"It's okay. Let me." He lifted his head, and saw that her cheeks were bright red. "I really want to taste you." He'd seen so many pictures, but he'd never understood why he'd want to taste a girl down there. But he got it now. Right now he thought he would die if he couldn't taste her, couldn't get lost in her.
He didn't wait for her to answer, but when she slowly spread her legs he knew that was her consent. He ran his tongue over her folds, then used his fingers to open her. She was like a flower, and when he found her clitoris and teased it, she made the most incredible little sounds.
She was slick and wet, and he closed his mouth over her, then felt the hard nub of her clit against his lips. He sucked and licked, and he couldn't get enough of her. And then when she started to squirm he really couldn't get enough. He kept his mouth on her, kissing and sucking, but added his finger, too, slipping one inside her, amazed at how hot and slick she was.
His cock was rock hard, and he wanted to thrust it in her, but he also wanted to finish this. To keep letting her build. And then, suddenly, she was shaking and crying out his name, and he was so damn hard because he'd made her come. He'd done that for her--given her that escape--and that was just too fucking amazing.
"Please," she said. "Dallas. Please. I want--I want more."
"Me, too." He straddled her and then he pressed the tip of his cock right against her entrance. "It's going to hurt you I think. I'm really sorry."
She nodded. "I know. It's okay. Just--go slow. Okay?"
He tried. But he was so excited. So ready. And in the end he couldn't hold back. "I'm sorry!" he cried when she sucked in air from the pain, but she just shook her head and told him not to stop. That it was okay, that it was wonderful.
Wonderful. The word washed over him right as he exploded inside her, his body quaking violently, wildly. It felt like it would last forever, and when he finally collapsed, sated, beside her, she curled up against him, her legs twined with his.
"Wow," she said.
"You're really okay?" He held her close, wanting to never let her go.
"Really. It hurt, then it got better." She smiled a little shyly. "A lot better."
"I don't ever want to hurt you."
"You couldn't," she said as she curled up against him. "Not really."
"Jane?" he said, after they'd been silent for a while.
"Yeah?"
"Do you want to do it again?"
She eased back, and he could see the desire in her eyes. "Yeah," she said. "I do."
He kissed her, and even though they were in hell, in that moment, he was happy. They might never get out of this room, but no matter what else happened, they'd been able to escape into each other.
For a few wonderful moments, they'd been free.
Dallas pressed his forehead against the cool glass and exhaled, feeling lost. Feeling alone. For long days and longer nights he and Jane had been each other's lifeline,
the point of light in a dark and horrible world.
They'd escaped into each other, worshipped each other. Found secret triggers to incredible sensations. Nothing was wrong, nothing forbidden. He'd touched her, tasted her, buried himself inside her. And it had felt more right, more real, more mature back in those weeks as a teenager than in any encounter he'd had since.
They'd saved each other then, in every possible way.
So why the hell did it feel like they would destroy each other now?
Behind the glass, Quince was still working Mueller, but Dallas no longer wanted to watch. He needed to be alone. He wanted to take a shower and shake off the melancholy that had come with the memories. He couldn't go there, couldn't go to her.
And regrets were for pussies.
The main room of the operations center housed the tech and the holding cell in which Quince was now doing his job. But there was more to this underground lair. He gave a quick nod to Liam at the computer, then headed out the side door to the hallway that led to the Spartan sleeping quarters, along with the steam room and shower.
He dropped his duffel on the cot in his quarters, then strode to the shower, situated in the only room that had been tricked out for comfort, with high end fixtures and a state-of-the-art steam feature. He stripped as he walked, then shut the door behind him and tossed his clothes on top of the marble counter.
The control panel was mounted in the wall next to the glass shower door, and he turned it on, setting the water pressure to high and cranking up the steam. As the system began to hiss, he leaned against the counter and looked at his face in the mirror--he looked tired. Worn out. And he wondered how much of it had to do with coming so close to finding his kidnapper--and how much of it had to do with coming so close to having Jane.