HER PRIVATE DANCER Page 12

  He spoke softly. "Oh, kitten." His eyes intent on their reflection. "How could you not know how beautiful you are?" He never looked away, as if he was mesmerized, a heady thrill in spite of the roiling sensation in her stomach. She'd never been so exposed—well, other than the whole hands-and-knees episode, but that was different. This time they were both looking and she was pink and wet, throbbing in rhythm with her pounding heartbeat. It was too much. It wasn't enough. And if he didn't do something soon, she was going to kill him.

  She decided to take matters into her own hands, literally, and lowered them beneath the water, digging her fingers into his hips and pleading, "Please, you have to … I can't wait." Oh, Lord, she was begging and didn't even care.

  "Shh." He tried to soothe her, but didn't sound much better himself. His breath whistled out harshly and he lifted his hands to her nipples and she wanted to whimper, "Not there, lower." But then again this felt nice, too, and she hated to appear desperate even though she was.

  His gaze dropped down her body. He steadied her hips and said, "I need to touch you there … now."

  And this time she wanted to scream, "Well, it's about damn time." But, again, she thought this might sound a bit hostile, so she moaned instead. Yet instead of relief she only became more agitated as she stared, the progress of his other hand still too darn slow for her liking, until finally his fingers mercifully slid through her curls and she jerked then gasped, "Oh, m…y … G…o…d…"

  "You're so wet," he groaned. He began to press and slide, fondled her with mind-numbing strokes until he'd spread her essence and she was slick to his touch. Then he slowly, almost gently, began to rub his finger back and forth, back and forth, in an unbearable rhythm until her hips seemed to move on their own, increasing the delicious tension spiraling to her womb from his hand.

  Suddenly he broke the intensity and said, "I have to feel you. I can't wait." He circled one arm around her waist then lifted her up his chest. She felt his knuckles nudge against her bottom and heard the sound of Velcro tearing open as he freed his penis. A heavy weight, thick and warm, dropped onto the small of her back.

  One corner of his mouth tilted upward. "About time these damn pants came in handy."

  Except Phoebe barely heard him. She stared hard enough to melt her eyes, but could only make out the base of his erection in the open flap of his pants. Rats. Knowing her luck, she'd never get a good look.

  Trace wasn't finished and he moved himself between her spread thighs then slid her back down until she straddled him, not so he was inside her, but so she was riding the top of his length. Not exactly what she had in mind, but she could deal with this, and she started to slide against him, striving for the friction she needed. He burned against her ultrasensitive skin, hot and thick and hard.

  The tendons in his neck were rigid. "Easy, now … easy," he crooned, stilling her untutored attempts at release. "Let me help." Then he slowly tilted her hips in opposition with his and dragged the heart-shaped tip of his penis backward inch by painstaking inch until he reached the smooth skin just past her empty core. She could feel him pulse beneath her like an extra heartbeat and they both shuddered. Their eyes met in the glass and he softly kissed her temple. Then he looked back down and leisurely pushed forward. Her flesh parted for the thick knob as he pressed along her slippery heat to the underside of her clitoris, her nubbin bumping onto his shaft. Phoebe bit the inside of her cheek, holding back a groan. If he felt this good just sliding beneath her, she couldn't imagine how she'd react once he was inside her. She panted. "You feel, you feel…"

  "So do you," he moaned, his teeth clenched.

  "Don't stop," she pleaded and a muscle flexed in his jaw. In order to keep him in place, she had to arch her back while she moved, her breasts thrust forward, her bottom tilted so that her wet center stayed against him as long as possible. But she didn't care, now beyond any sense of modesty. His strokes grew shorter. His hips pressed firmly and tension coiled in her belly, spiraling tighter like an overwound spring. Her pelvis writhed and she squeezed her eyes shut. Something was happening. She could feel it getting closer, tension banding in her stomach, a sort of panic swelling through her belly. Now. Almost there. Almost there.

  "Open your eyes," he whispered. "Look…" He snared her gaze in the mirror then lifted his hands to her nipples and squeezed. Her hips jerked as he flicked and rubbed. Her throat ached from the ballooning pressure, but she couldn't seem to reach the other side, always climbing but never falling over the top.

