attention wander. The strippers had seemed to enjoy themselves, but she couldn’t be sure about that. She had no such doubts about her own reaction. Even with everything she had to concentrate on, her skin was getting tight as if her blood supply was becoming too great to be contained. Had she been born for this moment with this man?

  Rotating her hips and shoulders at the same time—something the stripper had done effortlessly—took unbelievable concentration, enough so the inner heat she’d been battling cooled a little. Slow, so slow that she felt rather ridiculous, she drew the bra straps down her arms. At the same time, she held the cups against her breasts so only the upper mounds showed. Given what she’d hoped would happen today, she didn’t know why she’d put on the stupid garment.

  “I always buy the same brand of bra,” she babbled. “You’re a man so you probably don’t know this, but finding one that truly fits isn’t easy. Ah, this brand is pretty conservative but—”

  “Shut up.”

  Sudden laugher bubbled up inside her and relieved a little of her tension. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter.” Only we do.

  She turned away from him, then back again, legs spread and her free hand dangling near her pubic hair—or it would have if it wasn’t for the shorts. When his gaze shifted to her crotch, she ripped off the bra with a flourish and tossed it at him. It struck his chest. Before it could fall to the ground, he caught it. He wadded it into a ball, held it to his nose and inhaled, then dropped it at her feet.

  If this was a real strip joint, she’d have on pasties, wouldn’t she? Pasties and a g-string so the men could tuck bills there. Well, she had neither of those things, but she had put on black bikini panties this morning. As for why—

  Weaker than she’d been back then—a hell of a lot weaker if truth be known—she fumbled at the snap on the waistband of her shorts. It resisted her tugging—either that or she couldn’t concentrate—and she barely remembered to keep up her amateur bump and grind. The urge to laugh again bubbled through her. She killed it by concentrating on her physical response to what she was doing. She felt heavy between her legs, leaden and wet. Ravenous.

  To stave off starvation, she ran through her memory of the night at the strip joint. Some of the girls had danced around poles that obviously represented giant cocks. They’d all but made love to those poles, sliding up and down them, rubbing various body parts over the sleek, hard surfaces. They’d kept their mouths parted and pouty. Their tongues had darted in and out, and their eyes couldn’t be called anything except bedroom eyes. Although she hadn’t admitted it to her friends, she’d been turned on by the dancers, maybe not as much as the men, some of whom had jerked off in public, but more than she’d expected.

  She could get into this. Add to her income by moonlighting as a stripper. No you can’t. Only one man matters.

  Finally! Stifling the impulse to give herself a pat on the back, she turned her attention to the front zipper which fortunately didn’t give her near the trouble the snap had. She unzipped it all the way, pushed a forefinger under the crotch of her panties and against her swollen lips, then pulled her shorts halfway back up. She thrust her pelvis at him. Laird’s eyes remained riveted on her. Only his right hand moved—to cradle and further lift his swollen cock.

  Yes, she’d gotten to him, no doubt about that.

  Nearly as much as he’d gotten to her.

  Her cheeks felt flushed and there was a crawly sensation from throat to the back of her neck. She couldn’t swallow. It was all she could do not to start playing with herself in desperate determination to end this burning need. What had begun as a half-assed attempt to entice Laird had snared her.

  The second time she pulled the zipper tab down, she let it stay that way and turned her attention to pushing the denim off her hips. She felt trapped by it and had to fight the need to rip and tear. She remembered—just barely—to keep it slow. At length the garment slid down her legs and, after kicking off her shoes, she stepped out of her shorts. She was exposed, nearly. Naked, nearly. Certainly there was no turning back, maybe ever.

  Did she really know what she was doing? Would she survive?

  It didn’t matter.

  Feeling a bit like a cowboy preparing for a gunfight, she hooked her thumbs over what there was of her panties. She slid them from side to side, the friction adding to her arousal.

  The plan? What had the damn plan been?

  Didn’t matter.

  After rolling the panties down as far as she could but not stepping out of them, she again clamped a hand over her crotch and worked her forefinger into her and against her aching bud. Her mouth wouldn’t close. She stared at Laird but couldn’t make him come into focus.

  He stepped toward her.

  She stumbled, closed the distance between them.

  He reached for her, but at the last instant, she sidestepped him. Releasing herself, she took possession of his cock and either dropped to her knees or collapsed. Truth was, she didn’t remember planning this in advance. Mouth open, not believing how lustful she felt, she looked up at him. He didn’t move, gazed at her through hooded eyes, waited for her.

