His tongue stroked hers again and he felt her little cunt muscles ripple. Oh God, yes! Moisture was welling up from inside her, as if he were licking her there instead of her mouth. They had a direct connection between their kiss and their genitals. With each sigh and each stroke, he could feel himself swelling, growing larger, longer, it seemed, with each beat of his heart, while she softened.

She was slippery. His hand moved with ease through the soft folds. He kept his touch light, delicate, trying to match strokes of his tongue with strokes of his thumb. The first time she nearly came off the bed, but he bore down with his mouth.

He lightened up. He was naturally dominant in bed, rarely letting the woman be on top, often holding her limbs down. He had to curb his nature with Grace, let her breathe, follow her lead.

Another slow journey around her labia, smiling inside at the light moan coming from the back of her throat.

Time to take the next step. She was wet. His finger was making slippery little noises as he explored the outside of her cunt. He opened his mouth wider over hers, and entered her with his finger.

Uh-oh.

Trouble.

Grace stiffened, then consciously relaxed her muscles, but Drake knew she wasn’t in that dreamy, lax state she’d been in. His finger was hurting her. She was hiding it, but he could tell.

Fuck.

She was incredibly tight, much too tight.

He lifted his head and she gave an uneasy smile. She was trying to relax her muscles around his finger, trying to breathe her way through it.

He remembered an old movie line. “Houston, we have a problem.”

That earned him a laugh.

“Sorry, I’m—”

He lay a finger across her lips. “Shhh. God, no apologies.” He slid his finger out a little, then back in. Tight little muscles clenched around him. “But if I make love to you now, I’ll hurt you, and I don’t want to do that. When was the last time you had a man…here?” He thrust his finger a little more deeply.

“Not…for a long time.” Her narrow rib cage was rising and falling rapidly.

Drake stilled, astounded. “Are American men blind, then? Or crazy?”

Grace laughed, her hands kneading his shoulder muscles. “Actually, I think American men think I’m crazy. Or eccentric beyond their comfort zone. I guess I actually stopped thinking about sex a couple of years ago.” Small frown lines appeared between ash brown eyebrows. “Is this really going to be a problem?”

Yes, but he would get around it.

Drake took her hand, lifted it to his mouth, then brought it under the drawstring of his pajama pants to fold around his cock. His breath blew out in a hiss at the feel of her hand around him. “You tell me if we have a problem.”

“God,” she whispered, her face showing shock. “I’m not—I can’t.” She sucked in a breath, her hand flexing around his cock. Experimentally, she ran it up over the head, feeling it weeping, then pulling her fist down to the base. She had to open her hand up to do it. Her touch electrified him. “What do you suggest we—”

The words were drowned in his mouth. The kiss was deeper, harder, more possessive than before, and it reverberated in both their bodies. He could feel how the kiss affected her. She clenched tightly around his finger, growing slicker by the second. And Grace could feel how his cock surged in her hand, echoing her inner muscles. She was growing wetter and so was he, the tip of his cock weeping so hard he could feel the cool air. It wasn’t all he was feeling. As he shifted so that his chest covered hers without breaking the kiss, a hot electric line raced along his spine. His balls tightened painfully. He could move his finger with ease now, in and out of her slick folds. His thumb passed over her clitoris again and she passed her own thumb over the slit at the tip of his cock that was weeping to be in her.

He felt it with every cell in his body.

“I will have my cock in you here, soon,” he breathed into her mouth, finger sliding into her deeply, so slick and hot. “But only when you are ready.”

Her hand speeded up. So did his. “I might…be ready now,” she panted.

She wasn’t ready for his cock but she was definitely ready to come.

“First you come for me,” Drake murmured against her mouth, setting up a rhythm of penetration and retreat echoed by her hand fisting his cock.

Grace gave out a little cry, almost of surprise, the walls of her cunt clenching hard, over and over as her legs shook. It pushed him right over the edge as every muscle tensed and the base of his spine exploded. He bit the pillow next to her head as he came in long, rhythmic spurts, in time with her contractions. She kept her hand around him, hot and tight, milking him as they both shook and moaned.

Finally, Drake’s muscles relaxed, felt like water as he lay half over her, one hand cupping her mound, one hand cupping her head. She released his cock finally.

Their breathing slowed, evened out.

“Well, that worked,” she finally whispered.

Drake could barely lift his head.

He rarely felt wiped out after sex. If anything, it energized him. But right now, lifting his head to give her a quick kiss seemed to be the most he could hope for. God help him when they could finally make love. It would probably kill him.

Ah, well. You had to go some time.

They lay like that, not asleep, not awake, as the room slowly filled with late-morning light. It was the first time Drake could ever remember when he hadn’t started the day early, with specific business plans. His big plan right now was to keep Grace in bed with him, making sure she got used to being naked with him, until her skin smelled of his.

He’d try again to fuck her, just as soon as he could move.

See if she loosened up a little, so he wouldn’t panic at the thought of hurting her when he entered her. It would happen, he just didn’t know when.

His head had come to rest against hers on the pillow, his lips close to the skin of her neck. Much too beautiful to resist. He moved forward the inch necessary to kiss her, breathing in deeply. He could smell her skin and his. The scent of their sex was unlike any other he’d smelled.

Grace’s hand dropped from his shoulder, making a faint plop sound as it fell to the mattress. “Drake, I think real sex is going to be too much for me. I’m not too sure I can handle it.”

He breathed in and out, slowly. Every single muscle felt lax, like water. His mind was completely empty, no thoughts at all. Only sensations, all connected with her. the feel of her silky skin under his fingertips. The scent of her skin, the sound of her breathing.

He’d traveled the world, racking up more air miles than any pilot possibly could. He’d lived in eight countries, was intimately familiar with fifteen more.

This was an entirely new country for him, a new, completely unfamiliar landscape.

He didn’t know if he could handle sex with her, either, but he was willing to try. His cock, ten minutes after an explosive orgasm, twitched at the thought. His fingers knew how she felt inside and now his cock was jealous.

You’ll get your turn, Drake wanted to tell it—and then thought that he was going crazy, talking to his own penis.

He wanted to lift his head, reassure her, but he didn’t have the energy. It was the oddest lassitude. Not the frightening weakness of being wounded. He’d been weak from blood loss only a few times and it was terrifying. When he was weak, he was instant prey.

No, this was different. His muscles weren’t weak, they were…relaxed.

How odd a feeling.

Grace’s stomach growled, loudly. Drake laughed into her neck. “I guess I know what you want. And right now, it appears that sex isn’t it.”

He could feel the slight shift in the air as she smiled. “To tell you the truth, breakfast sounds good right about now.”