PURE PLEASURE

 

 

His kiss brushed her lips, then brushed them again on the wake of his sigh. “Don’t be afraid,” he

whispered. “This is going to be fun.”

His hands cupped her face, and his thumbs gently massaged her earlobes as he continued his soft,

whispery kisses. For a moment she let herself flow along with the thrumming sensation from his light

caresses. They felt sweet, delicious and not at all frightening. Pure pleasure.

His mouth hovered over hers for a second, and then his kiss deepened. His fingers threaded through her

hair as his hands found their way to her neck, her shoulder blades , until his arms closed around her. Pure

pleasure gave way to something more demanding as she returned the kiss.

His arms tightened around her waist and he lifted her off the counter, sliding her down his body with a

sensuous slowness, letting her feel his arousal until at last he held her just where she’d wanted to be, her

breasts tight against his chest, his hardness against her heat. She heard his breath quicken, felt the moan

rise in her own throat.

His quiet, persuasive assault seemed to last for hours. She floated on a cloud of escalating desire. A

storm was building up inside that cloud. She could feel it in the pounding of her heart, the shortness of her

breath, the waves of euphoria that swept over her.

The change in tempo wasn’t sudden, but it was definite. His mouth felt harder against hers. His tongue

explored more deeply, exciting her to play against him, thrust hers against his. His hands cupped her

buttocks, caressing them through the velvet, through the silk of her panties, molding her body ever more

closely to his.

She was aware that he was moving them toward the bedroom, engaging her in an enticing dance she

wished would last forever. They were almost there, almost there. He pushed the bedroom door open

with his elbow. Through half-closed eyes she saw the candles burning, just as she’d left them, waiting for

this moment.

It was her turn to lead now. She reached out with her hand toward the bed—and lurched suddenly to

one side.

He caught her, held her tighter. She could feel the hard pounding of his heart against her breasts. His

words rasped against her ear. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

“I can’t,” she gasped, “I can’t…”

“Hope.” It came out as a groan. “Can’t what? Can’t…”

“I can’t find the bed.”

He stood absolutely still for a second, then suddenly swept her off her feet and cradled her in his arms.

“I’ll find it, don’t you worry. Like an explorer in uncharted territory.”

Level with the foot of the bed he paused again. “You are an amazing woman, Hope Sumner.” He took a

step forward. “You have hair like copper and eyes like emeralds.” Another step. “You’re smart, you’re

cute, you’re funny.” Step, step, step. “It makes me happy just to be with you.” The last step. “And tonight

you’re mine.”

He laid her gently on the flowered coverlet and slid down beside her.

When he put his hand, such a warm, strong, smooth hand, to her throat, trailing one finger down, she

thought her heart might stop beating.

He unbuttoned the first satin button and then another. He trailed his finger across her skin, moving closer

and closer to her breasts and finally sliding it down between them.

She moved restlessly against his touch and heard his breathing quicken. Then his lips were against her

skin, just above her breasts, nudging the lace of her bra aside, moving hotly, inexorably downward.

Her nipples tingled, tightened. She moaned, raising her body to meet his kiss. He slid his hands behind

her to unfasten the strip of lace. It fell away and her breasts were open to him, open to his mouth, his

fingertips, his tongue. He teased them, circling them until she wanted to pound her fists against his back

out of pure frustration. She wanted more, so much more.

“I think you should stop doing that,” she whispered, raking her fingernails across the back of his sweater,

wanting to feel skin instead.

“Why?”

“Because it’s making me crazy.” She pulled his head away from her breasts and brought his mouth to

hers, her fingers threaded through his hair, her body searching for his.

“That’s the idea,” he managed to say before he yielded to her, giving her the kiss she wanted and

needed, hard and hot, and crushing her against the full length of his body.

More hardness, more heat. More than she could bear. She rolled over him, straddling him, hearing his

gasp of surprise.

His hands gripped her buttocks to pull her hard against his erection, and at last she was where she’d

longed to be. Almost. There was still one thing wrong with the picture. There was still too much between

them.

Slowly she sat up, still straddling him, and gazed down at him. His eyes glittered with stars of their own

in the flickering candlelight. She unbuttoned one more button, just to watch his eyes widen, then darken

with increasing excitement. Another button, then another, until she reached the waist, then she slipped the

velvet and lace off her shoulders and in her half-nakedness, gave him more of herself than she’d ever

given another man.

He seemed awed by the sight of her as his hands came up to cup her breasts, to stroke them again,

gently, then with increasing pressure. It was ecstasy, being touched like that. She leaned into his hands

and rocked against him, seeking more of him against her, feeling the tremulous beginnings of something

building inside her that was almost frightening in its intensity. When she groaned, he picked up her rhythm,

moving with her, increasing her pleasure. Her eyes lost their focus. She felt more than saw the flickering

candles, the shadows they made against the walls, the rapid bucking of his hips beneath her.

She was falling, falling into an abyss of aching delight. With a surprised cry she fell forward into his

waiting arms.

And instantly moaned, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know how that happened. I didn’t mean to … it

wasn’t the way it was supposed to…”

He tipped her over onto the coverlet and smothered her words with his lips, then lifted himself just

enough to say, “Oh, yes it was. That was so good. So good.”

She slid her mouth out from under his. “Was it really. Was it okay for me to…” He was tugging her

jumpsuit over her hips, down her thighs, and she tried to help him, only managing to get completely in his

way.

“Not just okay.” He pulled the jumpsuit away, tossed it away into some distant corner of the room and

quieted, gazing at her body, now naked except for her black lace bikini panties. “It’s … it’s…”

She’d rendered him speechless. At last he got his voice going again, and his hands.

“It’s essential.” He was breathing hard as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic of the panties and guided

them in the same direction he’d sent the jumpsuit. “Call me crazy, but I just … can’t … feel a thing…”

He tossed the panties. “…until I know you’ve had almost all you can stand at one time…”

He sat up, pulled his sweater over his head and disposed of it in one swift gesture. “And we’re nowhere

close to that point…” He unzipped his slacks and seemed to snake himself out of them, then flung back

the coverlet and nestled her into the bower of sheets where he lay beside her at last, as naked as she

was, and at last he was silent.

His voice was silent. The rest of him spoke poems of desire. For a moment she drank in the beauty and

the sheer power of him, the breadth of his shoulders, the velvet of dark curls that fanned across his chest

and dived below his narrow waist, the muscles of his legs, and most of all, the mute evidence of his need

for her. Barely giving her time to explore him with her gaze, he buried his face between her thighs,

unerringly found the spot where she still throbbed, felt swollen, and caressed it with the tip of his tongue.

She felt she was pretty close to the point that she couldn’t take any more. She was lost, lost in a pool of

animal instinct. She’d lost her ability to worry about his reaction to her—did he like the way she looked

without clothes, was he having a good time? She could feel nothing but the currents that raged inside

herself as his tongue dipped and darted, teased that tiny part of her that held the secret to her pleasure.

She was on the brink, welcoming the rising tide, when he began to move up her body, kissing and tasting

her stomach, darting his tongue into her navel. She couldn’t help the little cry that exploded from her.

He slid up and up, reaching her breasts, teasing them with his tongue in a circling dance before his mouth

closed on one nipple, then the other.

Every move of his body sent a message to the lower half of her body, where that tiny part of her was

making such urgent demands she could hardly concentrate on anything else. She nudged herself closer to

him, fluttering her fingertips over his back, his shoulders, into the silk of his hair, then returning to sink her

fingers into the crisp curls that tickled against her skin, finally searching for the one thing she wanted and

at last finding it.

