Mackenzie's Pleasure (12 page)

determination.

"Yes, I do."

He moved his hands to his belt. "Then I'd better—"

Instantly she stopped him, pushing his hands up and away, forcing them down on each

side of his head. "I'll do it," she said, more fiercely than she'd intended. This was her show.

"All right," he murmured, and again she knew that he understood. Her show, her control,

every step of the way. He relaxed against the blanket, closing his eyes as if he was going to

take a nap.

It was easier, knowing he wasn't watching her, which of course had been his intention.

Barrie didn't want to fumble, didn't want to underline her inexperience any more than she

already had, so before she reached for his belt she studied the release mechanism for a

moment to make certain she understood it. She didn't give herself time to lose her nerve. She

simply reached out, opened the belt and unfastened his pants. Under the pants were black

swim trunks. Puzzled, Barrie stared at them. Swim trunks?

Then she understood. He was a SEAL; the acronym stood for SEa, Air and Land. He

was at home in all three elements, capable of swimming for miles. Since Benghazi was a

seaport, that was probably how his team had infiltrated, from the sea. Maybe they'd used some

sort of boat to reach land, but it was possible they'd been dropped off some distance from the

port and had swum the rest of the way.

He had risked his life to save her, was still doing so, and now he was giving her his body.

Everything inside her squeezed tight, and she trembled from the rush of emotion. Oh, God.

She had learned more about herself in the past twenty-four hours than in the entire past twentyfive years of her life. Perhaps the experience had changed her. Either way, something had

happened inside her, something momentous, and she was learning how to deal with it.

She had let her father wrap her in a suffocating blanket of protection for fifteen years;

she couldn't blame him for it, because she'd
needed
that blanket. But that time was past. Fate

had pitched her headlong into life, ripped her out of her protective cocoon, and like a butterfly,

she couldn't draw the silken threads back around her. All she could do was reach out for the

unknown.

She slipped her hands under the waistband of the swim trunks and began working them,

and his pants, down his hips. He levered his pelvis off the ground to aid her. "Don't take

them all the way off," he murmured, still keeping his eyes closed and his hands resting

beside his head. "I can handle things if I get caught with my pants down, but if they're

completely off, it would slow me down some."

Despite her nervousness, Barrie smiled at that supreme self-confidence, the wry

humor. If he wasn't so controlled, he could be described as cocky. He had no doubt

whatsoever about his fighting ability.

Her hands stroked down his buttocks as she slipped her hands inside his garments. An

unexpected frisson of pleasure rippled through her at the feel of his butt, cool and smooth,

hard with muscle, lush connoisseurs would envy her the moment, and she wished she had

the nerve to linger, to fully appreciate this male perfection. Instead she tugged at his clothes,

pulling them down to the middle of his thighs. He relaxed, letting his hips settle on the blanket

again, and Barrie studied the startling reality of a naked man. She'd read books that described

sexual arousal, but seeing it firsthand, and at close range, was far more impressive and wondrous.

Blindly she reached out, her hand drawn as if by a magnet. She touched him, stroking

one fingertip down the length of his swollen sex. It pulsed and jerked upward, as if following

the caress. He inhaled sharply. His reaction wanned her, and the tightness in her chest, her

body, clenched once more, then began to loosen with that rush of warmth. Bolder now, she

folded her fingers around him, gently sighing with pleasure as she felt the heat beneath the

coolness, iron beneath silk, the urgent throbbing.

And she felt her own desire, rushing like a heated river through her flesh, turning angry

determination into love-making.
This is how it should be,
she thought with relief; they should

come together in pleasure, not in anger. And she didn't want to wait, didn't want to give

herself time to reconsider, or she would lose her nerve.

Swiftly she straddled him, mounted him. No longer in anger at other men, no longer in

desperation.
Pleasure,
warm and sweet. With her knees clasping his hips, acting on instinct,

she held the thick shaft in position and slowly sank down on him, guiding their bodies

together.

The first brush of his flesh against hers was hot, startling, and she instinctively jerked

herself upright, away from the alien touch. Zane quivered, the barest ripple of reaction, then

once more lay motionless between her legs, his eyes still closed, letting her proceed at her own

pace.

Her chest was so constricted she could barely breathe; she sucked in air in quick little

gasps. That contact, brief as it had been, had touched off an insistent throbbing between her

legs, as if her body, after its initial startled rejection, had paused in instinctive recognition of

female for male. Her breasts felt tight and feverish beneath the black fabric of his shirt. Alien,

yes... but infinitely exciting. Desire wound through her, the river rising.

She told herself that she was prepared for the sudden acute sense of vulnerability, for her

body's panic at the threat of penetration, even though desire was urging her on to that very

conclusion. More gingerly, she settled onto him again, holding herself steady as she placed him

against the entrance to her body and let her weight begin to impale her on the throbbing

column of flesh.

The discomfort began immediately and was worse than she'd expected. She halted her

movement, gulping as she tried to control her instinctive flinching away from the source of

pain. He was breathing deeply, too, she noticed, though that was the only motion he made.

She pushed harder, gritting her teeth against the burning sensation of being stretched, and

then she couldn't bear any more and jerked herself off him. This time the discomfort between

her legs didn't go away but continued to burn.

It wasn't going to get any better, she told herself. She might as well go ahead and do it.

Breathing raggedly, once more she lowered herself onto him. Tears burned in her eyes as she

struggled to complete the act. Why wouldn't it just go
in?
The pressure between her legs was

enormous, intolerable, and a sob caught in her throat as she surged upward.

