PROTECTION?
Bubbles of hysteria fizzed through Lara's brain. There'd been no protection from Gary's loveless demands on her, and Ric was stopping because he was worried about getting her pregnant? If it was going to happen, it would have happened last night so what difference did it make?
The only difference—the huge difference—was she wanted this with Ric…wanted it with every atom of her being. This was how it should be… what she was feeling with him…and if she didn't have it now…
'It's all right. I'm on the pill,' she rushed out in reckless disregard for whether it would provide effective protection or not. Why should she let Ric care about it when Gary…
No, she wouldn't let herself think about last night. This was tonight.
And she wanted her mind filled with Ric and the incredibly wonderful sensations of being loved instead of brutally used. She wanted to feel his hands moving over her again, caring hands, exciting sensual hands that knew how to caress, not hurt. And his mouth, kissing her with the heat of real passion—passion she could happily glory in because it felt so marvellous.
'I don't want to hurt you,' he said, his voice edged with strain. 'I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking…'
'You won't hurt me.' She believed that implicitly. It wasn't in him to hurt.
He shook his head, frowning more concern. 'If you have other bruising, Lara…'
'No. I stopped fighting,' she cried, desperate for his understanding. 'It was better not to fight. Oh God!' Her hands lifted in a desperate plea. 'Don't remind me. Don't let him come between us. Not between us. He always wins.'
But not this time. A feverish determination overrode the panic welling up. She had to stop Ric's retreat from her. Gary was not going to win tonight. Not tonight.
Her hands were trembling as she reached for the buttons on Ric's shirt, wildly intent on forcing another start to what had to be finished, her fingers fumbling but acting fast and obsessively focused. His tautly muscled chest rose and fell as she dragged the opening apart, then stood staring at what she'd laid bare, scarcely believing she'd been so bold.
He wasn't smooth-skinned like Gary. A nest of tight black curls arced between his nipples and arrowed down to the waistband of his trousers.
Somehow it made him more elementally male—very different—not polished and sophisticated. A real man. A true man. The kind of man who protected his woman.
Except she didn't want to be protected from knowing all of Ric Donato.
Did he understand now? Stunned by what she had already done, Lara was in a weird state of paralysis, still hanging on to the edges of Ric's shirt. It was an enormous relief when his hands covered hers, loosening their grip, carrying them down to her sides.
But did this mean he was about to step away? Leave her?
She looked up in agonised protest. His face looked hard, tightly drawn, and his eyes glittered, as though ablaze from some inner fire.
'Are you sure about this, Lara?'
Firm command in his voice. Unshakable control.
He was giving her the choice, insisting she have it. Not like Gary. Not one bit like Gary. A leaden weight lifted from her heart. The tight ache in her chest eased. This wasn't rejection. It was a gift being offered and a wave of intense relief washed over the frantic worry that he saw something wrong in her…too wrong for him to get more deeply involved.
'I am sure,' she cried. No pause to reconsider. 'I want you, Ric. I need you.'
Doubts raged through his mind but denying her at this point was impossible. Need, desire, whatever it was for her…he could only hope it was right to go on, that it wouldn't turn out to be terribly wrong afterward.
He lifted her hands, pressed their palms against his bared chest, felt his heart hammering as though it wanted to break free of its cage of flesh and be held by her. He fiercely cautioned himself to move slowly, give her the chance to call a halt. The violence of his own need had to be contained, channelled into giving Lara as much pleasure as he could—pleasure to blot out whatever she had endured at her husband's hands.
He had to leave her with a good memory—one that gave her hope for the future—one that taught her all men were not the same as the bastard she'd married. She was asking this of him tonight, not somewhere down the track. Ric was acutely aware of the risk that he might simply be a turning point for her, yet if it was more than that…if she had missed him down the years…
It could be right.
He wanted it to be right. He needed it to be right.
Without any haste, he undid the buttons on her pyjama top and drew it slowly over her shoulders, down her upper arms. She slid her hands down his chest, dropping them to let the garment fall to the floor. She stood absolutely motionless, tense with anticipation—or was it fear?—waiting to see how he would touch her.
