dare I? His gaze held hers and she felt anticipation pounding through her in time with her heart pounding.
Her fingers trembling, she raised her hand toward him. “Man,” she said, and then gestured. “Come.”
If she’d expected him to leap from the window and launch himself ravenously upon her, she was bound to be surprised. For a moment, he didn’t move, and she thought perhaps he didn’t understand.
But he’d stilled, as if holding his breath. The chamber became very quiet. Expectant. As if something sparked or sizzled.
At last, he climbed from his perch on the window, smoothly and gracefully, into the room, bringing with him a faint essence of spice and freshness. He stood for a moment, looking down at her pale body sprawled among twisted, rumpled sheets. Her hair was plastered to her damp skin like the vines that had entrapped her earlier. She heard his breathing shift, as if he allowed himself to draw in a deep breath at last, and she felt, rather than saw, him inhale her essence, sniffing, as a wild cat would do when scenting its prey.
His prey .
A little shiver skittered over Jane’s belly and arms, lifting the hair there in expectation and anticipation. She swallowed hard, her mouth dry.
He knelt next to the bed, and she suddenly realized she wanted to sit up; she should sit up, take on a position of control—
But he raised his hand and, palm flat, fingers wide, he gently but firmly pressed her back down.
Jane knew he could feel her heart pounding beneath his hand, and her chest rising and falling. She had no illusions about this at least. Surely he could read her emotions, just as an animal could read the fear and apprehension in its prey.
The wild man’s hand slid down over the valley between her breasts, his fingers just brushing an aching nipple, then skimmed over her belly. Her skin shuddered and leapt, tightening and trembling at the light, warm touch that moved down, down…closer to where she ached and throbbed.
Jane smothered a groan, biting her lip as his hand slipped down over her mound and then into the full, slick wetness of her quim. She struggled not to cry out as his fingers slid over her hot, sensitive lips, making soft, sticky wet sounds that cried of her arousal.
His touch was light, too light, as if he were exploring tentatively. Jane shifted impatiently, and immediately he pulled back, rearing away onto his haunches like a pet being corrected.
She moaned in frustration and reached out, snatching his hand and bringing it firmly, sharply, to her quim. His wrist was wide and warm, and his fingers, long and slender. She curled her hand around his, showing him how to touch her, how to move sleekly through the folds of her hot, juicy labia. Stroke, slip, slide, rub… rub ….
It didn’t take long for him to learn how to tease and tickle, playing with her little tight pearl and fingering her swollen opening. When he slipped a digit deep inside, Jane arched in surprise and pleasure, biting her lip to keep from crying out.
He paused for a moment, but she lifted her hips and he understood, plunging his finger in deeper, up to the knuckle, sliding right along beneath the sensitive hood of her little pearl. She shifted and moved, riding him, reaching for his arm to hold onto, wondering where his cock was…wanting to feel and touch him somehow in the blaze of red heat that had her writhing and shuddering against him. She found his shoulders, wide and muscular, damp and warm, clutching them. He tightened beneath her touch, his muscles bunching and shifting as she pulled him closer…holding on for dear life. Her tiny pearl was ready, hard and exposed, bumping against his hand, and she ground against him, panting, gasping for release. Please, oh please, ohplease….
When he drew away his hand before she finished, Jane wanted to scream…but her cry was choked off when he planted his hands on her thighs and held her in place. Open. Her fingers fell away from his shoulders as he bent