White Horses Ch. 03

Leaving his shirt and belt where they had fallen, Doctor Ruben Portnoy grasped Maggie's hand and helped her slide across the silky coverlet, then turned and led her to the adjoining bathroom. It was spacious, done in tiny square tiles the color of the villa's adobe exterior, but Maggie had little time to admire her surroundings. Portnoy released her hand only to twist the shower knobs and strip off his remaining attire. His thumbs hooked under the waistbands of pleated khakis and white boxer briefs, shucking them off his hips and letting them drop. Then, as gloriously nude as she, he again reached for her hand.

Eyes somewhere to the east of his right pectoral, Maggie linked her fingers with his and stepped into the hot spray.

"It is okay to look," Portnoy said quietly, with some amusement.

Swallowing hard and wondering if she would soon hyperventilate, Maggie let her gaze skim his body – across the defined chest, lightly furred with sodden brown curls – down the flat abdomen, rippling now as the doctor reached for a bar of soap and a wash rag – lower still, her eyes following the tantalizing cut of muscle that arrowed downward from his hips – then swiftly over, to regard the thick musculature of one thigh. Portnoy's rich laughter caused Maggie to squeeze her eyes shut, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

"Sweet, innocent Maggie."

Portnoy grasped one slim, white shoulder and gently turned her away from him, and she felt the pleasurable rasp of the cloth across her shoulder blades. He was bathing her. And it felt good.

Oh, God.

Soap suds slid down her spine, lingering slick and heavy at the cleft of her bottom; and then she felt the press of his body as he skimmed the sudsy rag over her rib cage and up to her right breast. He rested his chin on her shoulder, the stubble sending prickles of pleasure-pain along her oversensitive nerve endings, and she gasped. And then shuddered as his lips found the place his chin had scraped, pressing there.

"Mmm?" he murmured, his hand moving the wash cloth in slow, delicious circles on her breast.

She let out her breath on a low, shaky moan, her head dropping back against his chest, and he took the opportunity to nibble the exposed curve of her neck, his teeth delicately grazing her erratic pulse.

Oh, heaven.

Now his hand circled to the other breast, arousing its tip with the cloth, his arm deliberately brushing the pebbled nipple he had already teased.

Maggie was panting now, trembling. Portnoy himself was not unmoved; she could feel his hardness pressing against the small of her back. He knew that he could have taken her then, spun her to face him and pressed her against the wall of the shower, thrusting himself inside her tightness and swallowing her cries with his mouth. Instead, he traced slow, maddening circles down her belly, smiling against her neck when she arched, restless.

And slipped the wash cloth between her legs, gratified by her sharp cry.

Maggie's knees were threatening to unhinge. Sensing this, Portnoy slipped his free arm around her slim waist, pulling her more tightly against him as his cotton-covered hand continued to work its magic between her legs.

"Ah, yes, that's beautiful," he whispered as she came, shuddering, her face turned into his bracing arm. One tiny white hand reached back to grasp at his neck, the fingers losing their grip on water-slick skin and contenting themselves with curling awkwardly around his bicep. Dipping slightly, he pressed his lips against the top of her shoulder before rubbing his face into the soft hollow of her neck. It was a curiously tender gesture. Then, discarding the rag and letting his more adventurous arm settle atop the one already at her waist, he simply held her as she regained composure by slow degrees.

When he was sure that she wouldn't wobble, he eased away and turned off the water.

"Don't you need to wash?" Maggie asked, more to break the silence than out of any deep concern for his hygiene.

Portnoy chuckled. "Actually, I had a shower only two hours ago. This was for you, to help you... relax."

"Relax," Maggie echoed faintly, clearing her throat. She was fairly certain that she was blushing from head to toe.

If Portnoy noticed his companion's embarrassment, he made no comment, casually stepping from the glass stall and handing her a towel from the rack beside the door before grabbing another for himself. Maggie rubbed the terry cloth over her shoulders and down her collarbone, sucking in a slight breath as the towel brushed her peaked nipples. The doctor, meanwhile, made efficient swipes across his chest, shoulders, and abdomen. Maggie's eyes widened as he briefly took himself in hand and passed the towel between his legs, then bent slightly to give his thigh a rub-down.

