"Now's not the time to talk about how damned weak I am around you."
She rolled the condom down his erection in a tantalizing swipe that left them both panting.
Conversation over.
Monica positioned him, stopping just shy of penetration, teasing herself against him, her slick readiness already working to welcome him even as she rocked the tip of him against her. She needed to hear him frantic for her after all the times she'd begged him to take her. To finish. But he'd always continued with his measured pace, dragging out the tension.
Suddenly she realized what had bothered her earlier. He'd always held back emotionally, as well, the physical restraint being a symbol of that. She'd wondered if life simply wasn't that deep for Jack Korba. Now she knew better. He just hadn't allowed her admittance into that part of his life.
She didn't doubt he wanted her and enjoyed the hell out of sex with her. But at least once, she wanted to make him feel as over the edge as he made her feel. This time, she wanted to torment him.
Monica eased herself down, just an inch, no more regardless of how much her body screamed at her to take all of him. She eased up again. Then back down, no farther. Never looking away from him as she repeated the teasing partial entry for endless seconds, minutes, she lost count and was close to losing the battle...
"Enough," he snapped. Not a litany of begging but the need in the one word, the near-painful clench of his fingers on her h*ps sent a bolt of satisfaction through her.
He guided her down and met her with an upward thrust of his hips. The fullness, the thick pressure held her still, him as well, until her body became accustomed to him again.
Jack moved, moved again, and oh, how he moved with driving possession, faster, deeper. The familiarity of it all swept over her with a rightness tinged by a new edge—the knowledge of what it felt like to lose this. The undeniable sense that they could still lose it all if they couldn't figure out how to be together without tearing each other apart.
And damn, but the pleasure building inside was threatening to tear her apart right now. She held back. Stemmed the tide of her orgasm already clawing deep inside her for release. His hand dropped between them, found the pulsing bundle of nerves. The battle of wills stormed and, damn him, he was going to win.
The pad of his thumb circled harder, more insistently, until—
He stopped.
His fingers left her to be replaced by the cool brush of air.
"Jack," she gasped, biting back her cry of frustration that would lead her to beg him to finish when she wanted him to be the one weak with want.
Splaying his one hand along her waist, another under her bottom, he stood, taking her with him, their bodies still joined as fully as their mouths. She swung her legs around his waist, her arms hooked around his neck.
He sure as hell wasn't weak at the moment.
"Urn, Jack? What are you—"
He walked. Pleasure rippled through her.
Oh, my, how he walked. Something she would never be able to watch him do again without thinking about this moment and the sensation of Jack's h*ps rolling with every step, nudging him deeper. Tantalizing her, increasing the building pressure then easing off without granting release, only to start the hip-rocking process all over again.
Sweat slicked her body. Or his. She wasn't sure, only knew the familiar musky scent of them together swirled around her, arousing.
"Where are we going?" Not that she particularly cared as long as he had a destination in mind for this endless torment.
She should have known he would outlast her as he always did, damn him. Her eyes fluttered open. Restraint pulled his jaw tight, turned his eyes hard.
Yes. This was costing him every bit as much as it was her. There was some victory in that at least.
He crossed the threshold into the bathroom cubicle, gently lowered her to the vanity. Cool porcelain met heated flesh. The damp warmth of his skin peeled away from her as he knelt in front of her.
Enough incentive to close her eyes again. Her fingers twisted in his hair, his hands clasping, supporting her legs, spreading her wider to accept the first tantalizing flick of his tongue.
Thank heaven for the bracing support of his shoulders against her thighs or surely she would have melted off and to the floor in a boneless mass of languid pleasure.
Her fingers fisted tighter along with the thready need to finish. Enough dragging this out, her game of enticement had turned on her. Jack's infinite patience always stretched her beyond her comfort zone into a pleasure that bordered on painful need.
More insistently, firmer, he worked her. The knowledge that she couldn't do more than moan softly without risking the intrusion of an entire security force drove her insane. A scream of release built, swelled, fuller from being repressed.
Jack, no more.