Free The Protective Dominant by Jan Irving Page A

jerked. Tried reflexively to close her legs. He gave her a deep kiss and her eyes flared wide.
    “I can’t—”
    “Oh, but you can. ” He drank of her, the taste of chlorine from the hot tub, the cherry-flavored lubricant and the faint musky scent of her growing arousal. He kneaded her buttocks, felt her clench at each lash of his tongue. He used his fingers to anoint her with more of the cream, even as he sipped and savored as she shuddered, racked by his attention. “You can,” he breathed against her and she jerked as she came again, brought to it so easily this time since he had kept her simmering.
    He set out to make her think it was the best idea ever, allowing him to have her, plying her with his fingers, stroking until she stretched for more of his touch. When he thought she was safely moist, he reached for one of the condoms he’d also brought from inside the house.
    She watched him put it on, her eyes wide. He was deliberately unsubtle. If Jenny was frightened, he needed to know.
    Did she know that he was afraid, under his confidence? That he’d never made love to a virgin, never mind a woman who had been hurt the way Jenny had? And somehow he had to make this so hot, so wonderful for her.
    But as he watched her, he saw that she accepted what he was doing the same way she’d accepted the spreader bar, without judgment or expectation. He’d given her intense release as a reward for trusting him, for letting him have a small amount of control of her lovely virginal body.
    And now she wanted more.
    Christ, could she accept his darker impulses to dominate her innocence?
    He lifted her back into the water and then came up behind her. She’d made him come earlier, so easily, so impulsively. Usually he made it through an entire night without coming with his many lovers, but with her he ached for the completion he knew he’d find only inside her. Jenny.
    “I used to think about being here with you,” he told Jenny. “Like this.”
    She lay slumped against the wall of the tub where the jet would catch her sex when he turned it on again. She stiffened when he brought her hips against his, when his cock brushed her opening. “I’ll be gentle,” he groaned. “And if you don’t want it, God, Jenny, tell me because doing anything you don’t want will rip me up inside.”
    Something in his voice seemed to awaken her. She held his eyes and when his hand covered hers, they meshed fingers.
    He slowly began to work his heavy size into her small opening, watching her expressions, mesmerized by another person’s feelings during sex the way he’d never felt. With his usual lovers, it had been academic, a bit like watching to make sure bath water wasn’t so hot it was scalding.
    With Jenny he felt a searing need to heal her with his body. It was crazy—how could he do that? No one could do that. But he was no good with words. He cut with words, he was sarcastic and guarded with words. He didn’t know how to give to her with words what she needed.
    But his body was a well-trained instrument of pleasure. He could use it to make Jenny shatter and then to make her so glad she was in pieces so that all she’d do was give him that sleepy smile.
    Sex was how he’d found his own way out of pain. It wasn’t the best way, and it had never been about love, but he’d learned to embrace it.
    For him sex had been first a monster but then he’d forced himself to face it, to wrap his hand around it and force it to submit. He’d mastered it and so he’d mastered himself.
    It couldn’t be that way with her, he knew. It was too brutal for someone who was so sensitive. But still he had only his body to give to hers, to heal hers.
    He wanted to turn up the heat.
    Jenny floated, forced to pleasure by Taz’s hands, by the odd little bar between her legs. She burned constantly now, embarrassingly easy to ignite. She felt sexual for the first time in her life, her body heavy and pulsing, waiting to be sated again.
    Taz made