When her hand closed on the hot shaft he groaned, moved within the circlet she’d made around him. He

felt so silky, so different from the rest of him. She looked at his face, his eyes half-closed, his dark hair

making damp ringlets against his forehead, his mouth swollen, his lips parted, and felt an affection for him

so strong, so sharp, that it frightened her.

“I want this. I want it now,” she whispered, wishing again for an end to the sweet pain, wanting life to go

back to normal.

“Not yet.” He seemed to struggle to speak. “Not quite yet,” as his fingertips slid back down to her

womanly core to tease, torment and then to bury themselves in her.

She arched against him, feeling the wave coming again, threatening to wash over her and carry her away,

concentrating on herself again, because she could think of nothing else but the sensation closing in on her.

It happened all of a sudden, no time to think, no time to do anything but feel, to cry out from the intensity

of the feeling because it was so much stronger than before, lifted her so much higher.

He held her tight against him until at last she fell limp against the sheets.

She opened her eyes. They were wet with tears. She held out her arms. “Now, please,” she said. “Now

you.”

His gaze probed her as his hand stroked her face, smoothed away the moisture of tears and

perspiration. His mouth moved over hers in the gentlest of kisses. She could feel the way he held himself

back, even now.

* * *

Try explaining that to his body, though, now that he’d tasted her, touched her, given her pleasure and

gotten pleasure from it himself.

Even her quick arousal, her cries of delight, couldn’t hide her lack of experience. He’d found it touching,

exhilarating, because everything she felt was real, not practiced. Tonight would mean something to her,

more than it should, because he couldn’t fit into her life plan, either. Two people as driven as they were

needed support at home, not a comet flying off in another direction to come back to earth a hundred

years later.

Try telling that to his body. Feeling a groan rise from deep inside him, he reached for the condoms he’d

dumped on the bedside table, quickly covered himself with one and rolled her over until she was

straddling him, sitting up, gazing down at him.

She touched him, her breath quickening, her eyes glittering like gems in the candlelight. She grasped the

tip and edged herself closer. His thoughts moved further and further to the background. She’d said yes.

What else mattered? She was an adult. He was an adult. Whatever happened, each of them was

responsible.

She lowered herself over him, panting, aroused, wanting in a way he’d always dreamed of a woman

wanting him. When he met the slight resistance he’d wondered about, even feared, he found the presence

of mind to say, “Are you sure? Is this what you want?”

“Yes. Oh, please, yes,” was all she said, and then it was done, he’d broken through her maidenhead, felt

his own surprise and hers, and then he entered a world of fire and flood, heat flowing like lava through his

veins.

He could feel her tears falling on his chest, but she seemed unaware of them as she rocked with him, lost

in her own apparent pleasure and need. His breathing quickened as the pressure built up inside him. He

fought it down, struggling to hold back, desperate with the need to let go, but wanting her to share it with

him. He held back until her sharp cry sounded in the quiet room and she collapsed against his chest, and

at last he succumbed, holding on to her for dear life.

When the storm had let up, he rolled her to his side, not letting go. “You okay?” he whispered. His voice

was funny, didn’t work very well.

“Oh, yes, very, very, very okay.” She hesitated, then whispered brokenly, “And very glad to be a

woman.”

“I am, too,” he rasped against her hair. “Glad you’re a woman.”

“You gave me so much before you took anything for yourself.”

She couldn’t imagine how much he’d taken for himself. “For a woman,” he said, smiling in the darkness,

“the pleasure is infinite. For a man…”

Even as he spoke he felt himself hardening, felt the need rising again, wondered if he would frighten her

by giving in to it. “A man,” he began again, “has to wait, oh, two or three minutes in between.” And he