"Help me," she begged, her voice almost inaudible.

Slowly his eyes opened, and she almost flinched at the pale fire that burned there. He

moved just one hand, the right one. Gently he touched her cheek, his callused fingertips rough

and infinitely tender; then he trailed them down her throat and lightly over the shirt to her

left breast, where they lingered for a heart-stopping moment at her nipple, then finally down to

the juncture of her legs.

The caress was as light as a whisper. It lingered between her legs, teasing, brushing,

stroking. She went very still, her body poised as she concentrated on this new sensation.

Her eyes closed as all her senses focused on his hand and what it was doing, the way he

was touching her. It was delicious, but not... quite... enough. He tantalized her with the

promise of something more, something that was richer, more powerful, and yet that lightly

stroking finger never quite touched her where she wanted. Barrie inhaled deeply, her

nipples rising in response. Her entire body hung in suspense. She waited, waited for the gentle

touch to brush her with ecstasy, waited.... Her hips moved, her body instinctively seeking,

following his finger.

Ah.
There. Just for a moment,
there,
A low moan bubbled up in her throat as pleasure

shot through her. She waited for him to repeat the caress, but instead his fingers moved

maddeningly close, teasing and retreating. Again her hips followed, and again she was

rewarded by that lightning flash of pure sensation.

A subtle, sensual dance began. He led, and she followed. The just-right touches came

more often, the pleasure became more shattering as the intensity built with each repetition.

Between her legs, his male shaft still probed for entrance, and somehow each movement of her

hips seemed to ease him a bit closer to that goal. Her body rocked, swaying in the ancient

rhythm of desire, surging and retreating like the tides. She could feel him stretching her,

feel the discomfort sharpened by her movements. . .and yet the desire lured her onward like a

Lorelei, and somehow she began to need him inside her, need him to the point that the pain no

longer mattered. She braced her hands on his chest, and her movements changed, lifting and

falling rather than swaying side to side. His touch changed, too, suddenly pressing directly on

the place where she most wanted it.

She bit her lip to keep from crying out. His thumb rubbed insistently, releasing a

torrent, turning the warm river into something wild and totally beyond her control. She was

so hot that she was burning up with desire, aching with emptiness. The pain no longer

mattered; she had to have what his body promised, what hers needed. With a low moan she

pressed downward, forcing her soft flesh to admit the intruder. She felt the resistance, the

inner giving; then suddenly his hot, swollen sex pushed up inside her.

It hurt. It hurt a lot. She froze in place, and her eyes flew open, huge with distress. Their

gazes locked, hers dark with pain, his burning with ruthlessly restrained desire. Suddenly she

became aware of how taut the muscled body beneath her was, how much his control was

costing him. But he had promised to let her set the pace, and he had kept that promise, moving

only when she had asked for help.

Part of her wanted to stop, but a deeper, more powerful instinct kept her astride him. She

could feel him throbbing inside her, feel the answering tightening of her body, as if the

flesh knew more than the mind, and perhaps it did. He tensed even more. His skin gleamed

with sweat, his heartbeat hammered beneath her palm. She felt a jolt of excitement at having

this supremely male, incredibly dangerous warrior as hers to command, just for this time

suspended from reality. They had met only hours ago; they had only hours left before they

would likely never see each other again. But for now he was hers, embedded inside her,

and she wasn't going to forgo a moment of the experience.

"What do I do now?" she whispered.

"Just keep moving," he whispered in return, and she did.

Rising. Falling. Lifting herself almost off him, then sinking down. Over and over, until

she forgot about the pain and lost herself in the primeval joy. His hand remained between

her legs, continuing the caress that urged her onward, even though she no longer needed to be

urged. She moved on him, faster and faster, taking him deeper and deeper. His powerful body

flexed between her thighs, arching, and a growl rumbled in his throat. Immediately he forced

himself to lie flat again, chained by his promise.

Up. Down. Again. And again, the crescendo building inside her, the heat rising to an

unbearable fever, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, until she felt as if she would shatter

if she moved another muscle. She froze in place over him, whimpering, unable to push herself

over the final hurdle.

The growl rumbled in his throat again. No, deeper than a growl; it was the sound of a

human volcano exploding from the forces pent up inside. His control broke, and he moved,

fiercely clamping both hands on her hips and pulling her down hard even as he arched once

more and thrust himself in her to the hilt. He hadn't gone so deep before; she hadn't taken that

much of him. The sensation was electric. She stifled a scream as he convulsed beneath her,

heaving upward between her thighs, lifting her so that her knees left the ground. His head

was thrown back, his neck corded with the force of his release, his teeth bared. Barrie felt the

hot spurting of his release, felt him so deep inside her that he was touching the very center of

her being, and it was enough to push her over the edge.

Pure lightning speared through her. She heard herself cry out, a thin cry of ecstasy that

nothing could stifle. All her inner muscles contracted around him, relaxed, squeezed again,

over and over, as if her body was drinking from his.

Finally the storm subsided, leaving her weak and shaking. Her bones had turned to

jelly, and she could no longer sit upright. Helplessly she collapsed forward, folding on him

like a house of cards caught in an earthquake. He caught her, easing her down so that she lay

on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her as she lay there gasping and sobbing. She

hadn't meant to cry, didn't understand why the tears kept streaming down her face. "Zane," she

whispered, and couldn't say anything more.