Burn: A South Beach Bodyguards Book (17 page)

Tentatively, her hand stretched out and she touched the waistband of my briefs. Just fingered it, then retreated. Her dress had bunched around her thighs and I went down to the floor, onto my knees, planting myself between hers. I ran my hands- my big, rough, callused hands- over the smooth skin of her calves, her knees, her thighs. “You’re so silky,” I said, marveling at that fact. How could she feel like warm porcelain? But she did. Like sea glass. When I got to her thighs, I could feel the taut strength of her muscles, evidence of the daily runs her friend had told me she went on.

I bent over, as my thumbs eased back and forth over her thighs, and kissed the inside of her leg right above the knee. I breathed in the scent of body lotion, a light floral that lingered on her skin. Up and down I went, touching her, exploring, kissing, avoiding the apex of her thighs. Gradually, I shifted her legs further apart, enjoying the quiet gasp she gave. Her dress was around her hips and without raising off of my knees, I shifted it up, over her stomach, up over the lush curves of her breasts, and finally over her head. She was there, before me, in a white lace bra and matching panties. The virgin. With the body of a goddess.

“Ryan,” she murmured, shifted forward, hands on my shoulders, forcing my head into her chest. “You’re driving me insane. Finish this.”

I pulled back. Her grip was easy to break. “I want to look at you. Let me look at you.” Such a pretty package. I wanted to drink my fill visually. Lifting my finger, I ran it across the swell of her breast. “And maybe you don’t know this yet, but the getting there is half the fun.”

“What I know is that I want you.”

That made me groan, my control tested. “You’ve got me.” I bent forward, caging her in with my arms, palms flat on the bed.

Isabel lay down on her back and I kissed her lips, capturing each little sigh and gasp that escaped. My right hand eased each of her bra straps down over her shoulders then popped the clasp in the back.

“Come up on the bed with me,” she murmured, when I shifted my mouth to suckle at the swell of her breast. “I want to feel you.”

She was going to feel every fucking inch of me in a few. There was no hurry as far as I was concerned. I was enjoying the slow build, the anticipation, the awe that I was doing this. Doing her. Some days take a strange twist and this was a hell of a twist.

“I would have expected you to be more patient,” I told her.

Isabel pulled a pout. “I’ve been waiting a long time.”

It was a reminder I wasn’t sure I needed. Without commenting, I moved my mouth down over her loosened bra, down her abdomen, to the waistband of those lacy white panties. I kissed her mound over the fabric, dampening it with my tongue. Isabel shifted restlessly, pushing her hips forward, forcing deeper contact. Determined to make her crazy with desire, I abandoned the apex of her thighs and went back up to her chest, totally removing her loose bra and tossing it aside. Damn, she was so gorgeous. Her back arched and her breathing was shallow.

“I’ve been wanting to suck these nipples for twenty four hours,” I told her.

“I’ve been wanting you to suck them for a year.”

It was almost too honest for me. I didn’t like the implication, the responsibility it put on me. The thought made me uneasy. So I didn’t respond. I just positioned my mouth over her and drew her nipple in, not gentle, but hard, questing, urgent. Time to kick it up a notch.

“Oh, God,” she said, sounding startled.

No one was more startled than me by this whole fucking thing. I went back and forth whether this was the worst idea I’d ever had or not, but it was too late to turn back, and that frustrated me. Made my nostrils flare. Her sweet, luscious body drove me insane and I wanted to feel her shatter, watch her eyes glaze over, see her worship me for one brief minute.

So I lowered my mouth again, and this time, not giving her any warning, I plunged my tongue deep inside her moist heat.

This couldn’t be happening. But it was. I was laying on a king size bed in the freaking Fountainbleau and Ryan Harris was licking me
everywhere
. His tongue had found its way into my panties and he was massaging over my clitoris, and at the same time he was using his hand to pinch at my nipples. Desire was clouding my thoughts, and I let my eyes drift closed briefly, just wanting to feel. To feel the strumming hum of desire in every inch of my body, to feel the tight grip of Ryan’s hand on my thigh, his other teasing my tight nipple. To feel the pool of heat that swirled between my legs, to feel breathless and anxious and overcome with the need for release. I’d been turned on before. I’d had orgasms like anyone else. But this was different.

Maybe it was because Ryan was the object of my fantasies. Maybe it was because he was a big man, dominating my space, his hands huge and powerful. Maybe it was because when you want something so much, and you get it, it takes you to a totally different head space. It was the most aware of my body I had ever been. Goosebumps rose on my skin and I shivered, not cold, but feeling hyper sensitive.

I wanted to draw it out, make it last, but he was too determined, and I couldn’t stop myself. My orgasm was sudden, consuming, yanking a cry from me as I arched up. “Oh, Ryan, yes.” It was startling to hear his name on my own lips, to see his head between my legs, to feel the all-consuming ecstasy of a shattering completion. I let it roll over me, then I just lay there, frozen, breathing hard, not wanting to move or speak or break the moment.

But Ryan didn’t let me stay immobile. He hauled my legs further apart, and pulled my butt forward so I was right on the edge of the bed. He covered my mouth with his while he teased inside me with a finger, then two. It felt like he was testing me, and that made me tense up. Awkwardness made my cheeks hot and I didn’t know where to put my hands. I started to panic, wondering if this were a mistake. With someone else I wouldn’t care so much. With Ryan, I cared too much. I didn’t want to be a bust for him, a loser sex partner. I wanted to be some kind of instant savant, which was ridiculous. If I had just let some random guy have at me, I wouldn’t have cared what he thought. I wouldn’t have wanted to impress him or feel a connection with him.