gave up, gave in, reveling in her soft, surprised laughter as she pulled him tight against her.PURE PLEASURE
H
is kiss brushed her lips, then brushed them again on the wake of his sigh. “Don’t be afraid,” he
whispered. “This is going to be fun.”
His hands cupped her face, and his thumbs gently massaged her earlobes as he continued his soft,
whispery kisses. For a moment she let herself flow along with the thrumming sensation from his light
caresses. They felt sweet, delicious and not at all frightening. Pure pleasure.
His mouth hovered over hers for a second, and then his kiss deepened. His fingers threaded through her
hair as his hands found their way to her neck, her shoulder blades , until his arms closed around her. Pure
pleasure gave way to something more demanding as she returned the kiss.
His arms tightened around her waist and he lifted her off the counter, sliding her down his body with a
sensuous slowness, letting her feel his arousal until at last he held her just where she’d wanted to be, her
breasts tight against his chest, his hardness against her heat. She heard his breath quicken, felt the moan
rise in her own throat.
His quiet, persuasive assault seemed to last for hours. She floated on a cloud of escalating desire. A
storm was building up inside that cloud. She could feel it in the pounding of her heart, the shortness of her
breath, the waves of euphoria that swept over her.
The change in tempo wasn’t sudden, but it was definite. His mouth felt harder against hers. His tongue
explored more deeply, exciting her to play against him, thrust hers against his. His hands cupped her
buttocks, caressing them through the velvet, through the silk of her panties, molding her body ever more
closely to his.
She was aware that he was moving them toward the bedroom, engaging her in an enticing dance she
wished would last forever. They were almost there, almost there. He pushed the bedroom door open
with his elbow. Through half-closed eyes she saw the candles burning, just as she’d left them, waiting for
this moment.
It was her turn to lead now. She reached out with her hand toward the bed—and lurched suddenly to
one side.
He caught her, held her tighter. She could feel the hard pounding of his heart against her breasts. His
words rasped against her ear. “What’s wrong? You okay?”
“I can’t,” she gasped, “I can’t…”
“Hope.” It came out as a groan. “Can’t what? Can’t…”
“I can’t find the bed.”
He stood absolutely still for a second, then suddenly swept her off her feet and cradled her in his arms.
“I’ll find it, don’t you worry. Like an explorer in uncharted territory.”
Level with the foot of the bed he paused again. “You are an amazing woman, Hope Sumner.” He took a
step forward. “You have hair like copper and eyes like emeralds.” Another step. “You’re smart, you’re
cute, you’re funny.” Step, step, step. “It makes me happy just to be with you.” The last step. “And tonight
you’re mine.”
He laid her gently on the flowered coverlet and slid down beside her.
When he put his hand, such a warm, strong, smooth hand, to her throat, trailing one finger down, she
thought her heart might stop beating.
He unbuttoned the first satin button and then another. He trailed his finger across her skin, moving closer
and closer to her breasts and finally sliding it down between them.
She moved restlessly against his touch and heard his breathing quicken. Then his lips were against her
skin, just above her breasts, nudging the lace of her bra aside, moving hotly, inexorably downward.
Her nipples tingled, tightened. She moaned, raising her body to meet his kiss. He slid his hands behind
her to unfasten the strip of lace. It fell away and her breasts were open to him, open to his mouth, his
fingertips, his tongue. He teased them, circling them until she wanted to pound her fists against his back
out of pure frustration. She wanted more, so much more.
“I think you should stop doing that,” she whispered, raking her fingernails across the back of his sweater,
wanting to feel skin instead.
“Why?”
“Because it’s making me crazy.” She pulled his head away from her breasts and brought his mouth to
hers, her fingers threaded through his hair, her body searching for his.
“That’s the idea,” he managed to say before he yielded to her, giving her the kiss she wanted and
needed, hard and hot, and crushing her against the full length of his body.
More hardness, more heat. More than she could bear. She rolled over him, straddling him, hearing his
gasp of surprise.
His hands gripped her buttocks to pull her hard against his erection, and at last she was where she’d
longed to be. Almost. There was still one thing wrong with the picture. There was still too much between
them.
Slowly she sat up, still straddling him, and gazed down at him. His eyes glittered with stars of their own
in the flickering candlelight. She unbuttoned one more button, just to watch his eyes widen, then darken
with increasing excitement. Another button, then another, until she reached the waist, then she slipped the
velvet and lace off her shoulders and in her half-nakedness, gave him more of herself than she’d ever
given another man.
He seemed awed by the sight of her as his hands came up to cup her breasts, to stroke them again,
gently, then with increasing pressure. It was ecstasy, being touched like that. She leaned into his hands
and rocked against him, seeking more of him against her, feeling the tremulous beginnings of something
building inside her that was almost frightening in its intensity. When she groaned, he picked up her rhythm,
moving with her, increasing her pleasure. Her eyes lost their focus. She felt more than saw the flickering
candles, the shadows they made against the walls, the rapid bucking of his hips beneath her.
She was falling, falling into an abyss of aching delight. With a surprised cry she fell forward into his
waiting arms.
And instantly moaned, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know how that happened. I didn’t mean to … it
wasn’t the way it was supposed to…”
He tipped her over onto the coverlet and smothered her words with his lips, then lifted himself just
enough to say, “Oh, yes it was. That was so good. So good.”
She slid her mouth out from under his. “Was it really. Was it okay for me to…” He was tugging her
jumpsuit over her hips, down her thighs, and she tried to help him, only managing to get completely in his
way.
“Not just okay.” He pulled the jumpsuit away, tossed it away into some distant corner of the room and
quieted, gazing at her body, now naked except for her black lace bikini panties. “It’s … it’s…”
She’d rendered him speechless. At last he got his voice going again, and his hands.
“It’s essential.” He was breathing hard as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic of the panties and guided
them in the same direction he’d sent the jumpsuit. “Call me crazy, but I just … can’t … feel a thing…”
He tossed the panties. “…until I know you’ve had almost all you can stand at one time…”
He sat up, pulled his sweater over his head and disposed of it in one swift gesture. “And we’re nowhere
close to that point…” He unzipped his slacks and seemed to snake himself out of them, then flung back
the coverlet and nestled her into the bower of sheets where he lay beside her at last, as naked as she
was, and at last he was silent.
His voice was silent. The rest of him spoke poems of desire. For a moment she drank in the beauty and
the sheer power of him, the breadth of his shoulders, the velvet of dark curls that fanned across his chest
and dived below his narrow waist, the muscles of his legs, and most of all, the mute evidence of his need
for her. Barely giving her time to explore him with her gaze, he buried his face between her thighs,
unerringly found the spot where she still throbbed, felt swollen, and caressed it with the tip of his tongue.
She felt she was pretty close to the point that she couldn’t take any more. She was lost, lost in a pool of
animal instinct. She’d lost her ability to worry about his reaction to her—did he like the way she looked
without clothes, was he having a good time? She could feel nothing but the currents that raged inside
herself as his tongue dipped and darted, teased that tiny part of her that held the secret to her pleasure.
She was on the brink, welcoming the rising tide, when he began to move up her body, kissing and tasting
her stomach, darting his tongue into her navel. She couldn’t help the little cry that exploded from her.
He slid up and up, reaching her breasts, teasing them with his tongue in a circling dance before his mouth
closed on one nipple, then the other.
Every move of his body sent a message to the lower half of her body, where that tiny part of her was
making such urgent demands she could hardly concentrate on anything else. She nudged herself closer to
him, fluttering her fingertips over his back, his shoulders, into the silk of his hair, then returning to sink her
fingers into the crisp curls that tickled against her skin, finally searching for the one thing she wanted and
at last finding it.
When her hand closed on the hot shaft he groaned, moved within the circlet she’d made around him. He
felt so silky, so different from the rest of him. She looked at his face, his eyes half-closed, his dark hair
making damp ringlets against his forehead, his mouth swollen, his lips parted, and felt an affection for him
so strong, so sharp, that it frightened her.
“I want this. I want it now,” she whispered, wishing again for an end to the sweet pain, wanting life to go
back to normal.
“Not yet.” He seemed to struggle to speak. “Not quite yet,” as his fingertips slid back down to her