  Then Trace's voice, low and rough, spoke in her ear, "Come on, kitten. Now. With both of us watching. Come for me."

  "I can't," she said, sounding breathless and urgent. She licked her lips. "I'm trying, I'm trying…" And then the sweet, sweet man anchored his boots to the floor and his shoulders to the back of the tub and steadily pushed his hips upward and said, "But you are. You're coming right now…" And he was right. Phoebe came hard.

  * * *

  Trace hadn't reached his own spectacular release yet and his body shook. Any niceties were beyond him as he rode the knife edge of control. The second she recovered he was going to shove down his pants, plunge inside her and pump until he spewed like a geyser. He'd flood her, soak her until she dripped—he would have let his thoughts go on in this pornographic vein except reality smacked him in the chest like a sledgehammer. He had no protection. While all this internal fantasizing about excessive ejaculate might be nice for him, he wasn't sure she'd find it so erotic nine months from now.

  He didn't even bother asking Phoebe if she had any condoms. She wouldn't and he could've cried at that moment. Just laid back his head and wept like a baby. Of course, it was too much to hope that she wouldn't move a muscle for the next six hours or so until he cooled down. Already she was writhing her luscious backside against him, making him jerk. Any second his eyes would roll back in his head.

  "Hmm," she purred, stretching her arms over her head.

  He winced and grabbed her hips. "Careful there, kitten. One false move and I can't promise what'll happen."

  "You poor baby." Agile as only a professional dancer can be, she unhooked her legs from around his and swiveled to face him. He clutched the side of the tub, his fingers blanching. She straddled his hips with her thighs and circled her arms around his neck and hugged him tight, her breasts on his naked flesh heaven.

  "That was amazing," she gushed. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." She interspersed her words with frantic kisses to his face and mouth.

  At least one of them was happy, he thought, pleased even though he still had a hard-on big enough to rival that purple monster under her bed. Then her kisses slowly turned from playful to passionate and she slid her hand down between their bodies and he grabbed her wrist to stop her. If she touched him he'd be gone.

  "Let me … I want to touch you." She flicked her tongue across his panting mouth, playing with his lips while trying to pull her hand free.

  "Wait," he groaned. "We can't."

  Phoebe laughed. "Don't tell me I'm going to have to convince you now."

  He chuckled weakly, between gasps from her mind-numbing undulations. "That's not the problem. I don't have any condoms with me."

  Her head snapped up and it surprised a bark of laughter from him. "I know you think I'm some sort of lothario who goes around with a six-pack of rubbers always on the ready, but I own about—" he stopped to think "—three condoms, which are collecting dust in my bedside table at home. They've probably expired even if I could get to them." A slight exaggeration, but it had been a damn long time.

  Phoebe practically beamed at him. "I don't believe you, but you get oral sex for saying it."

  Trace grinned. "Did I also happen to mention that this will be my first time?"

  "Did I mention that it'll be my first blow job? I heard that guys like lots of teeth."

  He pinched her bottom.

  Laughing, she said, "Condoms aren't a problem. There are some in that jar on the shelf over your head." He lift
ed his eyebrows.

  Phoebe blushed slightly and rolled her eyes. "Tiffany has them stashed in every room of the apartment. I even found some in the knife drawer in the kitchen. How she managed to get pregnant with the number of prophylactics squirreled away in this place is a mystery. The only spot I haven't run across any is out on the balcony."

  His heart hammered at the realization that he was being given the green light here. "Not a problem." He leaned toward her and kissed her hard. "Note to self. No sex on the balcony. Got it." Then he stood, unceremoniously dumping her from his lap.

  "Hey!" She glared up at him from the floor of the tub, her hair tumbled loose from its knot, her slim arms and outrageously wicked legs sprawled in the most orgasm-inducing way.

  "I'm hanging on by a thread here, sweetheart. If I don't get inside you in the next ten seconds I'm going to embarrass myself."

  Her lips curved as she sat up. "At least take your boots off."