But then that would have been safe and careful and a bit like masturbation with another person present and it would have gotten the job done, but would it have been good? I had never been a hard ass, and while my quiet personality kept me from being truly vulnerable, it had also kept me from that connection I was looking for. True intimacy. This was intimate and that’s why it was uncomfortable.

Ryan broke the kiss. “Isabel.”

“Yes?”

“You have the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen.”

That distracted me from what he was doing with his fingers, but it embarrassed me. “Stop,” I whispered. “You don’t need to do that.”

“When have you ever known me to bullshit anyone?”

I liked the assumption he made that I knew him. I didn’t know him, not really, but now I was feeling him. I was feeling the hard plane of his shoulders, the softness of his short hair, the wet heat of his tongue. “You are the strong, silent type,” I said.

He gave a soft laugh, nuzzling into my neck, and on down to my nipple. He swirled his tongue over the taut nub, his breath tickling my flesh. He pulled back and blew air onto the moistness he’d left on my skin. “That’s one way to look at it.”

His head descended again and I realized his intention. My thighs instinctively clamped together. “Don’t. You can’t do that again.”

“Why the hell not?”

I jerked when his tongue flicked over my clit, his thumbs teasing me apart so he could access my inner folds more thoroughly. “Because… you can’t twice. It won’t feel good. It hurts,” I protested, even as confusion and desire dragged me into incoherency. I forgot why I wanted him to stop. The strangest burn was smoldering inside me, and I felt an ache, maybe for the first time, as a recognizable need for more than the slim plunge of his index finger. I wanted, no, I needed, a bigger, more satisfying fulfillment. His tongue and his finger worked together and I felt desperate, nails digging into his flesh, my thoughts floating in and out, like balloons I couldn’t hold onto. “Don’t,” I said again, and I couldn’t have even explained why I said that.

“Don’t what?” He asked, pulling his mouth off my hot throbbing clit. “Don’t lick you? Don’t finger you? Don’t slide inside you?”

“I…” My hips bumped forward without warning or thought from me, encouraging him to start stroking me again with his stilled finger.

He gave my clit a tiny feathery kiss, which made me tingle and just crave more. He hooked his finger inside me and before I knew what I was going to do, I was lifting my hips off the bed, driving myself onto his finger so he went deeper. I needed more, I needed… something. I needed his dick.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby, take it.” He sucked my clit, which made me groan.

“Ryan, please.”

“Are you ready?” he asked. “Do you want more?”

“Yes. Please.”

Ryan pushed me back onto the bed and before I even had time to think he was between my legs and I felt the tip of his erection pushing against me. He had a condom on, and I had no clue when he had done that. “What should I do?” I asked, because I liked information. I had studied for this moment, via books and movies and pointed questions with friends because I like to be prepared.

But there was no preparing for this.

“Just relax.” Ryan pushed inside me.

It wasn’t an easy fit. And it hurt. Ryan pulled out and pushed again two or three times while I was shocked at how uncomfortable it was, how tight the tugging was. But then suddenly my body accepted him. He went deep and I understood we had finally reached where we needed to go. He paused, and looked down at me, his expression fierce.

“Holy fuck, you feel good,” he murmured. “Remember to breathe, Is. You’re holding your breath.”

I was. I had tensed up, shocked at the invasion, the all new sensations. It felt good. Full, but good. Obeying Ryan, I let out my breath and stared up into his rugged face, his expression one of intensity, concentration. Pleasure.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded.

He hovered over me, and gave me a soft kiss. “Tell me if it’s not,” he said, his voice husky.

“Okay.” Immediately my shoulders relaxed, and my legs fell further apart. Ryan started to move inside me and I sighed, further relaxed. “That feels kind of good,” I said, the sensation intriguing, different, new. There really was no comparison to anything else I’d done before, with him or with the other select few guys I had flirted with.

“Kind of good? We can do better than that.”

Ryan lowered his head and kissed me. He filled all of my space, crowding me, moving inside me, and yet I wanted it. When his head pulled away, I craned my neck, wanting another kiss, wanting his lips on mine forever. The sensation of him stroking in and out changed, eased, felt like he was a part of me, and that was all I had ever wanted. Ryan to feel a part of me.

I was so stupid for loving him, I knew that. But right then, I didn’t care. Emotions and pleasure carried me away, distant from thought, reason, self-preservation. The tension was building inside me, and before I could fully comprehend, I was shattering. I looked at Ryan.

His eyes locked with mine. I wanted to speak, but I had no words for what I was feeling. So I said nothing. I just held on to him. And I held on to the moment, wanting to keep this, remember it. Wanting him to see in my eyes what I felt. My gratitude.

My love.

Ryan broke eye contact. He looked down at my chest and softly swore. When he looked up again he was gritting his teeth, his gaze hooded. “Told you we could do better.”

I nodded and managed to say, “Yeah.” I swallowed hard, and instinctively clamped my inner muscles on him without any thought or intention.

His eyes narrowed and he broke, teeth gritted.

It was both terrifying and beautiful, the brutal intensity of his speed, his tightly honed control, his utter ownership of my body right at that moment. I watched him, shocked at how good it felt, the recipient of all that power and masculine appreciation. The feelings were overwhelming and a tear formed in my right eye, escaping before I could contain it.

I just hoped that some day he would remember this moment the way I did– as the moment everything changed.

“W
ow,” I said when he finally came to a rest inside me, his breathing heavy. Tentatively I reached up and touched his biceps. My legs felt shaky, and I wanted to feel that hard muscular body of his. I was feeling all the feels and I was afraid to say anything else or he would perceive it as me attaching. Which I had, a long time ago, but he didn’t need to know that.