I found my hand sliding down the front of his body. His eyes closed again, and his head went back, as if it had been a long time for him.
Crispin seemed to read my mind. “The White Tiger Clan prides itself on being pure blooded. Our queen is happy to find black tiger blood, but most of the females of our clan won’t risk bringing a nonpure offspring into the world.”
I stared up at the man who was still looming a little over me. My hand had frozen at his upper stomach. He still had his eyes closed, but he started to turn away, started to roll over.
I stopped the movement with my hand on his shoulder and chest. “There is nothing wrong with you, Domino. You’re beautiful.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Handsome, then,” I said.
He gave me an almost shy look. “I can’t believe that.”
“Why not?”
“Because no one who’s ever mattered has treated me like it’s true.”
In that moment I knew, tired or not, I couldn’t be that tired. “I’m going to say something I will probably never say again.”
He looked at me, all cautious again.
“We only have time for a quickie.”
He grinned in surprise.
I smiled back. “I really do need to sleep before the police call me and we have to hunt the bad guys again, but I want you to know that it’s no reflection on you. You are handsome, and if what I just felt against my hip is any indication, all the body is pretty damn good.”
He actually looked embarrassed, dunking his head. I’d have estimated him at about thirty, but he was acting younger. Maybe in this one area he was, through sheer lack of experience.
I touched his face, turned him to look at me. “Make love to me.”
“Making love takes time to do it right,” he said.
I grinned. “All right, fuck me.”
He looked startled.
Crispin said, “Her pillow talk is usually straight to the point.”
I turned my head so I could frown at him.
He shrugged the one shoulder in the air. “Well, it’s true.”
I frowned harder, then turned back to Domino. “Whatever word you want to use.”
“Just like that?” he asked.
I nodded. “Just like that.”
“Why?”
“Because I want that lost look out of your eyes.”
“Why do you care what look I have in my eyes?”
“Because the wound cuts both ways.”
“What does that mean?”
“Shut up,” Crispin said, “and take the offer, so we can all sleep.”
Domino flashed him a less than friendly look, then looked back down at me. “I’ve spent my life not being able to trust the women around me. Only the survivors would touch me, never my own clan.”
“I’m a survivor,” I said.
He shook his head. “No,” and he leaned down over my hair and took a long, deep breath. “No, you smell like me: dark and light, all at the same time.”
I slid my hand farther down his body and found that he wasn’t trembling as hard as he had been; all the talking had softened things. I wrapped my hand around him and squeezed gently. It fluttered his eyes shut and sent his breath out in a sigh.
“Enough talk,” I said.
He had to swallow before he could whisper, “Okay.”
I continued to work him with my hand as he came down for a kiss, and suddenly he was kissing me. He kissed me as if my lips were food and he were starving. My hands were on his back; my legs slid down his thighs to wrap around his lower legs. He laid his full weight on top of me while we kissed, fiercely, completely. His body was back to that trembling hardness. Just the feel of him on the outside of my body, pressed between us, made me cry out.
Crispin was standing beside the bed with a condom in his hand. “Anita made me promise, after the first time we were together.”
Domino and I came out of the kiss, gasping. I stared up at Crispin as if I didn’t know who he was or what he was saying.
Domino went up on his knees, and I could suddenly see what I’d been touching. It brought an, “Oh, my God” from me.
Domino took the condom and slid it over himself. He went to all fours over me. He glanced at himself, then at my face. “We haven’t done any prep work on you, and I’m…”
I finished for him, “Not small.”
He shook his head.
Crispin said, “She’s tight, but she’ll be wet.”
I frowned at him.
“Do you need foreplay for this?” he asked, hands on hips, as if chastising me.
I thought about it. “Foreplay is lovely, but”-I looked down Domino’s body, and all I could think of was-“no, I want that inside me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, not our first time.”
“I’ll tell you if it hurts, but,” and I stopped, because no man wants to hear that you have other lovers more well endowed than he is, especially not at this moment, “Please, Domino, just fuck me. Now.”
He didn’t ask again. He let his body fall on top of mine, spreading my legs a little wider with a movement of his hips and thighs. He had to use his hand to guide himself in, but once he started, he didn’t need any more help. He was wide enough that he did have to work his way in, the first few strokes.
He started above me, on his hands, his lower body pressed between my legs, so that I could look down the line of my body and watch him push his way in and out of me. Just the sight of it made me cry out, again.
“God, you’re right, she’s so tight, but wet.”
Crispin had gone back to his side of the bed, and was simply watching. “I told you.”
Domino’s body worked me a little more open, and he could suddenly find his rhythm. I watched his body slide faster, smoother, deeper, inside mine. This was a position that if the man was of any size, it usually hit the spot, and he was, and it did.
I felt that growing weight between my legs. I whispered, “Oh, God, almost.”
“Almost what?” he asked, but not like he was really listening to the answer. His voice was breathy, and his eyes were shut with concentration.
Then between one stroke and another, that weight spilled up and over, bathing my skin in warmth and pleasure. It tore a scream from my mouth and dug my nails into his lower arms. He froze above me.
Crispin’s voice, saying, “Don’t stop.”
He started again, but he’d lost just that edge of ground. He gasped out. “I thought I’d hurt you.”
“She’s a screamer,” Crispin said.
I might have frowned at him, but Domino was back to that rhythm above me, and I didn’t care about anything else. He fought to keep that rhythm, trying for another orgasm for me, I think, but his body began to lose the smooth motion of it. His breathing grew ragged. He fought, one stroke, two, four. That weight built between my legs again.
I gasped, “Close, close again.”
He fought his body to keep pumping, and forced himself back into a smoother rhythm. I pushed myself up on my elbows, so the view was even better, and the angle a little sharper, and that was it. He spilled me over the edge again, and I screamed the pleasure of it at the ceiling.
