Rich (Benson Security #5) - Janet Elizabeth Henderson Page 0,58

his other hand clenched at his side. She nibbled along the edge of his jaw, her hips undulating, pressing her hot, needy sex against him. His head fell back. His eyes closed. Nothing existed but the woman writhing against him, using him for her pleasure, torturing him with her desire. For a man who was constantly aware of his environment and the threats within it, he wasn’t sure he’d notice an army if they launched an assault on the room.

“Rachel, let me loose. Let me touch you. I’ll make it good for you, I promise.”

Her answer was a kiss to his throat as she moved against him. Holding her tight, he forced himself not to take over her movements, but to keep his promise and let her have her way.

“So good,” she groaned as she rubbed against him, using the firm muscle of his thigh as though it were her own personal sex toy.

“You’re killing me,” he complained.

He felt her smile against his throat. The wicked woman enjoyed torturing him. He should have known she would.

“Kiss me,” she said.

He wasn’t sure if it was an order or a plea.

Her slender hand clasped his jaw, turning his face toward her. He went willingly, and what he saw in her eyes made him want to roar with primal possession. But desire didn’t mean she was his. Not yet. Maybe never.

Please, please, he prayed, don’t let me screw this up.

Holding his gaze, she leaned in to sip at his lips. Harvard couldn’t even describe the noise that escaped him. It was a feral explosion of pure need. Those long lashes of hers drifted down as she changed the angle of her kiss.

Harvard fought to give her the control she needed when all he wanted to do was clasp the nape of her neck and take the kiss deeper. Her teasing tongue toyed with the seam of his lips.

“Let me in,” Rachel whispered, her mouth brushing against his when he refused her entry.

“Say please.” This was a war, and she was a strong fighter; he couldn’t let her win every battle.

She rumbled her approval. “Please?”

That was enough. He opened his mouth, tasting the playful longing in her kiss as she retreated each time he followed, always staying just out of reach. Never taking it as deep or hard as he wanted.

When they broke apart, he groaned in frustration. “Rachel, stop messing around and let me off the leash. Let me please you. Let me drive you wild. I want to. Can’t you feel how much I want to?”

She nuzzled his throat. “Mmm, I don’t believe I have felt how much you want me,” the temptress said as her hand slid down his stomach.

“You’re putting a lot of faith in my self-control if you touch me there. You sure about this?” Damn it, he wasn’t sure he could keep his hands to himself if she kept moving lower.

Her head went back, and her eyes captured his. She stared into them for an eternity, her hand poised at the waistband of his shorts. “Yes,” she said at last. “I’m sure. You’ll keep your promise.”

As her quiet belief in him disarmed him, his head fell forward and his eyes squeezed shut. Silently, Harvard cursed out his need to be honorable while his heart swelled at her faith in him. Her trust. There was only one thing he wanted more—her heart.

“Do your worst.” He braced for her touch, knowing it would be sweet agony.

He was so beautiful in his rugged maleness, standing there, straining his control for her. Had anyone ever given her that much of themselves? She couldn’t remember if they had.

As her hand drifted under his shorts, moving south, feeling her way, Rachel studied his face. Eyes scrunched shut, jaw clenched. He was a leashed lion. And in that moment, he was hers.

Her fingers brushed against the coarse hair of his groin until they reached the base of his firm length. She hesitated to go further. She hadn’t lied to him about getting over the assault and having no anxiety about sex. What she’d neglected to mention was that she hadn’t slept with anyone since it’d happened. Because to have sex meant to be vulnerable, and she hadn’t trusted any man enough to allow herself to feel desire.

Until now.

Until Harvard.

Her heart raced, and her breathing grew shallow. As a glorious lightness invaded her mind, she felt like she was floating in a vat of champagne bubbles. Her skin was almost oversensitive, making her aware of every