After what seemed like hours but could have been as little as five minutes, the shivering eased for a moment, allowing her to relax. She lay bonelessly in his arms, breathing heavily, then the monster seized her in its jaws again and shook her until her teeth rattled.
The next respite lasted a little longer, long enough that she began to hope it was over. Richard’s body heat continued to pour over her, through her, reaching that central core of ice that no amount of coffee, hot water, or heated air had been able to touch. He was sweating; she could feel the moisture on his skin. She tried to stretch, ease her tired and cramped muscles, but the movement triggered more shivering.
He held her through that, too, whispering reassurances in her ear. She didn’t need to be reassured, she thought fuzzily. Richard was here, so of course he would get her warm. Funny how she was so positive of that.
She stilled again, lying quietly in his arms. The minutes ticked by, the room silent except for the sound of their breathing and the strong, steady thumping of his heart under her ear.
She was all but naked, wearing only panties and socks. He had on even less, nothing but a pair of tight boxers. The crisp hair on his chest rasped her nipples, keeping them puckered even though she was no longer cold. He was very hard, she thought drowsily, brushing her lips against his shoulder without quite realizing what she was doing. Muscular, too. Her fingers moved over his shoulder, feeling the power beneath his sleek, warm skin as she stroked down to the hard bulge of his triceps. Even his belly was hard, and his legs were heavy with muscle.
His erection prodded her stomach. A different kind of heat gathered in her, pooled between her legs. Instinctively she shifted, pushing her hips against him in an acceptance she knew was dangerous, but the knowledge came a split second after the action. Even then she didn’t withdraw. The contact felt too good, too right.
He kissed her forehead, the caress slow and tender. “Warm now?” he asked, and she nodded.
“Good.” His breath sighed over her closed eyelids. “Sleepy?”
“Um hmm.”
“Go to sleep then, Sweeney.” At least she thought he said Sweeney. Something about her name sounded different, but she couldn’t quite place what it was. She inhaled with slow, deep precision, drawing his heated scent into her lungs and feeling something deep inside loosen and give way.
His hand covered her breast, his callus-roughened thumb rubbing over her nipple. She had never thought breasts were the great source of pleasure portrayed in books and movies, having never felt more than irritation when some boy grabbed hers and pulled the nipples and expected her to become incoherent with pleasure when what she really felt like doing was punching him in the face. She didn’t feel like punching Richard. His circling thumb produced a prickling sort of heat in her nipple, then there was an almost unbearable tightening, and a hot wire of sensation ran from her breast straight to her loins, exploding there and spreading a different kind of heat throughout her body. She moaned, a quiet little whimper of delight.
He repeated the motion over and over, the pleasure building with every second until it seemed to take over her body. She was glowing with heat now, inside and out. She surged against him, back and forth like the gentle, inexorable wash of the tide. A faint remnant of caution was swamped by the flood of pure physical delight.
He tugged on her hair, pulling her head back. His mouth closed over hers, leisurely intensifying the pressure until her lips parted. He slanted his head then and kissed her, deep and hard, taking her with rhythmic thrusts of his tongue. Sweeney didn’t open her eyes, couldn’t open them, lost in a combination of fatigue and desire that both demanded and beguiled. Her fingers dug into the deep ridge of his back, slippery with sweat.
He moved a little, adjusting his position so that the hard ridge of his penis nestled against her mound. She felt the soft folds between her legs open, just a little, and he rested between them. She started, a sliver of alarm working through the haze of desire, and that small movement rubbed her against his shaft in a way that sent pleasure rioting along her nerve endings. If the two layers of their underwear hadn’t been between them, he would have been inside her then, because she couldn’t stop the convulsive thrust of her hips. He groaned, deep in his throat, the sound vibrating in her own mouth.
She felt as if her body were a bow, the hot wire of sensation pulling her tighter and tighter, arching her against him. She made a small, desperate mewling sound, all but clawing at him in her urgency, her thighs opening as she tried to ride the ridge of his erection. She was in pain again, a different kind of pain, hot and empty, almost mindless with need. Richard gripped her bottom and rubbed her against him, and everything inside her tightened, holding her on the verge of shattering for one long, unbearable moment before the tension released and she convulsed on great waves of pleasure. She heard her own cries, thin and wild, muffled by his kiss, and then for a while she didn’t know anything.
Her dazed senses gradually regained their function. She was sweating, she realized with astonishment; her body sheened with moisture. As her heartbeat slowed, she realized that his hadn’t, but his touch was gentle as he settled her so that her head was pillowed on his arm. “Go to sleep,” he whispered.
She didn’t have any other choice. Her muscles were like water, unable to function. “I had a climax,” she managed to say, and heard her own surprise.
“I know,” he said on a low chuckle, his amusement strained but genuine. She nestled her face against him, breathed deeply, and like a child, was asleep.
Richard pushed the sweltering blanket down a little. He didn’t want to trigger another of those alarming chills, but neither did he want either one of them to have a heatstroke. The apartment was so hot he could barely breathe. Sweat poured off him, and he hadn’t helped the situation by what he had just done. Foreplay with Sweeney was more erotic than any full sex act he had ever experienced; her response was swift and intense, and utterly beguiling. He had never before enjoyed so much something that left him so frustrated; he thought one touch of her hand would take him over the edge.