Ric discarded his own shirt, making them equal, sharing the same amount of nakedness, the same vulnerability. Yet it wasn't the same because he was a man with a man's superior strength and that was all too obvious.
He took her hands again, his fingers gently stroking reassurance, intertwining with hers. He felt her relaxing, looking at him with trust.
It was all right.
She wasn't afraid of him.
He caressed her arms with a feather-light touch, loving the satin smoothness of her skin. It gleamed with a pearly sheen in the darkness which no longer seemed so dark. He could see her quite clearly, the feminine slope of her shoulders, her long graceful neck, the proud thrust of her breasts.
He traced the curves of them, learning their shape, revelling in the freedom to do it, filling his hands with her beautiful softness, his thumbs tenderly grazing over her nipples, arousing an alluring tautness.
Her breathing quickened but she didn't stop him. In fact, she reached out, tentatively touching him, surprising him further with a husky plea. 'I want to see you, too, Ric. Know all of you.'
He was happy to oblige, removing the rest of his clothes, then her pyjama pants, gliding his fingertips back over her calves, behind her knees, up her thighs, feeling her quiver under his touch but not flinching away from it. He cupped the more voluptuous curves of her bottom and drew her into full body contact with him.
She came willingly, once more winding her arms around his neck, lifting her face to be kissed, and as he rained tender kisses around her temples, on her cheeks, nose, mouth, she swayed against him in a kind of shy, experimental manner, not deliberately sensual yet it was incredibly tantalising, stoking the desire he was battling to contain.
His passion for her flared again, whipping into urgency. It was difficult to think beyond the need surging through him. Yet he had to know she was ready, too, not just exploring how it felt with him. He moved them to the bed, lifting her onto it, sliding down beside her to avoid the most tempting contact.
He kissed her breasts as he slid his hand down to the apex of her thighs, stroking to see if she would open to him. No resistance. No reluctance. She welcomed his touch with a moist heat that drove his excitement higher.
Her fingers were scrabbling through his hair, tugging, pressing, and he moved to her erratic rhythm, drawing her nipples deep into his mouth, applying suction, releasing it. Her back arched up to him. She was breathing in quick little gasps.
He shifted his body, trailing kisses down her stomach, positioning himself between her legs, moving his mouth to the centre of her sexuality, wanting to deliver maximum excitement, using all the sexual expertise he had learnt over the years, needing to show her what she should feel, gently pushing her to the pinnacle of ultimate pleasure.
She moaned, arched higher, her inner muscles convulsing against the caress of his fingers as he worked what he knew was blissful magic— enthralling, ecstatic ripples of sensation that seized every bit of consciousness, honing it toward the only possible end, the climax of all a man and woman could feel together.
'Enough…enough…please…I want you, Ric.'
Her hands plucking at his shoulders, needing to drag him up, have him inside her. He didn't have to think anymore, didn't have to hold back. He surged forward, entering her with a swift plunge as he covered her wildly arcing body, exulting in her moan of satisfaction as she felt the full power of himself going deep, answering the sweet ache, releasing the built-up tension.
Having reached the innermost heart of her, he covered her mouth with his, kissing gently, asking the question, needing her response to be positive because he'd gone past the point of no return. Her tongue tangled with his in a slow wondrous dance, almost as though she was awed by the connection.
It was enough. More than enough.
It was incredibly exhilarating feeling her body moving to match the rhythm of his, her legs goading him faster, giving herself entirely to the intensity of their union. To Ric it was the most powerfully moving act of his life—joining so intimately with Lara, feeling her welcoming him, wanting this with all her being, just as he did.
Aware she had already climaxed, Ric still held off his own as long as he could, revelling in the sensation of Lara giving herself to him with a totality that fulfilled every dream he'd ever had about her—a memory to cherish while he had to be away from her. When the tension inside him finally burst into release, Ric was riding the high of his life, and once it was over and he gathered Lara into his arms, holding her to his heart, he knew what happiness was.
Having this woman. Holding her.
Loving her.
And feeling her love for him.