Playing With Fire

Using his thumbs to spread her wider, he homed in on her clitoris, working her with his tongue. Bit by bit he felt the tension ratchet tighter until her entire body was strung taut. As the tension snapped, allowing the first quivers of release to set her limbs trembling, he changed tactics and sucked, holding her fast as she bucked and shuddered against him – wringing throaty curses and every last pulse of pleasure from her until her hands fell away from his hair and she was nothing more than a twitching, gasping wreck.

He surged to his feet, dug into his hip pocket and wrenched out his wallet, fingers scrabbling to locate the condom there. Laid out before him like an erotic dream in the half-light, Annabel was limp, dazed, so beautifully fuckable in her state of dishabille that he knew there was still no time to get naked. He needed to get inside her before he exploded in his own pants.

Condom found, he tossed the wallet aside and attacked the fastenings of his jeans, relying on brute force rather than finesse to get the job done in record time.

‘Hurry,’ Annabel sighed from the bed, starting to reach for him.

With the taste of her fresh on his tongue and the scent of her in his nose driving him mad, if she touched him now, this was over. ‘Stay where you are,’ he ordered, desperation putting an almost comical squeak into his voice.

His erection sprang free as he shoved the denim and his boxers down his thighs. He had to grit his teeth and mentally recite the Periodic Table as he rolled the condom on. He was so hard, so ready, he almost couldn’t stand to touch himself for fear of losing it.

And then he was climbing onto the bed, settling himself between Annabel’s sprawled legs and guiding himself to her entrance. He kissed her as he pushed inside, swallowing her moans and feeding her some of his own.

‘God, yes. So good,’ he breathed against her open lips. Hot. Tight. She felt every bit as good as he remembered.

No. Better than that. Much, much better …

Christ. His breath stalled. She felt too good. Keeping the pace of that first slide into her slick heat measured was all he could manage. As soon as he was all the way in, his control snapped.

‘Annabel,’ he gasped. He pulled back and drove into her again.

Her fierce ‘Yes!’ had him doing it again, and again. Each forward thrust picking up force, every withdrawal growing shorter, until his hips pumped like a piston.

With a string of half-coherent stutterings and her hands on his arse, urging him on, Annabel met his thrusts, arching up against him when he hit deep. The movement crushed her breasts hard against his chest, making him want to hold their soft weight. Shifting his palms to cup her, he discovered to his dissatisfaction that there were too many clothes in the way. Impatient, he found the hem of her shirt and in one move swept it all the way up to her chest. When he reached her bra, he simply hooked his thumbs under it and pushed that up as well.

Then her breasts were in his hands. Deliciously plump and warm – so soft against his palms, except for the hard points of her nipples.

He ducked his head and closed his mouth over one pale-pink tip as his fingers plucked and rolled its twin. With a ragged cry Annabel surged against him. He answered by sliding one hand under her hip to cradle the cheek of her bottom and tilt her pelvis up for greater penetration.

God, he was in paradise. The last time he’d had his hands on her bare, satiny skin like this, she’d been bruised and battered and he’d had to handle her with the utmost care. Before that, they’d barely had time to get to know each other carnally and he’d had to keep the force of his passions, the darker drives, under strict control. Now she was whole, healed, those passions were stirring, demanding to be sated. He wanted to take her, all of her. Wanted to overwhelm and ruin her … in the best possible way. So that all her past experiences meant nothing. So that she wouldn’t be able to contemplate any future ones that didn’t feature him. Only him.

On that covetous thought, he came. Holy hell, how he came. The rip of pleasure was almost brutal, blurring his vision, choking his voice. Clutching Annabel so tight she wheezed, he locked himself as deep as he could go and erupted hotly until the energy began to drain from him like water down a plughole, leaving him on the verge of collapse.

Muscles quivering, he listed to one side, pulling Annabel with him, nowhere near ready to withdraw from the warm haven of her body. Rolling onto his back, he held her half draped over him and sucked in air.

A grin split wide as he blinked up at the ceiling. Smooth work, Flynn, he congratulated himself wryly. Very smooth. For a man who was wired towards the slower side of seduction, to the sensual games of erotic dominance, he’d certainly displayed some masterful control skills there.

He managed to raise his head off the mattress long enough to plant a kiss on the top of Annabel’s hair. Oh, yeah – with his jeans bunched around his knees and his shoes still on, he’d really shown her who was boss, all right. No woman had ever robbed him of his usual self-possession the way she did. He’d have to work on that.

Not quite yet though. For the moment, he was very happy where he was. Which was lucky, as he doubted he currently had the ability to do much else beyond fall flat on his face.

Chapter Three (#ulink_6861aceb-f099-5885-89da-ba5d5631cbb9)

Annabel awoke screaming, her wide-open eyes taking only a fraction of a second to register that something was wrong.

No light.

Only darkness. Shadows.

