he could see the tense set of her glossy lips. When he extended his hand, she laid hers in it. He rested their clasped hands on her thigh, and locked gazes with her.
“Put my hand where you know I want it to be,” he said.
Where he knew she wanted it to be.
The changes in her expression, in her body, all of her responses when he used that tone, were enough to make him want to do nothing more than keep her naked in his bed. She was staring at him with such raw hunger and unvoiced need. A hard shiver ran through her, particularly her thighs.
She adjusted their grips so that she was holding his wrist, but he saw the struggle in her. Some snarl of emotions was hampering her. He refused to let her past tamper with her reaction, dilute the truth of it, derail her. Not tonight.
“Don’t make me tell you twice,” he said, low. “You better be dripping wet for me, because you know that’s what I want. If you’re not, I’ll be making sure that I fix that, right here and now.”
She was barely breathing, and he put his free hand on her face. “Do it,” he breathed, and there was literally nothing in the universe but the two of them.
Slowly, she guided his hand under the flowing skirt, her thighs parting for him. He felt the brush of the lace tops of her stockings. When she brought his fingers to her sex, her labia were swollen into a plump cushion against the silk and lace of a very impractical, non-cotton pair of panties. The crotch was damp and sleek under his caressing touch. As he feathered his fingers over it, her hand tightened on his wrist.
“Now take your hand away. Reach around the seat on either side of you, as if I’d tied your wrists back around it.”
She complied, which lifted her upper body. He fervently hoped she was wearing a bra that matched the panties. He thought she was, because the thinness of the dress’s fabric showed the points of aroused nipples. He rested his gaze there as he stroked her. A tiny moan caught in her throat, firing his own desires.
“Are you close to having an orgasm, Daralyn? Use words.”
“I—I think so.”
“If you get too close, tell me. I don’t want you to have one yet.”
He saw the delightful flash of exasperation, and let it go unremarked, especially when he saw a chaser of panic, a darting glance toward him. She was afraid he’d seen it, the involuntary rebellious feeling. He’d love her to trust him enough to one day beg him, and beg him hard, for what she wanted. Let him punish her for that rebelliousness, but in a way that wasn’t a punishment for it at all.
“Easy. Relax for me.” It was a warning to keep her from jerking at the wrong moment. He curled his free hand around the side of her seat to steady himself as he leaned further forward and found his way beneath lace and silk, working his fingers in at the right angle. Two fingers, sliding into that wetness, stroking the swollen, veined tissues that spasmed against him, clutching his fingers.
Her breath left her, her shoulders flexing in reaction. As he rubbed his thumb with slow purpose over her clit, he brought the other hand back to cup her cheek. Her gaze shifted to his face, then away, feral, needy. Propping his forearm against the side of her seat, he closed his hand over her throat, which snapped her gaze back to him. She might not hold it for more than a blink unless ordered, but her attention dropped to his mouth and clung there, telling him he had her full attention.
“I love watching you come apart like this. Love touching you. You like it when my fingers are inside you, don’t you? Nod for me.”
She did, and though he’d told her to do it, she meant it. “Oh…” Another sound escaped her as he changed his rhythm, and suddenly there was panic. “Rory, I can’t…”
“It’s all right, baby. I changed my mind. I want to watch you come. Do it now.” If tonight went as intended, she’d be built back up to that same level of arousal in no time.
Every part of him was right there with her as she lost herself to it, body arching and pulling against the hold she had on the seat back. As he worked her clit and thrust within