She kicked her panties away he lifted her high once again, and she coiled her legs around him. His knuckles brushed between her legs as he unfastened his jeans and let them drop. She caught her breath as the last barrier fell from between them and his penis pressed against her, naked and hot, searching. Pleasure zinged through her, making her nerve endings sizzle. She arched helplessly seeking more, needing more.
He swore softly, under his breath, and hitched her just a little higher to adjust her position. She felt the head of his penis probing at her, smooth and hard and hot, then an almost incredible sense of pressure as he eased his support and let her weight sink down on it. Her body resisted at first, then began to stretch and admit him, inch by searing inch. She felt everything in her begin to tighten as sensation roared through her – He stopped, breathing hard, his hot face buried against her neck. His voice muffled, he said rawly, "Did you go on the pill?"
Jaine dug her nails into his bare shoulders, almost sobbing with need. How could he stop now? Only the thick head of his penis was inside her, and it wasn't enough, wasn't nearly enough. Her inner muscles clenched around him, trying to draw him deeper, and an explosive curse tore from his throat.
"Damn it, Jaine, did you go on the pill?"
"Yes," she finally managed to say, and her tone was just as raw as his.
He braced her against the wall and with one rough thrust pushed his entire length inside her.
She heard herself cry out, but the sound was distant. Every cell in her body focused on the thick shaft pounding back and forth inside her, his rhythm hard and fast, and she climaxed the same way. Sensation exploded in her, and she bucked against him, screaming, her hips jerking and her entire body shuddering. The rest of the world spun completely away.
He came a second later, driving into her with almost brutal force. She thudded against the wall with each deep thrust, her weight sliding down and forcing him even deeper, so deep that she stiffened convulsively and climaxed again. Afterward, he rested heavily against her, his skin damp with sweat and rain. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving as he sucked in air. The house was dark and silent except for the rain drumming on the roof and the gasping sounds of their overtaxed lungs. The wall was cool against her back, but uncomfortably hard. Jaine tried to think of something clever to say, but her mind refused to work. This was too serious, too damn important, for quips. So she closed her eyes and rested her cheek on his shoulder while her galloping heartbeat slowly began to calm and her loins relaxed around his shaft. He muttered something unintelligible and tightened his grip on her, holding her with one arm around her back and the other under her bottom as he stepped out of his jeans and unsteadily walked to the bedroom. He was still inside her, her body anchored to his, as he lowered them to the bed and settled on top of her.
The room was dark and cool, the bed wide. He stripped off her silk shirt and unzipped her bra, tossing both garments to the floor. Now they were both totally naked, his chest hair rasping her nipples as he began to move again. His rhythm this time was slower but no less powerful as each thrust took him in to the hilt.
To her surprise, the fever began to build again. She had thought she was too exhausted to be aroused again, but she found out differently. She hooked her legs around his and ground her pelvis up to meet each thrust, clinging to him, pulling him even deeper into her, and when she came, the paroxysm was even stronger than the others. He made a guttural sound, climaxing while she still shuddered beneath him.
A long time later, when pulses had slowed, sweat had dried, and muscles had become halfway responsive again, he levered himself off her and rolled onto his back, one arm draped over his eyes. "Shit," he said under his breath. Because the room was so quiet, she heard him. A tiny flare of temper made her eyes narrow. She still felt like a limp, overcooked noodle, so a tiny flare was all she could manage. "Gee, that's romantic," she said sarcastically. The man hadn't been able to keep his hands off her for a week, and now that they had finally made love, "shit" was the best comment he could make, as if the whole experience had been a mistake?
He lifted the arm covering his eyes and turned his head to glare at her. "I knew you were trouble the first time I saw you."
"What do you mean, trouble?" She sat up, glaring back at him. "I am not trouble! I'm a very nice person except when I have to deal with jerks!"
"You're the worst kind of trouble," he snapped. "You're marrying trouble."
Considering three men had already found better things to do than marry her, that wasn't the most tactful comment he could have made. It was especially hurtful coming from a man who had just given her three explosive orgasms. She snatched up the pillow and whacked him on the head with it, then bolted out of bed. "I can take care of that problem for you," she said, fuming as she searched the dark bedroom for her bra and shirt. Damn it, where was the light switch? "Since I'm so much trouble, I'll stay on my side of the driveway and you can stay the hell on your side of the driveway!" She was shouting by the time she was finished. There – that white blur might be her bra. She swooped down on it and picked it up, but it was a sock. A smelly sock. She threw it at him. He swatted it aside and lunged out of bed, reaching for her. "What did you do with my damn clothes!" she bellowed at him, evading his outstretched hand and storming around the room in the dark. "And where's the damn light switch?"
"Would you settle down!" he said, sounding suspiciously as if he were snorting with laughter.
He was laughing at her. Tears stung her eyes. "Hell, no, I won't settle down!" she shouted, and swung toward the door. "You can keep the damn clothes, I'll walk home naked before I stay here with you another minute, you insensitive jerk – "