Part 41 (1/2)

To her eyes, it was enormous, with the swollen head a good deal wider across than the shaft.

He pressed his palms against the sleeping bag. ”You're still the one in control,” he said, his voice gritty.

She nodded but some part of her mind was shocked and amazed that she was still lying in the tent beside him. Her throat had turned so dry that she could hardly swallow. But somehow she stayed where she was. And when she dared to look at more than that one part of him, she saw that he was still lying with his palms pressed against the sleeping bag.

”That frightens you,” he said in a hoa.r.s.e voice.

She moistened her lips. ”Yes.”

”Well, we can put it back in my pants.”

”No.”

”Okay, then. Anything you want to do to me will feel wonderful.”

”You trust me that much?”

”Yes.”

She had learned that a man could say one thing and mean another. But Logan lay staring up at her with a look of total confidence in his eyes. She knew he had made himself vulnerable to her as few men would dare to do, and that was enough to tighten her throat muscles.

”What should I do?” she whispered.

”That's up to you,” he said, his fingers clenching the sleeping bag.

She pressed her hand to his flat stomach, feeling the muscles jump. Then she stroked his chest, playing with his nipples the way he had played with hers, gratified by his response.

It took a few moments before she could slide her hand lower again, over the flat plane of his belly, threading her fingers through the thatch of dark hair, working her way toward the base of his p.e.n.i.s. Tentatively, she stroked one finger up the length of the hardened flesh, tracing the ridge of a vein.

He didn't speak again. He didn't move. Yet she sensed the tension radiating from him.

Before she could stop herself, she closed her hand around the hot shaft and heard him make a strangled exclamation.

She half expected him to rear up and push her backward so that he'd come down on top of her. But he stayed where he was, still giving her permission to do anything she wanted-or nothing.

It was that permission which emboldened her. Letting her own sensual needs guide her, she squeezed him-first gently, then with more force. He hardened even further under her touch, until his p.e.n.i.s became a velvet-covered steel rod.

”That feels good,” she whispered.

He laughed. ”At this end, too.”

She clasped him more tightly, playing with him, experimenting to see what he liked best. As she moved her hand up and down, she felt his whole body go rigid.

”Tell me how to give you the same pleasure you gave me.”

”Harder. Can you do it harder. And faster,” he gasped out.

She did as he asked. And if she had any doubt left that she was doing the right thing, it evaporated when his hips rose off the sleeping bag, straining upward.

She could hear his breathing, fast and heavy and full of groans cut short by the next gasp for breath.