He ate up every cry.
* * *
He finally released Emma from his kiss when her sharp cries became whimpers and he’d worked every last shudder of pleasure from her sleek, sweet body. The fragrance of her climax perfumed the air, the scent of it mixed with their perspiration and the fresh lake breeze making him see red. He ran his hands over her naked body, his greed for her even sharper now that he was about to be appeased in his hunger.
For a short while, anyway.
His searching hands found her breasts, firm and thrusting from the plane of her chest, the skin exquisitely soft, the nipples small and hard, mouthwatering . . .
He took a beaded crest into his mouth, unable to resist, laving at the hard point with his tongue. He began to move her hips, riding her on his cock in tight little circles. It was like doling out tidbits to a beast, keeping it at bay for a few precious moments, knowing all the while it wouldn’t last long . . .
He bit down very gently on her nipple and heard her cry out. He wasn’t sure if it was in pleasure or pain, but then felt the flush of heat around his cock. He knew then. Everything went black for a moment. The next thing he knew, he held her wrists behind her back and she was crashing down over him. He experienced a moment of regret—he hadn’t meant to become so controlling with her given her inexperience—but then it slowly hit his lust-drunk brain that she was riding him just as furiously as he drove her down on him.
“Arch your back, Emma,” he grated out as he fucked her at a hard, fast pace. With the hand that held her wrists at the small of her back, he felt her follow his command. Her supple torso arched gracefully, her submission natural. Sublime. “That’s right. Offer yourself to me.”
She whimpered shakily. He latched onto a thrusting breast, sucking forcefully. Orgasm slammed into him at the sound of her sharp scream. He felt her convulse around his cock. His body pulsed with his pleasure. Hers. It all fused in the explosion.
After a final shudder of pleasure wracked him, he dropped his forehead against her chest, feeling the rise and fall of her breath and the rapid throb of her heart. He turned his face so that he could feel the precious pulse of life against his lips. He pulled her closer in his ar
ms. She softly murmured something he couldn’t quite make out, but which he understood, anyway.
He’d lost his virginity on this very beach when he was fourteen years old. It had nothing to do with why he was here tonight. He’d been to this beach dozens of times in his life. He’d come as a screwed-up teenager in a desperate search for fun. Forgetfulness. As an adult, he’d come many times for a solitary walk.
But the reason he distantly recalled losing his virginity on this beach during a drunken escapade with an equally drunk, bored socialite friend of his stepmother’s had nothing at all to do with holding Emma right now while her heartbeat fluttered against his lips. He only thought of it because the two experiences were direct opposites of each other. Yeah, they both involved sex and a woman and pleasure. Lots of experiences from his life involved that, but comparing those incidents to this?
The truth was: it was like comparing dust to a diamond.
* * *
After that first time, they remained clasped together. Emma thought she might be projecting her own novicelike feelings onto Montand, but it seemed to her that there was a desperation to their tight embrace, as if they dreaded what might separate them, fighting for this ephemeral moment, staving off the reality that awaited them outside the protective bubble they’d created together.
Surely it was an illusion—wishful thinking—on her part. She was quite certain no such musings or flights of fancy were occurring to him, especially given his careful description of their relationship.
“I have to move. The condom,” he said gruffly near her ear a moment later, and her last thought was confirmed. She was thankful that he was much more practical in these matters than she was—the nurse—who should have known better. At least she was on birth control following her relationship with Colin. Pregnancy was one worry she needn’t have.
He helped her rise off him. He still felt very firm as he withdrew. The ensuing empty ache she experienced was highly unpleasant to her. She sat perched on his thighs, bracing herself on his shoulders, listening to him rustling in the darkness. Then his hands were on her hips again, guiding her toward him. She started when she felt the tip of his cock nudge her pussy.
“Again?” she whispered, amazed.
“I changed the condom. Is it all right?”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t finished being inside you.”
“No. I wasn’t finished having you there,” she said with a small laugh.
She winced at first as he entered her, still tender from their first time. From him, in general. It wasn’t like being with Colin.
She settled in his lap again, his cock lodged deep inside her, and sighed in relief. Bliss. “Yes,” she repeated breathlessly, her arms going around his neck, her breasts pressing to his chest. She contracted her muscles around him and he gave a rough groan, pulling her even tighter against him. Now that he was inside her again, it felt wonderful. The crisp hair on his hard chest felt so good against her swollen nipples. One of his hands swept along her sensitive sides and settled on the side of her breast. He cupped her, and for a minute, didn’t move. His hand felt warm surrounding her, delicious. Possessive.
He began to mold the flesh softly to his palm, his fingertips brushing across the nipple. She sighed, and he jerked inside her, the moment sublime.
They stayed like that for as long as they could, stroking each other. He occasionally uttered rough praise into her ear as he touched her. He said she was beautiful again and again, and she felt it, there, in his arms. As time wore on, and he began to move her on his again-rigid cock, the anthem he whispered heatedly became more terse and dark and raw. It was no less beautiful to her, though, and exponentially more thrilling.
* * *
Emma still felt dazed and shaky and euphoric by the time he approached the Breakers’ driveway at 2:45 a.m. It’d been the most incredible night of her life. Everything felt different, as if she’d been opened up to another world, had finally gained admission to that coveted, forbidden, dangerous place called passion. Everything looked different, too, the starlit, dark blue dome of the night sky miraculous. This world sparkled and shone, and seemed to throb with life. Her bare skin tingled with new awareness. Even the ache between her thighs was pleasant to her, a reminder of what had happened on that beach in his arms.