His lips cruised around to her ear and made something quake inside her. 'Promise me.'
'I promise.'
He took her hand and led her through the door into the small room he used at night. It was dark. It held little more than a narrow bed, a rickety table, an ashtray he rarely used anymore.
'It shouldn't be here. I should take you somewhere.'
'No.' If it wasn't now, she'd lose her nerve. What difference did atmosphere make, when it was dark and her eyes were closed? 'This is fine.'
'We'll make it better than fine.'
He lit one of the station's emergency candles, so at least there was soft light. She couldn't know how arousing she was, standing there, tidy and terrified, prepared to give herself. To sacrifice herself, he thought grimly.
He would show her different.
'I love you, Cassie.' It didn't matter that she didn't believe him. She would. He kissed her again, slowly, deeply, patiently, putting his heart into it.
And moment after moment there was nothing but the kiss, the taste o f it, the meeting of lips, the way she softened against him.
'Hold me,' he murmured.
Obedient, wanting to please, she wrapped her arms around him. There was a little shock when she felt how hard he was, how strong. How odd it was to hold him tight against her. While his mouth moved over hers, she stroked her hands over his back.
'I want to see you.' He continued to rub his lips over her throat, even as her hands tensed on his back. He didn't mind her being shy. He found it endearing. 'You have such a 1ovely face.' His eyes stayed on it as he slowly undid the buttons of her blouse. 'Eyes like fog, and that sexy mouth.'
She blinked, thrown off enough to make no protest when he parted her blouse. No one had ever called her sexy. Then his gaze shifted downward, and the sound that rumbled in his throat had something curling hard in her stomach.
He was cupping her breasts in his hands, holding them as if they were delicate glass that could be shattered by a careless touch.
'Lovely.'
'I'm small.'
'Perfect.' He lifted his gaze to hers again. 'Just perfect.' He watched her lashes flutter when he circled her breasts, brushed his thumbs over her nipples. And his blood heated when they stiffened, when she shuddered, when her eyes opened again in surprise and went dark.
What was he doing? Why wasn't he squeezing or pulling? She felt her head spin before it fell back. Heard, with a kind of dull shock, her own moan.
'Do you have to close your eyes?' he asked her. It wasn't so difficult to keep his hands easy, after all, not on skin that was soft as silk. 'I like to watch them go cloudy when I touch you. I love to touch you, Cas-sie.'
'I can't breathe.'
'You're breathing. I can feel your heart.' He lowered his lips to her shoulder before straightening to pull off his shirt. 'Feel mine.'
My oh my, Cassie thought. He looked like something in one of those glossy magazines. All muscles and firm smooth skin. With only the slightest of hesitations, she laid a hand on his chest, and smiled. 'It's pounding. Are you ready?'
'Oh, Cassie.' Biting back a groan, he drew her into his arms, cradled her there, savored the feel of her flesh pressed against his. 'I haven't even started.'
Because she thought he meant something entirely different, her brows drew together and she swallowed her distaste and reached courageously for his crotch.
With a ripe oath, he jerked back, stuttering, as she covered herself and gaped.
'I thought you wanted... I thought you meant...' Good God, he'd been hard as rock. And huge.
He decided laughing would be better than screaming. 'Darlin', you do that again, I'm going to embarrass myself, and we'll have to start all over. If it's all the same to you, I'd just like to touch you for a while.'
'I don't mind, but you're...'
'I know what I am. You said you'd do what I want,' he reminded her, fighting to keep his voice from growing rough with need. 'I want you to look at me, look right at me now.'
When she did, he skimmed his hands over her breasts again. He could see surprised pleasure ripple over her face, hear it in her quickening breaths. So he began to murmur to her, endearments, foolishness, gauging her reaction.
When her eyes closed, he lifted her slowly off her feet, holding her suspended, trailing his mouth down from hers and over her throat, her collarbone, and at last to her breast.
Her hands clamped on his shoulders and her body arched as arrows—bullets—of hot sensation pierced through her flesh and straight to her center to burn. She shook her head, struggling to clear it.
'Devin.'
He laved his tongue over her. 'Do you want me to stop?'
'No. No.'
'Thank God.'
When she was quivering, when her hands were clutching and flexing on his skin, he lowered her to the floor again, until his mouth was fixed on hers. Her hands were fisted in his hair, her breath was coming fast. Her lips were hot.
And still she stiffened, just for an instant, when he unhooked her slacks.
She wouldn't spoil it. That she promised herself. Whatever came now didn't matter, because what came before had been so lovely. She'd never felt these pulls, these yearnings. Or she'd somehow forgotten them. His hands were hard, the palms rough, but he used them so gently on her. She would have been happy to have him go on touching her, just like this, forever. She could blissfully have drowned in those wonderful ripples of sensations.
Now he was uncovering the rest of her, and she knew it would be over soon. But he would hold her when he was done. He would hold her close and warm, she was sure of it. That would be enough.
When he picked her up and cradled her against his chest, she smiled. The candlelight was lovely, and she felt an intense sense of tenderness, of sweetness. He'd made her feel wanted. She laid her lips against his, curled her arms around his neck, keeping them there as he lowered her to the cot so that the springs squeaked under their weight.
She opened her eyes in confusion when he didn't push inside her. Instead, he was curved beside her, his eyes on her face, his hand stroking up and down her torso.
'Don't rush me,' he said mildly. 'I'm enjoying myself.'
To her astonishment, he began to talk to her about her body, her skin, her eyes, her legs. And the things he was murmuring sent flashes of new heat inside her.
She was grateful he didn't seem to need her to talk back. She was having trouble breathing again.
She was so incredibly sweet, so amazingly innocent. That was what kept his need locked away, kept his hands from taking quickly. Twelve years, he thought, listening to the way her breath caught, then burst out, when he skimmed a finger up the inside of her thigh. When a man had waited so long, he could be as patient as a saint, though his blood churned like a riptide.
He lowered his mouth to her breast again. So small, and firm, and smelling like spring. Under his lips he felt her heart thundering, felt her skin quiver. And knew he pleasured her.
He wanted to give her more, to give her everything, to know she craved as he did. So he stroked and suckled, arousing himself and her until she began to writhe under him and he knew she was climbing toward the edge. And he would be the one to show her that the fall was sweet.
It was too hot. She was burning from the inside out and couldn't keep still. She ached, and nothing she could do seemed to soothe the throbbing. Something inside her was racing for something else, and she strained away from it. It was too big, too huge, too terrifying. The air was thick, the sensations were too fast and too many. She moaned and bit down on her lip to stop the sound.
'You can yell,' Devin told her, his own voice ragged. 'You can scream if you want. Nobody can hear but me. Just let go, Cassie.'