  Trace looked down at his feet, having completely forgotten the ruined leather. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and let it out. It was best he calm down anyway. Slam, bam, thank you, ma'am had never been his style and he probably shouldn't start the technique with the most important woman in his life.

  "Fine," he said, sitting down on the rim of the tub. He worked off the squishy boots and grimaced. "I guess these are ruined." He tossed them to the floor.

  Phoebe grinned at him. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome," he drawled with a smile, thinking he might just be able to handle the slower pace. Until he noticed her staring. At his crotch.

  "Wow," she swallowed noisily. "You're, uh—" She stopped. "Well, you're big. I suspected, of course, when we did this in college, but mostly I just felt you. And then even a minute ago, I couldn't really get a good look. You know, just a glimpse here and there…" Her eyes had widened and he felt like a villain in a two-penny novel.

  He glanced down then cleared his throat. "It's only the angle."

  She shook her head, never taking her eyes off the portion of him sticking out of his pants. "No. I don't think so."

  In spite of himself, he felt his face slowly heat. "You probably don't have that many to compare it to," he said, though even Trace had been a bit surprised at the size of his good buddy. He was definitely happy to see her. Of that, there could be no doubt.

  "That may be true, but I know big when I see it. Unless you're trying to say that thing is average."

  He raked his hands through his hair, his wet fingers slicking the strands back wherever they touched. "I'm trying to say I'm not going to harpoon you. It'll work. Believe me. Or don't you remember?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

  She smirked. "Yes, but will I be able to walk tomorrow without wincing at every step? Now, that I do remember."

  He nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up. "You can have a nice long soak in the tub afterward."

  She swirled her hand through the clear water. "Great, I'll be a giant prune."

  "Yes, but you'll be a happy giant prune."

  Her hand stilled. "How happy?"

  "The kind of happy you were about three minutes ago."

  "Good point. What are we waiting for?"

  "That's my girl." Smiling like a buffoon, he stood up. He placed one of the condoms on the shelf then turned back to Phoebe.

  Licking her lips, she rose on her knees, her mouth a breath away from his stomach. "You know what?" she asked, her hands on his thighs.

  His stomach did a slow flip. "No. What?"

  "You're overdressed." She smiled up at him, curling her fingers into the dark, clinging fabric. "May I?"

  Trace nodded and thought, there is a God. "Be my guest."

  Phoebe pulled off his pants in one rip. Laughing, she studied the piece in her hands. The other had slid into the water somewhere behind him. "You're right. This Velcro stuff is handy."

  His smile flattened. "A stripper's best friend."

  Then she turned her head and he watched as she knelt at face level with his erection. She licked her lips again, and he wasn't sure if it was a sign of anticipation or trepidation, but before he could worry about it she reached out and clasped him.

  He gasped. His hands fisted at his sides.

  She stared, her lids lowered drowsily. "Your skin is so soft here … but hard," she whispered, taking a firmer hold while moving her hand. Her expression said gimme. Now. And if she licked her lips one more time he just might lose it.

  "Wait—"

  She quirked one of her eyebrows. "You're not going to start this up again, are you?"

  He laughed at her annoyance. "No, my greedy little kitten." He reached down and lifted her to her feet, breaking the delicious hold she had on his member. "I'd just like to level the playing field, so to speak."

  Warm water swirled around their knees, a contrast to the tiny droplets that dried on their skin. "Chicken," she taunted and lifted a hand to the muscles striating his abdomen. Her thumb bumped over each band down to the hair at his groin and he had to lock his legs to hold his stance. He laughed weakly and dropped his forehead to hers, almost afraid to go on. Afraid he'd wake up and this would all be a dream. The best sex of his life had been with Phoebe and she'd been a virgin. This time just might kill him.

  He gripped her waist. "You have no idea how many times I pictured this. Dreamed about your taste … about how good you felt underneath me."

  She lifted her head, her gray eyes full of wonder. "Really?"

  He flicked a drop of water from his still-wet fingers onto her nose. "Yeah, really. I don't know why you're having such a hard time believing this."