womanly core to tease, torment and then to bury themselves in her.
She arched against him, feeling the wave coming again, threatening to wash over her and carry her away,
concentrating on herself again, because she could think of nothing else but the sensation closing in on her.
It happened all of a sudden, no time to think, no time to do anything but feel, to cry out from the intensity
of the feeling because it was so much stronger than before, lifted her so much higher.
He held her tight against him until at last she fell limp against the sheets.
She opened her eyes. They were wet with tears. She held out her arms. “Now, please,” she said. “Now
you.”
His gaze probed her as his hand stroked her face, smoothed away the moisture of tears and
perspiration. His mouth moved over hers in the gentlest of kisses. She could feel the way he held himself
back, even now.
* * *
Try explaining that to his body, though, now that he’d tasted her, touched her, given her pleasure and
gotten pleasure from it himself.
Even her quick arousal, her cries of delight, couldn’t hide her lack of experience. He’d found it touching,
exhilarating, because everything she felt was real, not practiced. Tonight would mean something to her,
more than it should, because he couldn’t fit into her life plan, either. Two people as driven as they were
needed support at home, not a comet flying off in another direction to come back to earth a hundred
years later.
Try telling that to his body. Feeling a groan rise from deep inside him, he reached for the condoms he’d
dumped on the bedside table, quickly covered himself with one and rolled her over until she was
straddling him, sitting up, gazing down at him.
She touched him, her breath quickening, her eyes glittering like gems in the candlelight. She grasped the
tip and edged herself closer. His thoughts moved further and further to the background. She’d said yes.
What else mattered? She was an adult. He was an adult. Whatever happened, each of them was
responsible.
She lowered herself over him, panting, aroused, wanting in a way he’d always dreamed of a woman
wanting him. When he met the slight resistance he’d wondered about, even feared, he found the presence
of mind to say, “Are you sure? Is this what you want?”
“Yes. Oh, please, yes,” was all she said, and then it was done, he’d broken through her maidenhead, felt
his own surprise and hers, and then he entered a world of fire and flood, heat flowing like lava through his
veins.
He could feel her tears falling on his chest, but she seemed unaware of them as she rocked with him, lost
in her own apparent pleasure and need. His breathing quickened as the pressure built up inside him. He
fought it down, struggling to hold back, desperate with the need to let go, but wanting her to share it with
him. He held back until her sharp cry sounded in the quiet room and she collapsed against his chest, and
at last he succumbed, holding on to her for dear life.
When the storm had let up, he rolled her to his side, not letting go. “You okay?” he whispered. His voice
was funny, didn’t work very well.
“Oh, yes, very, very, very okay.” She hesitated, then whispered brokenly, “And very glad to be a
woman.”
“I am, too,” he rasped against her hair. “Glad you’re a woman.”
“You gave me so much before you took anything for yourself.”
She couldn’t imagine how much he’d taken for himself. “For a woman,” he said, smiling in the darkness,
“the pleasure is infinite. For a man…”
Even as he spoke he felt himself hardening, felt the need rising again, wondered if he would frighten her
by giving in to it. “A man,” he began again, “has to wait, oh, two or three minutes in between.” And he
gave up, gave in, reveling in her soft, surprised laughter as she pulled him tight against her.PURE PLEASURE
H
is kiss brushed her lips, then brushed them again on the wake of his sigh. “Don’t be afraid,” he
whispered. “This is going to be fun.”
His hands cupped her face, and his thumbs gently massaged her earlobes as he continued his soft,
whispery kisses. For a moment she let herself flow along with the thrumming sensation from his light
caresses. They felt sweet, delicious and not at all frightening. Pure pleasure.
His mouth hovered over hers for a second, and then his kiss deepened. His fingers threaded through her
hair as his hands found their way to her neck, her shoulder blades , until his arms closed around her. Pure
pleasure gave way to something more demanding as she returned the kiss.
His arms tightened around her waist and he lifted her off the counter, sliding her down his body with a
sensuous slowness, letting her feel his arousal until at last he held her just where she’d wanted to be, her
breasts tight against his chest, his hardness against her heat. She heard his breath quicken, felt the moan
rise in her own throat.
His quiet, persuasive assault seemed to last for hours. She floated on a cloud of escalating desire. A
storm was building up inside that cloud. She could feel it in the pounding of her heart, the shortness of her
breath, the waves of euphoria that swept over her.
The change in tempo wasn’t sudden, but it was definite. His mouth felt harder against hers. His tongue
explored more deeply, exciting her to play against him, thrust hers against his. His hands cupped her
buttocks, caressing them through the velvet, through the silk of her panties, molding her body ever more
closely to his.
She was aware that he was moving them toward the bedroom, engaging her in an enticing dance she
wished would last forever. They were almost there, almost there. He pushed the bedroom door open
with his elbow. Through half-closed eyes she saw the candles burning, just as she’d left them, waiting for
this moment.
It was her turn to lead now. She reached out with her hand toward the bed—and lurched suddenly to
one side.
He caught her, held her tighter. She could feel the hard pounding of his heart against her breasts. His
words rasped against her ear. “What’s wrong? You okay?”
“I can’t,” she gasped, “I can’t…”
“Hope.” It came out as a groan. “Can’t what? Can’t…”
“I can’t find the bed.”
He stood absolutely still for a second, then suddenly swept her off her feet and cradled her in his arms.
“I’ll find it, don’t you worry. Like an explorer in uncharted territory.”
Level with the foot of the bed he paused again. “You are an amazing woman, Hope Sumner.” He took a
step forward. “You have hair like copper and eyes like emeralds.” Another step. “You’re smart, you’re
cute, you’re funny.” Step, step, step. “It makes me happy just to be with you.” The last step. “And tonight
you’re mine.”
He laid her gently on the flowered coverlet and slid down beside her.
When he put his hand, such a warm, strong, smooth hand, to her throat, trailing one finger down, she
thought her heart might stop beating.
He unbuttoned the first satin button and then another. He trailed his finger across her skin, moving closer
and closer to her breasts and finally sliding it down between them.
She moved restlessly against his touch and heard his breathing quicken. Then his lips were against her
skin, just above her breasts, nudging the lace of her bra aside, moving hotly, inexorably downward.
Her nipples tingled, tightened. She moaned, raising her body to meet his kiss. He slid his hands behind
her to unfasten the strip of lace. It fell away and her breasts were open to him, open to his mouth, his
fingertips, his tongue. He teased them, circling them until she wanted to pound her fists against his back
out of pure frustration. She wanted more, so much more.
“I think you should stop doing that,” she whispered, raking her fingernails across the back of his sweater,
wanting to feel skin instead.
“Why?”
“Because it’s making me crazy.” She pulled his head away from her breasts and brought his mouth to
hers, her fingers threaded through his hair, her body searching for his.
“That’s the idea,” he managed to say before he yielded to her, giving her the kiss she wanted and
needed, hard and hot, and crushing her against the full length of his body.
More hardness, more heat. More than she could bear. She rolled over him, straddling him, hearing his
gasp of surprise.
His hands gripped her buttocks to pull her hard against his erection, and at last she was where she’d
longed to be. Almost. There was still one thing wrong with the picture. There was still too much between
them.
Slowly she sat up, still straddling him, and gazed down at him. His eyes glittered with stars of their own
in the flickering candlelight. She unbuttoned one more button, just to watch his eyes widen, then darken
with increasing excitement. Another button, then another, until she reached the waist, then she slipped the
velvet and lace off her shoulders and in her half-nakedness, gave him more of herself than she’d ever
given another man.
He seemed awed by the sight of her as his hands came up to cup her breasts, to stroke them again,
gently, then with increasing pressure. It was ecstasy, being touched like that. She leaned into his hands
and rocked against him, seeking more of him against her, feeling the tremulous beginnings of something
building inside her that was almost frightening in its intensity. When she groaned, he picked up her rhythm,
moving with her, increasing her pleasure. Her eyes lost their focus. She felt more than saw the flickering
candles, the shadows they made against the walls, the rapid bucking of his hips beneath her.
She was falling, falling into an abyss of aching delight. With a surprised cry she fell forward into his
waiting arms.
And instantly moaned, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know how that happened. I didn’t mean to … it
wasn’t the way it was supposed to…”