Perhaps seven inches of proud manhood curved against his stomach, the helmet wide and flaring, the shaft thick and prominently veined, the sacs dangling heavy beneath. With a renewed burst of panic, Maggie wondered if he would fit inside her.

Portnoy's lips curved as she assessed him, knowing that he had not been found lacking.

He left her to finish toweling off, tossing the bundle of wet cloth atop his shirt and belt when he reached the bed. Never one for patiently turning down the covers, he unceremoniously tossed back the comforter and top sheet, shoved most of the decorative pillows off the far side of the bed, and made himself comfortable, propping himself up on one elbow to await her entrance. Portnoy half-expected the shy girl to step into the bedroom with her towel tucked around her, but she surprised him by emerging in the nude – not that she did so with any particular flair.

In fact, Maggie picked her way across the room like a startled deer.

Maggie was acutely aware of her hands, of all things. She had a strong urge to cover herself – pointless, since he'd never seen her anything but naked – and her hands did not seem content to dangle at her sides. Finally, she ended up twisting a tendril of damp scarlet around her right index finger and thrust the unproductive left hand behind her back.

Ruben Portnoy watched the nervous gestures and felt some unnamable emotion turn over in his chest. She was so fragile in her shyness, so embarrassed by her own desires. He wanted this to be special for her.

When Portnoy gently patted the bed, Maggie awkwardly slid down beside him. Finding no handy pillow, she leaned her head on her hand, unintentionally mirroring the doctor's posture. Wordlessly, she examined his face, then dropped her eyes, her brow furrowed.

"Tell me what you are thinking," he softly commanded.

"This would be so much easier if you weren't so beautiful," Maggie automatically replied – then slapped her hand over her mouth, mortified that she had actually voiced the thought.

His deep, delighted laughter greeted her response. "You would rather I be an ugly man?" he teased.

Maggie dropped her hand and shook her head mutely, completely unable to explain.

"But you are thinking, will you be able to please me?"

Maggie's shocked eyes flew to his face. How did he know?

"You have already pleased me." His voice was soft, intimate. Cupping her jaw with his palm, he drew her toward him with the insistent pressure of fingers at her nape. "The way your body responds to me." He kissed the corner of her mouth. "The way it leaps to my touch." The hand glided over her collarbone, pressing her down. "Like this."

Delicately, he took her left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the erect bud between his fingers. Maggie's reaction was instantaneous, her spine arching, her mouth opening on a swift gasp. The doctor swallowed the tiny sound of pleasure, his tongue seeking – mating with – hers. This was not the kiss of a boy, fumbling and unsure, Maggie thought dimly. There was no tentative exploration here. She was being kissed by a man.

Then his mouth replaced his fingers, and she was beyond thought.

His tongue laved her nipple while his lips hungrily suckled. Filling his hand with the heavy underswell of her breast, Portnoy pressed more of her softness to his mouth. Teeth scraped flesh, and her body drew up like a bow string, knees and shoulders leaving the bed. His free arm lifted her further, pressing her close, while his hand stroked down her body and between her legs. He knew she would be wet. Deft fingertips parted intimate folds and dipped into her essence, then slid up to the tiny bundle of nerves at the top of her sex, stroking there. He watched her eyes go opaque.

"Ahh, Doc – Doctor," she panted.

"Ruben," he prompted.

"Ruben."

"Mm-hmm?"

But whatever she might have said was forgotten when the orgasm hit. Her thighs and belly trembled from the sweetness of it. She didn't realize that she was crying out with surprise, with wonder, and the sound of it was like music to her lover.

"Again," Ruben whispered, his fingers once more finding the wellspring of her feminine oils, gliding back to her clitoris, taking her over the edge. He held her all the tighter, and she gasped for breath, thrusting her head over his shoulder and clutching at his back as though he might save her from drowning.

Instead, he moved down her body and found her with his mouth, and Maggie thought she might die from the pleasure of it.

She pushed up to see what he was doing, and he accommodated her curiosity by flicking his tongue slowly over her clit, those grass-green eyes positively wicked as he watched her shudder, watched her body respond as much to the fact that he was watching her as to the skill of his mouth. Then she fell back, panting, her hands dragging over her face, gripping her hair, finally fisting in the bed sheets.

When he moved his mouth lower to taste her, Maggie was lost. Her hands found his hair, used her grip on all that curling silk to urge his tongue deeper. Ruben growled, galvanized by her demand, burying his face in her folds and reveling in her rough cry of pleasure as his stubble rasped against that wet velvet.