God, where was it – where was the light to stop the spectres of her dream closing in, to keep the dark shapes from looming? She yelped as the shadows above her moved … and then she screamed again when something touched her arm.

This time the nightmare was real.

She kicked and thrashed in terror and suddenly the shape recoiled.

‘Jesus! Annabel …’

She rolled onto her hands and knees, scrambled to the far side of the bed and half fell to the floor, ready to run.

‘Annabel. It’s all right.’

That voice – soft, gentle – made her pause.

‘It’s me, a mhuirnín. Aidan.’

Aidan? The mad swirl of adrenalin and fear made it impossible to pin the word to a coherent thought.

The shadowy figure moved to the bedside. With a click, light flooded the room and Annabel’s knees nearly gave out with relief. Tall and lean, his black hair mussed around his handsome face, it was Aidan. Of course – he’d brought her home after work, asked to stay the night after they’d jumped on each other like rampant rabbits.

Shaking, she reached for the bed and sat down heavily before she fell down. ‘Why the hell did you turn off the lights?’

After a short pause, she heard him move around the bed behind her. ‘You were sleeping,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know they were supposed to be kept on.’

God, what must he think she sounded like? A scared child afraid of the dark. Pathetic. She leaned forward, rested her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands. ‘It doesn’t matter. It was just a bad dream.’

She sensed him coming to stop beside her. ‘It was that all right,’ he said softly. ‘Get back under the covers now before you get cold.’

Raising her head from her hands, she noticed that goosebumps were already springing up on her arms and legs. She guessed running around stark naked in the middle of a February night in England would do that. Casting a glance at Aidan she found he was also naked, although he showed no signs of feeling the cold; not surprising when he always radiated such warmth.

She’d had her first real reminder of that warmth earlier, when he’d eventually pulled from her body, turned on her bedside light and undressed them both. After tucking her under the covers, he’d climbed in the opposite side of the bed and settled her against the bare skin of his chest, stroking her hair. She couldn’t recall much more after that. The enveloping heat and soothing caress must have carried her straight off to sleep.

Well, she didn’t feel warm or sleepy now. And she really didn’t like having someone in her private space, witnessing her humiliating loss of composure.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ Aidan advanced, hands reaching for her. ‘Anything I can get you?’

Rather than be herded back into bed, she jumped to her feet instead. ‘No, I’m fine,’ she said. And she would be, as soon as she’d had some time alone to get her shit together. ‘I, ah … need the loo.’

She detoured around him to pick up her robe and, although he said nothing further, she could feel his gaze following her. Knowing how perceptive it was, how easily it could see beneath the surface, she kept her face averted, concentrating on tying her robe as she headed for the hallway. She didn’t want to be read. Not now. ‘Don’t wait up.’

She locked herself in her tiny bathroom, sat on the toilet lid, let out a long breath and closed her eyes. She had no idea what the time was, but the grit of tiredness behind her lids told her that she hadn’t been asleep all that long. The one thing she did know about her new nocturnal pattern was that, regardless of the hour, now she was awake – that was it. No more sleep tonight.

As though in protest, her body let out a huge yawn while she wondered what to do about the situation. If she was on her own she’d hunker down on the sofa and lose the rest of the night to bad TV. But what was she supposed to do with Aidan here? Insist the light was kept on and then lie awkwardly awake beside him all night? Not that things would be that easy. Not with Aidan Flynn. He’d want to go all Spanish Inquisition on her and find out what was wrong.

But there was nothing wrong. She was fine. It wasn’t like anybody had control over what they dreamed, was it?

She almost wished she’d refused his request to stay the night. When he’d asked, she’d been senseless enough from their mad-bunny sex to let the excitement of novelty outweigh her natural resistance. She’d never had a man share her bed for the night before, had never invited one back to her place. In the past she’d always gone to them, and now she remembered why she’d lived by that rule – so that she could simply leave whenever she wanted instead of finding herself locked in her own bathroom in the middle of the night. She wondered how long it would take Aidan to fall back to sleep.

Letting out a sigh, she figured she might as well make use of the facilities to pass some time. She relieved herself and gave her hands a good wash, trying out the comprehensive, NHS-approved technique she’d seen promoted on posters at the hospital. During the rigorous cleansing, she noticed that her nails were getting a bit long. After she’d dried, she gave them a trim and file, and, as she was putting the clippers back in the cabinet, decided she might as well brush her teeth while she was at it. Teeth clean and flossed, she closed the cabinet and caught sight of her tangled hair in the mirrored door. She combed it through carefully, put it up in a loose twist and inspected the results in the mirror. Much better … except for the mascara smudged under her eyes. As she fixed that up, she was aware of the skin on her hands beginning to pull unpleasantly tight from all the soap she’d used, so she moved on to applying hand cream. Once that was thoroughly rubbed in, she decided that enough was enough. She couldn’t, wouldn’t spend the night held hostage in her own bathroom.