He tipped her over onto the coverlet and smothered her words with his lips, then lifted himself just
enough to say, “Oh, yes it was. That was so good. So good.”
She slid her mouth out from under his. “Was it really. Was it okay for me to…” He was tugging her
jumpsuit over her hips, down her thighs, and she tried to help him, only managing to get completely in his
way.
“Not just okay.” He pulled the jumpsuit away, tossed it away into some distant corner of the room and
quieted, gazing at her body, now naked except for her black lace bikini panties. “It’s … it’s…”
She’d rendered him speechless. At last he got his voice going again, and his hands.
“It’s essential.” He was breathing hard as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic of the panties and guided
them in the same direction he’d sent the jumpsuit. “Call me crazy, but I just … can’t … feel a thing…”
He tossed the panties. “…until I know you’ve had almost all you can stand at one time…”
He sat up, pulled his sweater over his head and disposed of it in one swift gesture. “And we’re nowhere
close to that point…” He unzipped his slacks and seemed to snake himself out of them, then flung back
the coverlet and nestled her into the bower of sheets where he lay beside her at last, as naked as she
was, and at last he was silent.
His voice was silent. The rest of him spoke poems of desire. For a moment she drank in the beauty and
the sheer power of him, the breadth of his shoulders, the velvet of dark curls that fanned across his chest
and dived below his narrow waist, the muscles of his legs, and most of all, the mute evidence of his need
for her. Barely giving her time to explore him with her gaze, he buried his face between her thighs,
unerringly found the spot where she still throbbed, felt swollen, and caressed it with the tip of his tongue.
She felt she was pretty close to the point that she couldn’t take any more. She was lost, lost in a pool of
animal instinct. She’d lost her ability to worry about his reaction to her—did he like the way she looked
without clothes, was he having a good time? She could feel nothing but the currents that raged inside
herself as his tongue dipped and darted, teased that tiny part of her that held the secret to her pleasure.
She was on the brink, welcoming the rising tide, when he began to move up her body, kissing and tasting
her stomach, darting his tongue into her navel. She couldn’t help the little cry that exploded from her.
He slid up and up, reaching her breasts, teasing them with his tongue in a circling dance before his mouth
closed on one nipple, then the other.
Every move of his body sent a message to the lower half of her body, where that tiny part of her was
making such urgent demands she could hardly concentrate on anything else. She nudged herself closer to
him, fluttering her fingertips over his back, his shoulders, into the silk of his hair, then returning to sink her
fingers into the crisp curls that tickled against her skin, finally searching for the one thing she wanted and
at last finding it.
When her hand closed on the hot shaft he groaned, moved within the circlet she’d made around him. He
felt so silky, so different from the rest of him. She looked at his face, his eyes half-closed, his dark hair
making damp ringlets against his forehead, his mouth swollen, his lips parted, and felt an affection for him
so strong, so sharp, that it frightened her.
“I want this. I want it now,” she whispered, wishing again for an end to the sweet pain, wanting life to go
back to normal.
“Not yet.” He seemed to struggle to speak. “Not quite yet,” as his fingertips slid back down to her
womanly core to tease, torment and then to bury themselves in her.
She arched against him, feeling the wave coming again, threatening to wash over her and carry her away,
concentrating on herself again, because she could think of nothing else but the sensation closing in on her.
It happened all of a sudden, no time to think, no time to do anything but feel, to cry out from the intensity
of the feeling because it was so much stronger than before, lifted her so much higher.
He held her tight against him until at last she fell limp against the sheets.
She opened her eyes. They were wet with tears. She held out her arms. “Now, please,” she said. “Now
you.”
His gaze probed her as his hand stroked her face, smoothed away the moisture of tears and
perspiration. His mouth moved over hers in the gentlest of kisses. She could feel the way he held himself
back, even now.
* * *
Try explaining that to his body, though, now that he’d tasted her, touched her, given her pleasure and
gotten pleasure from it himself.
Even her quick arousal, her cries of delight, couldn’t hide her lack of experience. He’d found it touching,
exhilarating, because everything she felt was real, not practiced. Tonight would mean something to her,
more than it should, because he couldn’t fit into her life plan, either. Two people as driven as they were
needed support at home, not a comet flying off in another direction to come back to earth a hundred
years later.
Try telling that to his body. Feeling a groan rise from deep inside him, he reached for the condoms he’d
dumped on the bedside table, quickly covered himself with one and rolled her over until she was
straddling him, sitting up, gazing down at him.
She touched him, her breath quickening, her eyes glittering like gems in the candlelight. She grasped the
tip and edged herself closer. His thoughts moved further and further to the background. She’d said yes.
What else mattered? She was an adult. He was an adult. Whatever happened, each of them was
responsible.
She lowered herself over him, panting, aroused, wanting in a way he’d always dreamed of a woman
wanting him. When he met the slight resistance he’d wondered about, even feared, he found the presence
of mind to say, “Are you sure? Is this what you want?”
“Yes. Oh, please, yes,” was all she said, and then it was done, he’d broken through her maidenhead, felt
his own surprise and hers, and then he entered a world of fire and flood, heat flowing like lava through his
veins.
He could feel her tears falling on his chest, but she seemed unaware of them as she rocked with him, lost
in her own apparent pleasure and need. His breathing quickened as the pressure built up inside him. He
fought it down, struggling to hold back, desperate with the need to let go, but wanting her to share it with
him. He held back until her sharp cry sounded in the quiet room and she collapsed against his chest, and
at last he succumbed, holding on to her for dear life.
When the storm had let up, he rolled her to his side, not letting go. “You okay?” he whispered. His voice
was funny, didn’t work very well.
“Oh, yes, very, very, very okay.” She hesitated, then whispered brokenly, “And very glad to be a
woman.”
“I am, too,” he rasped against her hair. “Glad you’re a woman.”
“You gave me so much before you took anything for yourself.”
She couldn’t imagine how much he’d taken for himself. “For a woman,” he said, smiling in the darkness,
“the pleasure is infinite. For a man…”
Even as he spoke he felt himself hardening, felt the need rising again, wondered if he would frighten her
by giving in to it. “A man,” he began again, “has to wait, oh, two or three minutes in between.” And he
gave up, gave in, reveling in her soft, surprised laughter as she pulled him tight against her.PURE PLEASURE
H
is kiss brushed her lips, then brushed them again on the wake of his sigh. “Don’t be afraid,” he
whispered. “This is going to be fun.”
His hands cupped her face, and his thumbs gently massaged her earlobes as he continued his soft,
whispery kisses. For a moment she let herself flow along with the thrumming sensation from his light
caresses. They felt sweet, delicious and not at all frightening. Pure pleasure.
His mouth hovered over hers for a second, and then his kiss deepened. His fingers threaded through her
hair as his hands found their way to her neck, her shoulder blades , until his arms closed around her. Pure
pleasure gave way to something more demanding as she returned the kiss.
His arms tightened around her waist and he lifted her off the counter, sliding her down his body with a
sensuous slowness, letting her feel his arousal until at last he held her just where she’d wanted to be, her
breasts tight against his chest, his hardness against her heat. She heard his breath quicken, felt the moan
rise in her own throat.
His quiet, persuasive assault seemed to last for hours. She floated on a cloud of escalating desire. A
storm was building up inside that cloud. She could feel it in the pounding of her heart, the shortness of her
breath, the waves of euphoria that swept over her.
The change in tempo wasn’t sudden, but it was definite. His mouth felt harder against hers. His tongue
explored more deeply, exciting her to play against him, thrust hers against his. His hands cupped her
buttocks, caressing them through the velvet, through the silk of her panties, molding her body ever more
closely to his.
She was aware that he was moving them toward the bedroom, engaging her in an enticing dance she
wished would last forever. They were almost there, almost there. He pushed the bedroom door open
with his elbow. Through half-closed eyes she saw the candles burning, just as she’d left them, waiting for
this moment.
It was her turn to lead now. She reached out with her hand toward the bed—and lurched suddenly to
one side.
He caught her, held her tighter. She could feel the hard pounding of his heart against her breasts. His
words rasped against her ear. “What’s wrong? You okay?”
“I can’t,” she gasped, “I can’t…”
“Hope.” It came out as a groan. “Can’t what? Can’t…”
