A second finger teased at her opening, playing, petting.
“Open yourself to me,” he demanded, and she usually didn’t like anyone telling her what to do. But when it came to Mac and sex, she appreciated the caveman that came out in him. It only added to the pleasure, the excitement.
Repositioning her heels on the lip of the dresser drawer, she spread her thighs wider. He rewarded her obedience by slowly, so unbelievably slowly, working his second finger inside her. It was a struggle to accommodate him, but she loved the stretch, the burn. It both soothed the ache and simultaneously ratcheted it up another notch.
“So tight,” he said against her lips, nipping, laving, sucking. “So damned tight.”
And, God, it felt good. Felt good to be filled, to be brimming with warm, male flesh. But it wasn’t enough. The nerves inside her cried out for more stimulation.
“Mac,” she begged, “please. I need—”
“I know exactly what you need, darlin’,” he said, and he wasn’t lying. Because he began to pump his fingers in and out of her, slowly at first, and then more quickly, all while rubbing the rough pad of his thumb back and forth over the distended nub of her clit.
And that was it. Her climax slammed through her violently, arching her back, straining the tendons in her neck as she held back a scream of unimaginable pleasure. When her thighs tightened around his hand, she didn’t know if she was groaning, or if it was him, or the both of them together.
Delilah didn’t climax. She detonated. Squeezing his fingers so hard his knuckles rubbed together, screaming and melting and coming and coming and coming.
In the back of Mac’s mind, he did some quick calculations. Seven feet. Seven seconds. That’s how far it was to the nearest bed, and that’s how long it would take him to pick her up and cart her there.
They weren’t going to make it…
Not when she was so soft and wet. Not when she was throbbing around his fingers. Not when her hand was stroking him toward insanity, stroking him until he was so hard and hot he hurt. Sweet Jesus, he couldn’t seem to draw breath for what she was doing to him.
No. They were definitely not going to make it to the bed.
He needed to be inside her. Needed to feel her sultry walls closing around him. Now. Thirty seconds ago when she first exploded. He slowly withdrew his fingers from her body, glancing down to find her labia quivering, pulsing slightly with the aftershocks of her monumental orgasm.
She was sucking in great gulps of air, whispering his name over and over again. He couldn’t help himself. He lifted his fingers to his lips, licking away the evidence of her passion, savoring the earthy smell of her, the salty-sweet flavor of her, until he couldn’t take it a second more.
“Wrap your legs around me, darlin’,” he growled.
She did as he instructed, angling the head of him toward her entrance. He watched, mesmerized, muscles tensed, breath bated as she placed his swollen tip against her most tender flesh. Watched as she rubbed the length of him up her silken channel, pressing the head of him against the throbbing bundles of nerves at the top of her sex, moaning. And then she changed the angle of her hips and he was suddenly pressing into her.
And there, there were the brakes he couldn’t apply earlier. Because in that instant, as he watched his hard length disappear into her, as her watched her body give, watched himself take, everything slowed. Way. Down.
The sensations… Good God, they were incredible, so intensely…something. Sweet, maybe? Decadent, certainly.
“Christ.” He gritted his teeth. “You’re tight.”
“F-four years,” she rasped, then squeaked and bit her lip when he slid an inch further.
Four years? What did that mean? And then it hit him. “You haven’t been with a man in four years?” he asked, his entire body going bowstring tight. His breath caught in his lungs.
She shook her head. “There was the b-bar.” He slid in a bit more. “And then getting my side job as an FA started. Ahhhh.” There was another inch. “And, th-then I met you. Oh, God! Mac!”
Something wonderful and terrifying burst inside him, in the region usually relegated to his heart. She’d waited…for him? He couldn’t fathom it. Didn’t want to acknowledge it, but the truth was shining in her emerald eyes. And then she wiggled, just a little, just enough to elicit a gasp from both of them.
“Am I hurting you?” he managed to ask.
She shook her head, her silky hair brushing against her shoulders, rasping over the red, ripe tips of her up-thrust breasts. “God, no,” she whispered, grabbing him and pulling him to her so she could plant a kiss on his chin. He felt the tip of her tongue dart out to tickle the dimple there. His balls tightened in response. “You feel amazing,” she whispered in his ear, nipping the lobe. “Please don’t stop.”
And just like back in Sander’s bedroom, stopping was the absolute last thing on his mind.
He trailed kisses along her neck, sucking lavishly on her pulse point, rewarded for the effort by her silky walls convulsing around him, squeezing him, milking him. Everything about her, about this, about what they were doing together, was amazing. The sound of her sighs, the feel of her heels hooked together above his ass, the swollen delectation that was her hot, hungry mouth…
When he grabbed her hips to push forward the last two inches, seating himself to the hilt with one final, forceful jab, and his tip pressed tight against the hard entrance to her womb, she speared her fingers into his hair. Sealing their lips, her satiny tongue darted deep. And he was completely awash in the smells and sounds and sensations of sex.
It’d never been this good. Never, never. And that’s when it occurred to him.
“Condom,” he croaked.
“Mary and Joseph,” Delilah groaned, resting her forehead against his.
When her inner walls squeezed around him again, he gasped, “Stop that.”
“Can’t help it,” she husked, biting her lip, each of them holding still. Holding perfectly still. Because one small move, one slick slide, might be all it took to send both of them careening over the edge.
“I-I don’t have—” he began, lamenting the fact that he didn’t carry a spare condom or two in his wallet like the rest of the Knights. What was the point? He wasn’t a horndog like Ozzie or Steady. He didn’t bed everything on two legs. When he had a woman—and he did have a woman on fairly regular occasions despite what some of the boys at BKI might say to the contrary—it was always planned ahead of time. A nice dinner. A movie. And the inevitable fall into bed. Then he came packing. A true-blue Boy Scout to the core. But now? Nada. Zippo. Zilch. How the hell could he have let it go this far? Where was his head?
Oh, right, offline right now because Little Mac was doing all his thinking for him.
Delilah drew back. “I’m on the pill. If you want—”
That’s all she managed because, in the next instant, he pulled himself from the decadent warmth of her body only to slam back home on a stroke that rocked her against the top of the dresser. The pill? That’s all he needed to know. Because the monthly physicals and blood work he was required to undergo working for BKI told him he was clean and free of disease. And four years for her? Yeah. No worries. She squeaked at the force of his thrust. But one look at her face told him everything he needed to know. It wasn’t a squeak of pain; it was a squeak of pleasure. So he repeated the move, over and over. Slipping, sliding, impaling. She met him stroke for stroke. Her hands on his ass, her nails digging into his flesh.