to?â
âTo the bed,â he said.
I tried not to smile, but it was a losing battle.
âWhy?â Though I was pretty sure I knew why.
âSo we can have sex, lots and lots of sex, and when weâve had as much sex as we can stand, you can drop your shields and feed the ardeur now, early, so it doesnât try to rise while weâre surrounded by FBI agents.â He started carrying me toward the bed again.He carried me easily, smoothly, even though there probably wasnât twenty poundsâ difference in our weight.
I said the only thing I could think of. âYou do know how to sweet-talk a girl.â
He grinned at me. âWell, I could have said that I plan on fucking you until youâre unconscious, but then youâd just think I was bragging.â
âIâve never passed out during sex,â I said.
âThereâs got to be a first time,â he said. And we were at the foot of the bed now.
âTalk is cheap,â I said.
He threw me on the bed. Threw me suddenly and far enough that I did that squeaky girlish scream when I bounced on the bed. My pulse was in my throat suddenly. He had his tie undone and was working on the buttons of his shirt. âBet Iâll be naked first.â
âNo fair,â I said. âIâve got the shoulder holster to get off.â
He was pushing the silk suspenders off his shoulders and pulling his shirt out of his pants. âThen you better hurry.â
I hurried.
CHAPTER
7
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Micah lay back on the bed while I was still struggling out of my clothes. Seeing him naked against the pillows and the gold and white of the bedspread made me stop and stare. And, no, I didnât only stare at his groin. How could I stare at just one thing when all of him was lying there?
He didnât look that muscular clothed. You had to see him at least mostly naked to appreciate the fine play of muscle in his arms, chest, stomach, legs. Clothed, he looked delicate, especially for a man. Nude, he looked strong and somehow more . . . moresomething that clothes stole from him. His tan was dark against the cream of the bedspread, making his body stand out like it had been drawn there. His shoulders were wide, his waist and hips narrow. He was built like a swimmer, but it was his natural shape, not from any particular sport that he did.
I missed the spill of his hair around his face, but heâd left it in its braid, and I didnât tell him to take it down. Sometimes it was good not to have all that hair flying loose. It could get in the way.
I let my gaze settle last on the swell of him, so hard, so long. Long enough that he could touch his own belly button without using his hands. Thick enough that I couldnât get finger and thumb completely around him when he was at his thickest. I came back up to his face and met those eyes, the delicate curve of his face.
âYou are so beautiful,â I said.
He smiled. âShouldnât that be my line?â
I pulled at the garter belt. âYou want me to leave this and the hose on, or take them off?â
âCan you get the underwear off without the garter coming off?â he asked.
I put my thumbs under the edge of the lace panties and slipped them off. Jean-Claude had broken me of wearing the panties on the inside. He said that was only for looks. For real, you put the panties on last, so they can come off first. I didnât say that out loud, because I wasnât sure Micah really wanted to be reminded right now that I was having sex with other men. He shared well and didnât seem to mind, but talking about another lover in the midst of sex just seemed bad form.
I stood there for a moment in nothing but the garter belt, the hose, and the heels. I stood there until his eyes filled with that darkness that menâs eyes fill with in the moment they realize you wonât say no. There is something of possession in that look, something that says