“I can’t find the bed.”
He stood absolutely still for a second, then suddenly swept her off her feet and cradled her in his arms.
“I’ll find it, don’t you worry. Like an explorer in uncharted territory.”
Level with the foot of the bed he paused again. “You are an amazing woman, Hope Sumner.” He took a
step forward. “You have hair like copper and eyes like emeralds.” Another step. “You’re smart, you’re
cute, you’re funny.” Step, step, step. “It makes me happy just to be with you.” The last step. “And tonight
you’re mine.”
He laid her gently on the flowered coverlet and slid down beside her.
When he put his hand, such a warm, strong, smooth hand, to her throat, trailing one finger down, she
thought her heart might stop beating.
He unbuttoned the first satin button and then another. He trailed his finger across her skin, moving closer
and closer to her breasts and finally sliding it down between them.
She moved restlessly against his touch and heard his breathing quicken. Then his lips were against her
skin, just above her breasts, nudging the lace of her bra aside, moving hotly, inexorably downward.
Her nipples tingled, tightened. She moaned, raising her body to meet his kiss. He slid his hands behind
her to unfasten the strip of lace. It fell away and her breasts were open to him, open to his mouth, his
fingertips, his tongue. He teased them, circling them until she wanted to pound her fists against his back
out of pure frustration. She wanted more, so much more.
“I think you should stop doing that,” she whispered, raking her fingernails across the back of his sweater,
wanting to feel skin instead.
“Why?”
“Because it’s making me crazy.” She pulled his head away from her breasts and brought his mouth to
hers, her fingers threaded through his hair, her body searching for his.
“That’s the idea,” he managed to say before he yielded to her, giving her the kiss she wanted and
needed, hard and hot, and crushing her against the full length of his body.
More hardness, more heat. More than she could bear. She rolled over him, straddling him, hearing his
gasp of surprise.
His hands gripped her buttocks to pull her hard against his erection, and at last she was where she’d
longed to be. Almost. There was still one thing wrong with the picture. There was still too much between
them.
Slowly she sat up, still straddling him, and gazed down at him. His eyes glittered with stars of their own
in the flickering candlelight. She unbuttoned one more button, just to watch his eyes widen, then darken
with increasing excitement. Another button, then another, until she reached the waist, then she slipped the
velvet and lace off her shoulders and in her half-nakedness, gave him more of herself than she’d ever
given another man.
He seemed awed by the sight of her as his hands came up to cup her breasts, to stroke them again,
gently, then with increasing pressure. It was ecstasy, being touched like that. She leaned into his hands
and rocked against him, seeking more of him against her, feeling the tremulous beginnings of something
building inside her that was almost frightening in its intensity. When she groaned, he picked up her rhythm,
moving with her, increasing her pleasure. Her eyes lost their focus. She felt more than saw the flickering
candles, the shadows they made against the walls, the rapid bucking of his hips beneath her.
She was falling, falling into an abyss of aching delight. With a surprised cry she fell forward into his
waiting arms.
And instantly moaned, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know how that happened. I didn’t mean to … it
wasn’t the way it was supposed to…”
He tipped her over onto the coverlet and smothered her words with his lips, then lifted himself just
enough to say, “Oh, yes it was. That was so good. So good.”
She slid her mouth out from under his. “Was it really. Was it okay for me to…” He was tugging her
jumpsuit over her hips, down her thighs, and she tried to help him, only managing to get completely in his
way.
“Not just okay.” He pulled the jumpsuit away, tossed it away into some distant corner of the room and
quieted, gazing at her body, now naked except for her black lace bikini panties. “It’s … it’s…”
She’d rendered him speechless. At last he got his voice going again, and his hands.
“It’s essential.” He was breathing hard as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic of the panties and guided
them in the same direction he’d sent the jumpsuit. “Call me crazy, but I just … can’t … feel a thing…”
He tossed the panties. “…until I know you’ve had almost all you can stand at one time…”
He sat up, pulled his sweater over his head and disposed of it in one swift gesture. “And we’re nowhere
close to that point…” He unzipped his slacks and seemed to snake himself out of them, then flung back
the coverlet and nestled her into the bower of sheets where he lay beside her at last, as naked as she
was, and at last he was silent.
His voice was silent. The rest of him spoke poems of desire. For a moment she drank in the beauty and
the sheer power of him, the breadth of his shoulders, the velvet of dark curls that fanned across his chest
and dived below his narrow waist, the muscles of his legs, and most of all, the mute evidence of his need
for her. Barely giving her time to explore him with her gaze, he buried his face between her thighs,
unerringly found the spot where she still throbbed, felt swollen, and caressed it with the tip of his tongue.
She felt she was pretty close to the point that she couldn’t take any more. She was lost, lost in a pool of
animal instinct. She’d lost her ability to worry about his reaction to her—did he like the way she looked
without clothes, was he having a good time? She could feel nothing but the currents that raged inside
herself as his tongue dipped and darted, teased that tiny part of her that held the secret to her pleasure.
She was on the brink, welcoming the rising tide, when he began to move up her body, kissing and tasting
her stomach, darting his tongue into her navel. She couldn’t help the little cry that exploded from her.
He slid up and up, reaching her breasts, teasing them with his tongue in a circling dance before his mouth
closed on one nipple, then the other.
Every move of his body sent a message to the lower half of her body, where that tiny part of her was
making such urgent demands she could hardly concentrate on anything else. She nudged herself closer to
him, fluttering her fingertips over his back, his shoulders, into the silk of his hair, then returning to sink her
fingers into the crisp curls that tickled against her skin, finally searching for the one thing she wanted and
at last finding it.
When her hand closed on the hot shaft he groaned, moved within the circlet she’d made around him. He
felt so silky, so different from the rest of him. She looked at his face, his eyes half-closed, his dark hair
making damp ringlets against his forehead, his mouth swollen, his lips parted, and felt an affection for him
so strong, so sharp, that it frightened her.
“I want this. I want it now,” she whispered, wishing again for an end to the sweet pain, wanting life to go
back to normal.
“Not yet.” He seemed to struggle to speak. “Not quite yet,” as his fingertips slid back down to her
womanly core to tease, torment and then to bury themselves in her.
She arched against him, feeling the wave coming again, threatening to wash over her and carry her away,
concentrating on herself again, because she could think of nothing else but the sensation closing in on her.
It happened all of a sudden, no time to think, no time to do anything but feel, to cry out from the intensity
of the feeling because it was so much stronger than before, lifted her so much higher.
He held her tight against him until at last she fell limp against the sheets.
She opened her eyes. They were wet with tears. She held out her arms. “Now, please,” she said. “Now
you.”
His gaze probed her as his hand stroked her face, smoothed away the moisture of tears and
perspiration. His mouth moved over hers in the gentlest of kisses. She could feel the way he held himself
back, even now.
* * *
Try explaining that to his body, though, now that he’d tasted her, touched her, given her pleasure and
gotten pleasure from it himself.
Even her quick arousal, her cries of delight, couldn’t hide her lack of experience. He’d found it touching,
exhilarating, because everything she felt was real, not practiced. Tonight would mean something to her,
more than it should, because he couldn’t fit into her life plan, either. Two people as driven as they were
needed support at home, not a comet flying off in another direction to come back to earth a hundred
years later.
Try telling that to his body. Feeling a groan rise from deep inside him, he reached for the condoms he’d
dumped on the bedside table, quickly covered himself with one and rolled her over until she was
straddling him, sitting up, gazing down at him.
She touched him, her breath quickening, her eyes glittering like gems in the candlelight. She grasped the
tip and edged herself closer. His thoughts moved further and further to the background. She’d said yes.
What else mattered? She was an adult. He was an adult. Whatever happened, each of them was
responsible.
She lowered herself over him, panting, aroused, wanting in a way he’d always dreamed of a woman
wanting him. When he met the slight resistance he’d wondered about, even feared, he found the presence
of mind to say, “Are you sure? Is this what you want?”
“Yes. Oh, please, yes,” was all she said, and then it was done, he’d broken through her maidenhead, felt
his own surprise and hers, and then he entered a world of fire and flood, heat flowing like lava through his