  Blushing, she ducked her chin, but her smile was pure sex as she ran her finger up the underside of his erection from base to tip and said, "I don't know, either. How on earth could I ignore proof like this?" Then she stepped into his arms.

  Their bodies met, nothing between them, and he sucked in his breath, the reality infinitely better than anything he remembered. His arousal pressed into her stomach and just that little bit made a tear weep from its swollen head. He tightened his fists in her hair, but when he would have lifted her mouth, she began to nuzzle her way down his chest. He stood perfectly still, her enthusiasm almost surreal.

  Her lips taunted the brown disc of his nipple to an aching peak as she spoke. "Um, when you pictured this, were we moving?" She nipped him gently.

  He grinned. "Oh yeah…"

  "How?" she whispered.

  "I'll show you," he said, then slowly dropped to his knees. Her pink outer lips were swollen, peeking below a thin strip of curls. She'd shaved or waxed off everything else and she looked so damn delicious he wanted to sink his teeth into her smooth mound. Maybe in a minute. For now he parted her with the pads of his thumbs then gently licked into her.

  "Ohmigosh!" Her voice broke and she stiffened her thighs. "Good starting place, by the way," she said, as her hands sunk into his hair.

  He chuckled, making his tongue vibrate as he pulled back, and she moaned. "Just wait. It only gets better."

  She tightened her grip on his head. "If it gets any better I'll fall."

  "I won't let you. Now, watch, kitten. Your sister put up a hell of a lot of mirrors in this place and they're too damn good to go to waste." He nodded to the wall at their side.

  She looked at their reflection and gulped. "Remind me to be nicer to Tiffany next time she calls."

  Laughing softly, he zeroed back in on his target. He slid his tongue into her heat and once there lapped every inch of her. He spoke against her wet flesh, making sure to keep his lips a constant moving pressure and said, "Put your foot on the tub."

  "No—" She groaned. "I'm fine." She gasped. "Like this."

  "Wrong answer, kitten." He took hold of her ankle and started to lift it into place.

  "No, Trace. Really—" Her voice broke and she arched against his mouth as he circled his tongue around her throbbing core, teasing her inner lips. "Oh, oh, oh," she panted, her head falling back. Smiling, he placed he
r foot where he wanted and pushed her knee wide. Then he sat back on his heels and stared.

  She bit her lip. "You're too close," she complained, squirming her lush heat right there before his eyes. His penis jerked.

  He slid his hands beneath her bottom. "Brace yourself, kitten, because I'm about to get a lot closer." And with that, he lifted her to his mouth, making his tongue wide and flat and licked her entire length in one hot sweep.

  "Oooooh," Phoebe groaned out the long syllable and he continued to torment them both, lapping and nipping her silky flesh. Trace slid his fingers deep then opened them, licking between. She tasted like nothing he'd ever known, sweet and warm and creamy, and after only minutes, her inner muscles started to squeeze and quiver and he knew she was close. His pulse roared in his ears and his arousal flexed.

  "With you. This time I want to be with you. Please," she said, and Trace surged to his feet and grabbed the condom from the shelf. He tore open the foil packet and rolled it down his erection in record time. Then he bent his knees and nudged himself between her inner lips. He pushed, clenching his buttocks. She was so damn tight he had to grit his teeth and force his way in farther.

  Her fingers dug into his scalp where she held his head on both sides behind his ears. He stared into her eyes. They'd turned silver, her pupils wide. "Don't stop," she begged.

  He dropped his forehead onto hers. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He was less than halfway there. Obviously, she hadn't done this very often in the last nine years and the thought alone had him ready to blow. He took a deep breath. "I don't want to hurt you."

  She shivered. "You're not." Though he didn't know how her words could be true. Hell, she was so damn tight, it almost hurt him. Her inner muscles contracted and he winced.

  He spoke softly. "Just a few seconds more," he said, and moved his mouth to her breast. He latched on to her reddened little nipple and suckled and rolled her crest under his tongue until she writhed voluptuously and slid herself farther onto his length. Pressure built at the base of his spine, urging him to move, prodding him to grind deeper, but he held himself back.