And damned if his eyes didn’t close too. Which was crazy, of course. He was running with a woman in his arms through unfamiliar territorywith his eyes closed. Any drill instructor he’d ever come across would have screamed in his face and ordered him to drop and give him five hundred push-ups.
But Jon had really good spatial awareness and a really good memory. He knew where everything was. He wasn’t going to fall down with Sophie in his arms. Not now, not ever.
In seconds, they were in the master bedroom that looked east, the sun halfway up the sky and filling the room with light. It blossomed under his eyelids because his eyes were still closed, kissing Sophie. All he saw behind his closed eyes was gold.
She slid down his body to her feet. He was holding her still for his kiss with one hand behind her head, the other feverishly pulling down the sweat suit pants, unzipping the hoodie and then Sophie was naked in his arms. He held her so tightly she gasped and he loosened his hold a little. It was amazingly hard to do.
“You now.” Jon opened his eyes to see Sophie half smiling up at him. She was aroused. Her high cheekbones were flushed, her eyes wide and sparkling, her mouth full and red from his kisses, dark hair tousled from his hands.
She’d said something but he hadn’t understood. He was beyond understanding words, all he understood now was body language and his body was telling him—get into Sophie as fast as you can.And her body must have been telling her more or less the same thing. Her nipples were hard, deep pink, the left breast trembling with her heart beat. She was flushed down to her breasts as if she’d already had an orgasm.
Maybe she had? Maybe she’d climaxed while they were dancing. Man, what a turn on that idea was. There was one way to find out. His hand moved from her back down the delicate curve, over her luscious ass, all the way down. He waggled his hand and her legs obediently opened and he touched her there, right there, where he wanted to put his dick.
Soon.
He ran his fingers down her slick opening from behind. He all but sighed. Her lips there were puffy and wet, like pouty lips waiting for his kiss.
“Take your clothes off, Jon.”
Sophie was talking. He heard the noise and could even feel the puff of her breath against his neck but the words made no sense. No words made sense just now, the only thing that made any sense at all was the feel of Sophie against him, his fingers sliding in and out of her soft wetness. He slid a finger in and she clenched around him, like the beginning of an orgasm. Oh yeah…
And then she was moving away from him, sliding out of his arms, his hand sliding out of her. He felt cold and bereft. Why was she moving?
“Jon!” She slapped his chest.
Jon rubbed it. Not because she’d hurt him—she couldn’t hurt him if she tried unless she had a firearm—but because something inside his chest felt inflamed, almost painful.
She’d called his name. He made a sound. If you were charitable it could be considered ahuh?But really, it was a grunt.
Sophie rolled her eyes, then tugged on his shoulder, pulling him down. He went willingly. He was more than willing to do whatever Sophie wanted. She wanted him to bend over? Hell yeah! He bent over, waiting for whatever she wanted.
What she wanted was to pull off his long-sleeved tee. And when he straightened, pull down his pants. His dick sprang out. He toed off his boots, stepped away from his pants and they both looked down at his dick, flushed with eagerness, shiny with pre-come at the tip, so hard it was practically flat against his stomach.
She looked up at him. “That’s quite something.”
He had no air in his lungs to answer her and even if he did have some air, he had no words. He just looked at her dumbly, like an animal hoping for a treat.
Sophie smiled at him. Her face was beautiful in repose but when she smiled, it was like the sun coming out, brighter than what was shining down through the windows.
Her fingers curled up in acome to megesture.
Oh, yeah.
For a second, it had been as if he were under a spell. Her looking at him, staring at his dick, had somehow paralysed him. He was waiting for whatever she wanted only she hadn’t let him know what it was. Now, with that curl of her long, slender fingers, she made it explicit. She wanted him.
Nowhe knew what to do.
He was nearly shaking with excitement, as if he’d never had sex before in his life. And really he hadn’t. Not like this, anyway.
If he’d had some blood in his head, he’d have been ashamed of himself. He was super cool in bed. He had a strategic mind which extended itself to sex. He could catch the smallest clue, like broken breathing, a slight flush. Give him ten minutes and he’d become the world’s greatest expert on what kind of sex that woman wanted and he’d oblige. Fast, slow, hard, soft. He could do it all.
His entire repertory had simply fled from him, now. There was only one kind of sex he was capable of with Sophie and that was the desperate kind. But she deserved better than that.
So he took a deep breath and with superhuman discipline he calmed himself down a little. Tensed his muscles to make them go slow. There wasn’t anything in the world he could do about his dick, though. Nothing could make it go down just a little so it looked more like a human organ and less like a caveman’s club. It felt like it would never go down again in his lifetime. Like an erection was a permanent state.
“Make me go slow,” he pleaded. He reached his hand out, slowly, pushing it through the air as if through a hard barrier. He touched her shoulder, palm completely open. He had strong hands and he was unsure he’d be able to regulate his strength if he cupped her shoulder. “I don’t have too much control now, so make sure I don’t overdo it.” He closed his eyes, swallowed. “Don’t…hurt you.” That last came out of a scratchy throat. He felt scratchy, all over, buzzed with anxiety. Not a good feeling. Man, the idea of hurting Sophie…
He opened his eyes again. He’d half been expecting a look of triumph or at least pleasure, because he’d just put all the power in Sophie’s hands. He’d told her how excited he was, that he didn’t have much control. In any other woman he’d expect coy smugness. But Sophie’s look was sober, tender. It was as if she could see that he was suffering and couldn’t bear it. She touched his cheek and again there was that weird warmth, that feeling of well-being.