veins.
He could feel her tears falling on his chest, but she seemed unaware of them as she rocked with him, lost
in her own apparent pleasure and need. His breathing quickened as the pressure built up inside him. He
fought it down, struggling to hold back, desperate with the need to let go, but wanting her to share it with
him. He held back until her sharp cry sounded in the quiet room and she collapsed against his chest, and
at last he succumbed, holding on to her for dear life.
When the storm had let up, he rolled her to his side, not letting go. “You okay?” he whispered. His voice
was funny, didn’t work very well.
“Oh, yes, very, very, very okay.” She hesitated, then whispered brokenly, “And very glad to be a
woman.”
“I am, too,” he rasped against her hair. “Glad you’re a woman.”
“You gave me so much before you took anything for yourself.”
She couldn’t imagine how much he’d taken for himself. “For a woman,” he said, smiling in the darkness,
“the pleasure is infinite. For a man…”
Even as he spoke he felt himself hardening, felt the need rising again, wondered if he would frighten her
by giving in to it. “A man,” he began again, “has to wait, oh, two or three minutes in between.” And he
gave up, gave in, reveling in her soft, surprised laughter as she pulled him tight against her.PURE PLEASURE
H
is kiss brushed her lips, then brushed them again on the wake of his sigh. “Don’t be afraid,” he
whispered. “This is going to be fun.”
His hands cupped her face, and his thumbs gently massaged her earlobes as he continued his soft,
whispery kisses. For a moment she let herself flow along with the thrumming sensation from his light
caresses. They felt sweet, delicious and not at all frightening. Pure pleasure.
His mouth hovered over hers for a second, and then his kiss deepened. His fingers threaded through her
hair as his hands found their way to her neck, her shoulder blades , until his arms closed around her. Pure
pleasure gave way to something more demanding as she returned the kiss.
His arms tightened around her waist and he lifted her off the counter, sliding her down his body with a
sensuous slowness, letting her feel his arousal until at last he held her just where she’d wanted to be, her
breasts tight against his chest, his hardness against her heat. She heard his breath quicken, felt the moan
rise in her own throat.
His quiet, persuasive assault seemed to last for hours. She floated on a cloud of escalating desire. A
storm was building up inside that cloud. She could feel it in the pounding of her heart, the shortness of her
breath, the waves of euphoria that swept over her.
The change in tempo wasn’t sudden, but it was definite. His mouth felt harder against hers. His tongue
explored more deeply, exciting her to play against him, thrust hers against his. His hands cupped her
buttocks, caressing them through the velvet, through the silk of her panties, molding her body ever more
closely to his.
She was aware that he was moving them toward the bedroom, engaging her in an enticing dance she
wished would last forever. They were almost there, almost there. He pushed the bedroom door open
with his elbow. Through half-closed eyes she saw the candles burning, just as she’d left them, waiting for
this moment.
It was her turn to lead now. She reached out with her hand toward the bed—and lurched suddenly to
one side.
He caught her, held her tighter. She could feel the hard pounding of his heart against her breasts. His
words rasped against her ear. “What’s wrong? You okay?”
“I can’t,” she gasped, “I can’t…”
“Hope.” It came out as a groan. “Can’t what? Can’t…”
“I can’t find the bed.”
He stood absolutely still for a second, then suddenly swept her off her feet and cradled her in his arms.
“I’ll find it, don’t you worry. Like an explorer in uncharted territory.”
Level with the foot of the bed he paused again. “You are an amazing woman, Hope Sumner.” He took a
step forward. “You have hair like copper and eyes like emeralds.” Another step. “You’re smart, you’re
cute, you’re funny.” Step, step, step. “It makes me happy just to be with you.” The last step. “And tonight
you’re mine.”
He laid her gently on the flowered coverlet and slid down beside her.
When he put his hand, such a warm, strong, smooth hand, to her throat, trailing one finger down, she
thought her heart might stop beating.
He unbuttoned the first satin button and then another. He trailed his finger across her skin, moving closer
and closer to her breasts and finally sliding it down between them.
She moved restlessly against his touch and heard his breathing quicken. Then his lips were against her
skin, just above her breasts, nudging the lace of her bra aside, moving hotly, inexorably downward.
Her nipples tingled, tightened. She moaned, raising her body to meet his kiss. He slid his hands behind
her to unfasten the strip of lace. It fell away and her breasts were open to him, open to his mouth, his
fingertips, his tongue. He teased them, circling them until she wanted to pound her fists against his back
out of pure frustration. She wanted more, so much more.
“I think you should stop doing that,” she whispered, raking her fingernails across the back of his sweater,
wanting to feel skin instead.
“Why?”
“Because it’s making me crazy.” She pulled his head away from her breasts and brought his mouth to
hers, her fingers threaded through his hair, her body searching for his.
“That’s the idea,” he managed to say before he yielded to her, giving her the kiss she wanted and
needed, hard and hot, and crushing her against the full length of his body.
More hardness, more heat. More than she could bear. She rolled over him, straddling him, hearing his
gasp of surprise.
His hands gripped her buttocks to pull her hard against his erection, and at last she was where she’d
longed to be. Almost. There was still one thing wrong with the picture. There was still too much between
them.
Slowly she sat up, still straddling him, and gazed down at him. His eyes glittered with stars of their own
in the flickering candlelight. She unbuttoned one more button, just to watch his eyes widen, then darken
with increasing excitement. Another button, then another, until she reached the waist, then she slipped the
velvet and lace off her shoulders and in her half-nakedness, gave him more of herself than she’d ever
given another man.
He seemed awed by the sight of her as his hands came up to cup her breasts, to stroke them again,
gently, then with increasing pressure. It was ecstasy, being touched like that. She leaned into his hands
and rocked against him, seeking more of him against her, feeling the tremulous beginnings of something
building inside her that was almost frightening in its intensity. When she groaned, he picked up her rhythm,
moving with her, increasing her pleasure. Her eyes lost their focus. She felt more than saw the flickering
candles, the shadows they made against the walls, the rapid bucking of his hips beneath her.
She was falling, falling into an abyss of aching delight. With a surprised cry she fell forward into his
waiting arms.
And instantly moaned, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know how that happened. I didn’t mean to … it
wasn’t the way it was supposed to…”
He tipped her over onto the coverlet and smothered her words with his lips, then lifted himself just
enough to say, “Oh, yes it was. That was so good. So good.”
She slid her mouth out from under his. “Was it really. Was it okay for me to…” He was tugging her
jumpsuit over her hips, down her thighs, and she tried to help him, only managing to get completely in his
way.
“Not just okay.” He pulled the jumpsuit away, tossed it away into some distant corner of the room and
quieted, gazing at her body, now naked except for her black lace bikini panties. “It’s … it’s…”
She’d rendered him speechless. At last he got his voice going again, and his hands.
“It’s essential.” He was breathing hard as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic of the panties and guided
them in the same direction he’d sent the jumpsuit. “Call me crazy, but I just … can’t … feel a thing…”
He tossed the panties. “…until I know you’ve had almost all you can stand at one time…”
He sat up, pulled his sweater over his head and disposed of it in one swift gesture. “And we’re nowhere
close to that point…” He unzipped his slacks and seemed to snake himself out of them, then flung back
the coverlet and nestled her into the bower of sheets where he lay beside her at last, as naked as she
was, and at last he was silent.
His voice was silent. The rest of him spoke poems of desire. For a moment she drank in the beauty and
the sheer power of him, the breadth of his shoulders, the velvet of dark curls that fanned across his chest
and dived below his narrow waist, the muscles of his legs, and most of all, the mute evidence of his need
for her. Barely giving her time to explore him with her gaze, he buried his face between her thighs,
unerringly found the spot where she still throbbed, felt swollen, and caressed it with the tip of his tongue.
She felt she was pretty close to the point that she couldn’t take any more. She was lost, lost in a pool of
animal instinct. She’d lost her ability to worry about his reaction to her—did he like the way she looked
without clothes, was he having a good time? She could feel nothing but the currents that raged inside
herself as his tongue dipped and darted, teased that tiny part of her that held the secret to her pleasure.
She was on the brink, welcoming the rising tide, when he began to move up her body, kissing and tasting
her stomach, darting his tongue into her navel. She couldn’t help the little cry that exploded from her.
