Part 20 (1/2)

”No touching,” she breathed. ”Not until I say.”

She thought she heard Bennett's teeth grind against each other. But he did not try to touch her again. Instead, he nearly set her aflame with his gaze as he panted like a man who'd run up a mountain. His hands gripped the woolen blanket, knuckles whitening.

Power, the likes of which London never knew, filled her. She felt mighty and female. Eve and Lilith and Isis and Aphrodite and Lakshmi. All her.

Confident that he would do as she commanded, London resumed her exploration of her body. Just under her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her skin was tight and sensitive, and she felt the narrowing of her waist, then the flare of her hips. She had not Athena's abundant curves, but that didn't trouble her, because she was herself and she was enough. Her belly was soft and feminine, a woman's belly. And when she touched herself through the chemise, touched her p.u.s.s.y, as Bennett called it, ripples of pleasure cascaded through her, ever widening. She gasped.

”I can't-” he growled. ”Have to-”

Instead of trying to touch her, Bennett ripped open his trousers. His erection was straight, full and gorgeous. He stroked himself, his large hand on his own flesh. For a few moments, their eyes were locked as they each touched themselves. Seeing how aroused he was, that she she had done that, worn away at this man's control until he was forced to pleasure himself, made London lose the fragile hold on her own desire. She tugged off her chemise. had done that, worn away at this man's control until he was forced to pleasure himself, made London lose the fragile hold on her own desire. She tugged off her chemise.

She stood before him, naked. The only man to ever see her thus.

”Touch me now,” she gasped. ”Touch me everywhere.”

His trousers disappeared in moments. Now as nude as she, he swept her up in his arms and lay her down upon the bunk. He stretched out beside her, lean and hard, and they kissed with open mouths, breathing each other in, eating each other up. Against her thigh, she felt the rigid thickness of his p.e.n.i.s, nudging her, leaving small slick trails of fluid on her skin. She'd touched him before through his clothing, but now she took him in her hand and reveled in the feel of him, the energy and life in him, and how, as she stroked him, he groaned into her mouth with the sounds of a man in ultimate rapture.

”You feel so good on my c.o.c.k,” he growled.

”p.u.s.s.y, c.o.c.k,” she whispered with a laugh. ”You will ruin my vocabulary.”

”That's not all I'll ruin. Say it again.”

”What?” she asked, feigning coyness. ”c.o.c.k?” As she said this, she stroked him, hard, giving her hand a little twist. ”p.u.s.s.y?” She did it again. His hips surged.

”What a delightful strumpet you are,” he said, though his words were guttural, hardly words at all.

”I learn from the master.”

”Oh, no,” he said with a wolfish grin. ”This is all you, my love. So is this.” His fingers dipped into her p.u.s.s.y, and she writhed. ”Mm. Very small, very tight.”

A frisson of worry. ”Too tight?”

”No such thing.” He moved over her, positioning himself between her legs, his c.o.c.k at her entrance. He circled her, coating himself in her wetness, then, with her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his shoulders, her whole body vibrating with need, he sank into her.

She arched up with a cry. He stretched her, filled her, almost to bursting, but it felt so good.

”See?” he panted. ”Perfect fit.”

London couldn't have answered him if she tried. Words were gone. Self was gone. Everything was pleasure. And when he started to move, sliding in deeper, then pulling back with an exquisite drag, London felt her body dissolve, while at the same time she was all body, all sensation.

They moved together, learning angles and rhythm. She raised to meet his thrusts, pressing her heels into the small of his back, locking her ankles together so she clasped him to her, as if he might get up and leave. The only place he seemed to want to be was inside her, as far within her as possible.

Soon, they rocked together, hardly drawing apart. Even those seconds when he slid back for another thrust were too long to bear. His skin was sweat-slick, the cords of his neck tight, ecstasy carving his face into hollows. She loved to watch him feel his pleasure, for he gave himself to it utterly. As she did.

He s.h.i.+fted his position, so that, with each plunge into her, his hips rubbed her swollen, pulsing flesh. And all at once, she was lost. The o.r.g.a.s.m hit her with the force of tempest. Everything contracted, then exploded with release, and a sound came from her she'd never heard before, a primitive cry issuing from the depths of herself, low and throaty.

Then he was gone, stiffening, groaning. On and on. London, in the after haze of her own climax, could only dimly marvel at the duration of his o.r.g.a.s.m. He, too, seemed surprised, for when it was finally over, he collapsed on top of her with a startled laugh.

”I was very naughty,” she said when at last she could form words. ”I broke the rules.”

He raised a questioning brow.

”I didn't wait for you to say I could come,” London said.

He laughed once more. It was something he did easily. ”Then we'll just have to do it all over again, bad girl.”

She kissed him, then said with a smile, ”Oh, I like being bad.”

Bennett spent most of his life avoiding expectations. They only led to disappointment, bitterness. Whenever he traveled, he kept his mind open to all possibilities, expecting nothing, glad for every and all eventuality. The same with people. He kept his expectations to a minimum, especially when it came to women. He made no demands on his lovers-other than what he exacted of them in bed, and they were eager to comply-and was happy to receive whatever was given. Everything was a gift.

But he was human, after all, and a man, so expectations were inevitable, despite his precautions. He did have certain preconceived ideas about certain paramours, and sometimes those ideas fell short while other times, he felt himself generously rewarded. A wonderful, unexpected treasure.

Yet, in his over sixteen years of s.e.xual experience, he'd never, not once, had every single one of his expectations completely and utterly decimated as they had been this night with London Harcourt.

As they lay in the narrow bunk, twined together, suspended in the honey of afterglow, Bennett marveled. He'd had his suspicions, of course. He'd known, even in the marketplace at Monastiraki, that a pa.s.sionate woman dwelt beneath the precise tailoring of her exterior. He'd seen the barely banked fires in her dark chocolate eyes. The kisses they had shared told him much the same. Here was a woman who, when given the chance, would burn down the world with the heat of herself. Taking her to bed would be an extraordinary privilege, a peerless, carnal delight.

Even that was nothing compared to the reality. Bennett was struck, awed by her. Her fearlessness. Her hunger. To see her grow and evolve before his very eyes into a woman who commanded the universe, itself.

This is what it's like to see a galaxy born, he thought. Stars and planets and life, life everywhere, filling the sky with brilliance. What could anyone do but marvel.

An unaccustomed humbleness settled over him, that he, of all men, should be witness to her evolution, that he may have even had a hand in it. h.e.l.l. If he'd known that a lifetime of dubious behavior would net him such honor, he would have started his transgressions a good deal sooner. Say, shortly after birth. He could have crawled to the neighbor's place and seduced their teenaged daughters, clad only in a nappy and a smile.

”What are you laughing about?” London asked drowsily.

”Childhood memory.”

”Something scandalous, no doubt.”

She snuggled closer, and he tightened his hold on her. She felt so d.a.m.ned good in his arms. Then he realized something.

”You didn't bite me,” he said.

She laughed, and he felt the thrum of her laughter throughout his body. ”Last night, I was trying to be quiet. Tonight, I forgot to be quiet. I'm sure everyone heard me.” Yet she didn't sound particularly upset by the idea.

”I like that I can make you forget yourself.” Made him feel like a t.i.tan, actually.

”I am entirely forgotten.” She leaned closer and nipped his shoulder. ”There. That should satisfy you.”

”Never satisfied.”

He kissed her, first her mouth, then along her jaw and onto the tender column of her neck. Under his lips, her pulse throbbed like music.

She asked, ”Have you ever been in love?”