Killing Time Read online

  He was laughing again as he tried to wrestle her out of her garments. He was having a difficult time because she didn’t want to release his ass. He managed to pull free and she took advantage, dipping her hands instead into the open front of his jeans. His penis thrust into her hands; it was amazingly hard, curving upward, and he grunted when she touched him. Hungrily she wrapped her hand around it, delighting in the thickness, the way it jerked as she slowly stroked up and down and with her other hand reached to cradle his testicles.

  “Jesus. God. Get your clothes off,” he groaned, falling back on the bed.

  “You get them off,” she countered, concentrating on what she was doing.

  “I can’t. You’ve got me by the balls. Literally.” He groaned as she pumped him again. “Don’t make me come, not yet.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” she whispered as she released him to hurriedly pull off her own clothes and toss them aside. He helped, their hands bumping together as they generally got in each other’s way, but somehow they managed to get her clothes off and he kicked his jeans away, and they fell back naked onto the bed.

  Quick as a cat she pounced, pushing him onto his back and straddling him. He made a deep sound of pleasure as she settled on the hard ridge of his penis, enveloping it with the damp heat between her legs. He lifted his hips, trying to angle himself for entry, but she shifted away. “Not so fast. I like feeling you this way.” She settled again, sliding herself back and forth on him.

  “It’ll feel better from the inside,” he said urgently, his fingers biting into her hips.

  “We’ll get there,” she purred. “Don’t you like playing?” Teasing him was a lot of fun, she decided. It felt good to her, too, so good that she knew she could rub herself to orgasm this way.

  He made a grunting sound again. “Fuck first, play later.”

  She began laughing and he lunged up, wrapping his arms around her and rolling again, but this time he ended up on top and the head of his penis edged into her.

  All laughter stopped and he hung there above her in the darkness, waiting, waiting. Her breath caught in her lungs and heat swamped her, her entire body flushing as everything she was, everything in her, focused on the impending intrusion. Then it was there, slow and hot, pushing deep into her as her body pulsed in her eagerness to take him and hold him.

  He pulled back, almost out, then eased forward again. Her back arched and she moaned, loving that sensation. “Yes. Like that.”

  He complied, and within a minute she was writhing, almost on the verge of climax, when he halted, panting.

  “I can’t,” he said at her muttered protest. “I’m too close. You have to do it.”

  He pulled out and fell on his back, and eagerly Nikita slithered on top of him again. There was no teasing this time; she wanted him inside her again. She sank down on him as his hands closed on her breasts, and she fell into a duplicate of his rhythm, a slow up and down, enveloping, releasing, enveloping again.

  Her climax swelled, almost within reach. She was dying for it, yet perversely she wanted this to last. Each stroke became maddeningly slow, the sensation so intense she almost couldn’t bear it. Each time she sank down and he probed deep inside her, she shuddered in response, her rhythm fraying and becoming uneven.

  “Faster,” he groaned, grabbing her bottom as he bucked upward between her legs.

  His action sent him deeper yet, into the realm of discomfort. She cried out and ground down on him as her climax broke over her in strong wave after wave, arching her back, tearing cry after cry from her throat.

  He lifted her hips, pulled her back down on him, hard—once, twice, and he convulsed beneath her. Trembling, she collapsed on him while he was still holding her hips locked to him, groaning as he pulsed inside her.

  Slowly he calmed, his strong body trembling just as she trembled. His chest heaved as he fought for breath, and she tried to move aside to give him more air, but he clamped his arms around her. “Stay,” he said in a raw tone. “Like this.”

  Emotion unexpectedly swamped her, leaving her near tears. She fought the urge to cry, instead burying her face against his neck and clinging to him. Bewildered, she wondered why she wanted to cry. This had been . . . wonderful. Their bodies were on the same sexual wavelength, without a single wrong move to mar the experience. She loved the feel of him, the smell of him, and maybe the very perfection of the experience was what had her weepy.

  Their breathing slowed, became more normal. Drowsily, she nestled against him. She needed to get up, she thought; she needed to wash, and they were making an absolute mess of the bed. But she was so content right where she was, and they could always put on clean sheets . . .

  “Hey, wake up,” he murmured into her hair. He was stroking her back, her bottom, and she thought that if he wanted her to wake up, he really should stop those soothing touches. “Uh—this isn’t a great time to ask, but are you on birth control?”

  She smiled against his neck. “You mean you forgot about it?”

  “Completely.” His tone was rueful. “Are you?”

  “Yes, I have about four months left on my yearly dosage.”

  She felt his interest sharpen. “A yearly dosage? You just have to take it once a year?”

  “That’s it.”

  “But doesn’t taking it just once a year make it more likely you’ll forget?”

  “I receive an automatic notice. Everyone who signs up for the yearly control gets notified a month before the end of the dosage, then again two weeks later, then again the day before. It’s up to you whether or not you follow up, and if someone decides to stop taking birth control, they’re supposed to notify the system so it doesn’t waste time with useless notifications.”

  “Is it just for women, or for men, too?”

  “Women. The male system is different. The longest effective birth-control dosage perfected for men, so far, lasts about a month.” And far fewer men than women signed up for birth control; but no matter how the social scientists argued, the fact still remained that men didn’t get pregnant, so birth control was far more important to women. It didn’t seem fair, but there it was.

  She could practically feel the questions bubbling in him, but she placed her fingers over his mouth before he could start. “I’m so sleepy,” she whispered. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I just want to clean up and go to sleep.”

  “We can do that,” he said, finally letting her ease to the side. “It’s a waste of time, but so what; I have plenty of hot water.”

  25

  Knox woke her twice more during the night to make love. After the third time, as she began to surface from the sheer physical pleasure, her conscience awoke with a vengeance.

  It wasn’t fair of her to take advantage of his ignorance. There were certain things about her that he should know, that anyone who became close to her, whether in friendship or romance, should know. If he was then going to choose not to pursue any closer relationship, then it was better that she tell him now, at the beginning, when there wasn’t as much emotional investment. She had learned the hard way not to wait.

  After they had cleaned up yet again they returned to bed. He settled back on his pillow and pulled her close against his side, her head on his shoulder and his left arm around her. She listened to the strong, steady beat of his heart and sent up a silent prayer that this wouldn’t be the last time she was close enough to him to hear his heartbeat.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” she said before she lost her resolve.

  “That’s never good,” he commented after a moment’s pause.

  “What isn’t?”

  “Starting a conversation with those words. What follows is never anything I want to hear. Is this going to be any different?”

  “Probably not,” she whispered, dread making her throat tight.

  “If you’re married, Nikita, I swear to God—” he began with an undertone of fury.

  “No, no! I didn’t lie, I’ve never been married.”