With each stroke of his fingers between her thighs, her hips lifted to him, begging for more, aching to be touched deeper, harder.
Pulling back from the narrow entrance to her vagina, his fingers circled her clit, the firm, rubbing caress sending a shower of pure pleasure arcing through her body. The swollen bud throbbed, the ache tightening as Gypsy felt a building wave of sensation threatening to burst through her.
She had never known this could be pleasure.
She had shied away from any man’s touch, pushed would-be lovers behind her and become their friend instead. She had told herself she could do without the touch or the aggravation of a man in her life.
And now, her body was intent on making up for lost time. It was burning in a Breed’s arms, her hips lifting to him, eager for more as he rubbed at the tiny bundle of nerve endings, stroked them, kept her hovering on a pinnacle that became sharper by the second.
“Look at me, Gypsy,” he growled, the rough rumble of demand rasping from his chest as her eyes opened for him.
Dazed, unable to fight past the waves of sizzling sensation building beneath his stroking fingers, she opened her eyes, her gaze locking with his.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, his breathing rough, as harsh as her own. “Let it have you, baby. It’s only pleasure, I promise. Nothing to be frightened of.”
Nothing to be frightened of? Gypsy could feel the waves of control-destroying sensation tightening in every cell of her body. She no longer controlled her own body. She no longer controlled herself, and it was beginning to frighten her.
She had to control this.
She had to know what was coming before she stepped into it.
“No.” The hard growl in his voice had her body jerking as another powerful wave of sensation lashed at her as his voice rasped over her senses. “Stay with me, Gypsy. No fear.”
The stroking, rubbing, diabolical touch of his fingers increased.
Her thighs tightened, his image becoming hazy as she stared up at him, the lashing, heated waves of pleasure growing, becoming hotter, brighter.
Her hips arched to him, her breathing becoming harder, faster.
“Rule . . . please . . .” She was suddenly frightened of where it would take her, how it would change her.
She wanted to pull back, wanted to wait, feel her way through whatever was beginning to tear through her.
“Give to me, Gypsy, just this,” he groaned, the strokes shifting again, tightening.
Her eyes widened.
“I have you, Gypsy,” he promised again. “I’ll hold you right here, I swear.”
She lost her breath.
A strangled cry rasped from her throat as her hold on his wrist tightened, nails digging in as an explosion of white-hot ecstasy ruptured her mind.
Her hips were jerking beneath his stroking fingers, her juices spilling from her again, a wash of rapturous moisture weeping from her as her head tilted back and a cry of agonized pleasure tore her apart at the seams.
There was nothing she could do but stare up him, so dazed, so lost within the clash of sensations, pleasure and need that did just as she had feared it would.
Somehow, it changed her.
CHAPTER 11
Dog was waiting for Rule outside, leaning against the side of the building beneath the staircase that led up to the apartment.
The scent of Gypsy’s pleasure still lingered in his senses, that explosive mix of hunger and newly experienced orgasm as it washed over his senses, nearly stealing his ability to realize the second when that pleasure had turned to fear.
As the waves of sensations eased inside her, the stiffening of her body hadn’t registered at first. It had taken several long moments for Rule to gather his control around him and ease back from her.
And now, nearly thirty minutes later, he wondered if perhaps he should have stayed after she ordered him to leave.