  No more waiting.

  Leaning toward him, she licked the head of his shaft. A drop of semen was already there. Capturing it, she pulled it into her mouth. Another drop instantly formed, and she kept her attention fixed on his great, commanding cock, even now only half comprehending that he was letting her do this to him. Last time he’d been the one in control, the one doing. Quite possibly he still held the balance of power.

  It didn’t matter.

  Nothing escaped her wet tongue. She laved the opening slit, pressed the tip of her tongue into it and tasted his sweet, salty come. She couldn’t believe her boldness or how erotic the act. Almost before she knew it was happening, an intense shudder shook her. She tilted on the edge of a climax.

  Go for it! Let it happen.

  No, not yet. This is about him. Him!

  She sucked in air, but instead of it calming her, she inhaled Laird’s earthy scent. Refusing to touch herself, she pushed out with her pelvic muscles and panted, taking shallow breaths so his scent couldn’t reach her again. After a hard and exhausting minute, her body merely hummed, no longer burning its way to explosion. Waiting. Content. For now.

  Although she hadn’t had nearly enough of tasting his come, she didn’t trust herself to go back to doing that. Neither, however, could she make herself leave his cock. Living in the moment, she turned her attention to the corona, gliding over sensitive flesh until he gasped and grabbed a handful of her hair. Just like a man, he was ready to get down to business.

  But not yet. Not yet.

  Settling herself lower on her knees, she took his balls in one hand, his cock in the other. She tried counting sheep, remembering the names of all the states, even mentally designing her dream home. None of those distractions worked. Giving up and hoping that her commitment to keep him rooted in today’s world would be enough to keep her under control, she gently drew on his scrotum until his balls retreated into his body, then let up on the pressure until they emerged. Control could be heady…not that she really knew since she couldn’t stop her pelvis’s rhythmic thrusts, the need to press her butt cheeks together.

  To have him fill her.

  A fresh droplet appeared at the tip of his penis, and she licked it away, then moistened her lips, opened her mouth even more and breathed a hot breath on him. His grip on her hair increased. The tension helped distract her from her just-out-of-reach climax, but it didn’t hurt.

  Looking up at him, she showed him her wet tongue and lips before licking the base of his shaft. Inch by inch, she worked her way up the rigid column, then ran her tongue around the sensitive underside of his head. He moaned, the sound low and primal. A twin groan escaped her.

  No longer able to ignore her inflamed cunt, she released his balls and caught one of her nether lips between thumb and forefinger. Her clit slipped free of its sheath,
and she turned her attention to it, teasing and touching. Groaning.

  Half mad, she swung her tongue around and around his knob, lingering at the underside because it obviously gave him so much pleasure. He clamped his hands over the sides of her head, holding her in place, pressing his cock against her lips. For a moment—only a moment—she resisted his thrust. Then, with her forefinger deep inside her cunt and curving forward toward her aching clit, she drew his cock into her, and closed her lips around the knob. She sucked gently, moistened him with her saliva, and tilted her head so she could accommodate perhaps half his length. Her forefinger danced between the lips of her cunt. Her nail feathered her clit, causing her to sob deep in her throat.

  Her pelvis, beyond her control, drove toward him, begging him to somehow complete what she was doing to herself. She was aware of nothing except his size inside her mouth, filling her. No longer gave a damn about making it last.

  He began an urgent and disjointed thrust and retreat, thrust and retreat. Somehow she kept pace, sliding her lips back up to the tip of his cock and flicking her tongue against it. She twisted her head from side to side, up and down, around and around. She sucked—sometimes gently, sometimes hard.

  His cock touched the back of her throat, half gagging her and driving her insane at the same time. She swallowed, briefly catching and trapping him.

  He again grabbed twin handfuls of her hair and forced her face even closer to him. His muff tickled her nose, adding to her pleasure. He pierced her throat over and over again, grunted and fought for breath. She repeatedly flicked her clit, duplicating his thrusts. Even with him deep in her, she moaned, moaned again.

  His powerful hips pounded away, grinding and jerking. She danced to his rhythm, found one of her own, and melted the two together. The Everglades hissed and hummed, steamy heat rose around her. She felt herself diving into the heat, didn’t give a damn how much came from her surroundings and how much she was responsible for.

  Fighting off her climax earlier had been exhausting, but she’d become strong again—a marathoner heading for Olympic gold.

  Let it rip! Let it come.