Maggie tensed. Stopped breathing. Exploded.

She was still dazed when he moved between her legs and buried himself to the hilt with one smooth thrust. He felt her hymen tear, gritted his teeth at her agonized scream.

"I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry," he murmured, pressing his lips against her temple, tasting her tears.

Sliding his arms beneath her shoulders and pillowing her head in his hands, he resisted the primal urge to pull back and plunge inside her again. His breaths came in ragged bursts as he waited for her pain to subside. When Maggie finally expelled a pent-up breath, her shoulders slumping, Ruben began to rock his hips, stroking himself within her by slow degrees. She bit her lip, squeezing her eyes closed. He watched her face intently.

"Is that okay? Am I hurting you?"

She nodded up and down; then side to side.

"Maggie, look at me."

He waited until her eyes focused on his face.

"You'll tell me if I'm hurting you, yes?"

Maggie nodded again.

Then, to distract himself: "What does this feel like to you?"

"I feel--" she searched for the word. "Full."

Ruben closed his eyes, turning his head to the side, and Maggie sensed that he was trying to collect himself. Then he was moving again, a slow rock and slide, controlling his thrusts. His bent arms shook from the effort.

"How does this feel to you?" she tentatively asked.

"God. So tight," he whispered, his voice hoarse now.

Maggie chewed her lip and wondered if that was why he looked like he was in pain.

"Is that a bad thing?" she dared to ask.

"No," he grunted. "No, that is not a bad thing."

It dawned on her that he was pacing himself for her benefit, perhaps at great cost to his own pleasure. She reached up to trace a finger along his bottom lip, and his eyes opened, questioningly.

"Ruben. Don't hold back."

"Are you sure?"

She lifted her hips to him, and it was all the answer he needed. He eased his hands out from under her head and pushed himself up, putting space between their bodies; and then he began to thrust, hips rolling sweetly as he rocked into her depths, abdomen curling down against hers with each stroke. Maggie cried out and went still, clutching his upper arms, but he didn't think she was in pain this time.

"Yes?" he panted.

"Yes!" she gasped.

With a tortured groan, he hauled her up against him and sat back on his heels, one arm locked around her back, his hand buried in her hair, the other gripping her bottom, rocking her hips against his as he bucked. Maggie wrapped her arms around his back, riding out the storm. She watched his mouth drop open, watched those green eyes go blind with pleasure – thought, "I'm giving him that." Then he found his release, emptying himself inside her, and she had never heard anything so hot as that deep, growling shout. The sound alone sent Maggie over the edge with him.

*

For a time, Ruben held Maggie against his chest, stroking her hair and trying to regain his breathing. He didn't want to let her go yet, and she seemed content to remain where she was. Finally, when his member grew flaccid and slipped from her accommodating sheath, Ruben eased her back onto the bed. And grimaced, looking for a towel, clothing – something. "Shit." Shrugging, he reached for a pillow that had somehow managed to stay on the bed, stripping off the pillow case and pressing it between Maggie's legs to staunch the flow of her blood and their combined fluids.

Maggie made a tiny sound of disgust and reached down to help him wipe, then mopped at the soiled sheets. She hadn't realized there would be so much... mess.

Ruben regarded her crinkled nose with a wry grin as he rolled off the bed and bent for the still-damp towel on the floor. "Now you have discovered the rather less romantic aspects of sex," he announced as he rubbed the terry cloth over his matted pubic hair. And tried not to wince when he saw the crimson stain of her lost innocence on his white towel.

"Somehow, they forgot to mention this whole... cleaning up part... in all the Romance novels." Her eyes suddenly glinted. "Then again, they also forgot to mention anything close to that sound you made when you came."

His grin expanded. "So you enjoyed that sound, did you?"

Maggie nodded, her eyes drinking in his tousled curls, his stubbled jaw, his smiling mouth. God, he was beautiful. His body had been intimately joined with hers not five minutes ago, and still she wanted more - wanted something deeper, something she couldn't name.

Seeing her eyes go dark with longing, Ruben slid back onto the bed, bracing his arms on either side of her body as he leaned into her lips.

"Then give me a few minutes, and I'll see if I can make that sound again."