He slid up and up, reaching her breasts, teasing them with his tongue in a circling dance before his mouth
closed on one nipple, then the other.
Every move of his body sent a message to the lower half of her body, where that tiny part of her was
making such urgent demands she could hardly concentrate on anything else. She nudged herself closer to
him, fluttering her fingertips over his back, his shoulders, into the silk of his hair, then returning to sink her
fingers into the crisp curls that tickled against her skin, finally searching for the one thing she wanted and
at last finding it.
When her hand closed on the hot shaft he groaned, moved within the circlet she’d made around him. He
felt so silky, so different from the rest of him. She looked at his face, his eyes half-closed, his dark hair
making damp ringlets against his forehead, his mouth swollen, his lips parted, and felt an affection for him
so strong, so sharp, that it frightened her.
“I want this. I want it now,” she whispered, wishing again for an end to the sweet pain, wanting life to go
back to normal.
“Not yet.” He seemed to struggle to speak. “Not quite yet,” as his fingertips slid back down to her
womanly core to tease, torment and then to bury themselves in her.
She arched against him, feeling the wave coming again, threatening to wash over her and carry her away,
concentrating on herself again, because she could think of nothing else but the sensation closing in on her.
It happened all of a sudden, no time to think, no time to do anything but feel, to cry out from the intensity
of the feeling because it was so much stronger than before, lifted her so much higher.
He held her tight against him until at last she fell limp against the sheets.
She opened her eyes. They were wet with tears. She held out her arms. “Now, please,” she said. “Now
you.”
His gaze probed her as his hand stroked her face, smoothed away the moisture of tears and
perspiration. His mouth moved over hers in the gentlest of kisses. She could feel the way he held himself
back, even now.
* * *
Try explaining that to his body, though, now that he’d tasted her, touched her, given her pleasure and
gotten pleasure from it himself.
Even her quick arousal, her cries of delight, couldn’t hide her lack of experience. He’d found it touching,
exhilarating, because everything she felt was real, not practiced. Tonight would mean something to her,
more than it should, because he couldn’t fit into her life plan, either. Two people as driven as they were
needed support at home, not a comet flying off in another direction to come back to earth a hundred
years later.
Try telling that to his body. Feeling a groan rise from deep inside him, he reached for the condoms he’d
dumped on the bedside table, quickly covered himself with one and rolled her over until she was
straddling him, sitting up, gazing down at him.
She touched him, her breath quickening, her eyes glittering like gems in the candlelight. She grasped the
tip and edged herself closer. His thoughts moved further and further to the background. She’d said yes.
What else mattered? She was an adult. He was an adult. Whatever happened, each of them was
responsible.
She lowered herself over him, panting, aroused, wanting in a way he’d always dreamed of a woman
wanting him. When he met the slight resistance he’d wondered about, even feared, he found the presence
of mind to say, “Are you sure? Is this what you want?”
“Yes. Oh, please, yes,” was all she said, and then it was done, he’d broken through her maidenhead, felt
his own surprise and hers, and then he entered a world of fire and flood, heat flowing like lava through his
veins.
He could feel her tears falling on his chest, but she seemed unaware of them as she rocked with him, lost
in her own apparent pleasure and need. His breathing quickened as the pressure built up inside him. He
fought it down, struggling to hold back, desperate with the need to let go, but wanting her to share it with
him. He held back until her sharp cry sounded in the quiet room and she collapsed against his chest, and
at last he succumbed, holding on to her for dear life.
When the storm had let up, he rolled her to his side, not letting go. “You okay?” he whispered. His voice
was funny, didn’t work very well.
“Oh, yes, very, very, very okay.” She hesitated, then whispered brokenly, “And very glad to be a
woman.”
“I am, too,” he rasped against her hair. “Glad you’re a woman.”
“You gave me so much before you took anything for yourself.”
She couldn’t imagine how much he’d taken for himself. “For a woman,” he said, smiling in the darkness,
“the pleasure is infinite. For a man…”
Even as he spoke he felt himself hardening, felt the need rising again, wondered if he would frighten her
by giving in to it. “A man,” he began again, “has to wait, oh, two or three minutes in between.” And he
gave up, gave in, reveling in her soft, surprised laughter as she pulled him tight against her.PURE PLEASURE
H
is kiss brushed her lips, then brushed them again on the wake of his sigh. “Don’t be afraid,” he
whispered. “This is going to be fun.”
His hands cupped her face, and his thumbs gently massaged her earlobes as he continued his soft,
whispery kisses. For a moment she let herself flow along with the thrumming sensation from his light
caresses. They felt sweet, delicious and not at all frightening. Pure pleasure.
His mouth hovered over hers for a second, and then his kiss deepened. His fingers threaded through her
hair as his hands found their way to her neck, her shoulder blades , until his arms closed around her. Pure
pleasure gave way to something more demanding as she returned the kiss.
His arms tightened around her waist and he lifted her off the counter, sliding her down his body with a
sensuous slowness, letting her feel his arousal until at last he held her just where she’d wanted to be, her
breasts tight against his chest, his hardness against her heat. She heard his breath quicken, felt the moan
rise in her own throat.
His quiet, persuasive assault seemed to last for hours. She floated on a cloud of escalating desire. A
storm was building up inside that cloud. She could feel it in the pounding of her heart, the shortness of her
breath, the waves of euphoria that swept over her.
The change in tempo wasn’t sudden, but it was definite. His mouth felt harder against hers. His tongue
explored more deeply, exciting her to play against him, thrust hers against his. His hands cupped her
buttocks, caressing them through the velvet, through the silk of her panties, molding her body ever more
closely to his.
She was aware that he was moving them toward the bedroom, engaging her in an enticing dance she
wished would last forever. They were almost there, almost there. He pushed the bedroom door open
with his elbow. Through half-closed eyes she saw the candles burning, just as she’d left them, waiting for
this moment.
It was her turn to lead now. She reached out with her hand toward the bed—and lurched suddenly to
one side.
He caught her, held her tighter. She could feel the hard pounding of his heart against her breasts. His
words rasped against her ear. “What’s wrong? You okay?”
“I can’t,” she gasped, “I can’t…”
“Hope.” It came out as a groan. “Can’t what? Can’t…”
“I can’t find the bed.”
He stood absolutely still for a second, then suddenly swept her off her feet and cradled her in his arms.
“I’ll find it, don’t you worry. Like an explorer in uncharted territory.”
Level with the foot of the bed he paused again. “You are an amazing woman, Hope Sumner.” He took a
step forward. “You have hair like copper and eyes like emeralds.” Another step. “You’re smart, you’re
cute, you’re funny.” Step, step, step. “It makes me happy just to be with you.” The last step. “And tonight
you’re mine.”
He laid her gently on the flowered coverlet and slid down beside her.
When he put his hand, such a warm, strong, smooth hand, to her throat, trailing one finger down, she
thought her heart might stop beating.
He unbuttoned the first satin button and then another. He trailed his finger across her skin, moving closer
and closer to her breasts and finally sliding it down between them.
She moved restlessly against his touch and heard his breathing quicken. Then his lips were against her
skin, just above her breasts, nudging the lace of her bra aside, moving hotly, inexorably downward.
Her nipples tingled, tightened. She moaned, raising her body to meet his kiss. He slid his hands behind
her to unfasten the strip of lace. It fell away and her breasts were open to him, open to his mouth, his
fingertips, his tongue. He teased them, circling them until she wanted to pound her fists against his back
out of pure frustration. She wanted more, so much more.
“I think you should stop doing that,” she whispered, raking her fingernails across the back of his sweater,
wanting to feel skin instead.
“Why?”
“Because it’s making me crazy.” She pulled his head away from her breasts and brought his mouth to
hers, her fingers threaded through his hair, her body searching for his.
“That’s the idea,” he managed to say before he yielded to her, giving her the kiss she wanted and
needed, hard and hot, and crushing her against the full length of his body.
More hardness, more heat. More than she could bear. She rolled over him, straddling him, hearing his
gasp of surprise.
His hands gripped her buttocks to pull her hard against his erection, and at last she was where she’d
longed to be. Almost. There was still one thing wrong with the picture. There was still too much between
them.
Slowly she sat up, still straddling him, and gazed down at him. His eyes glittered with stars of their own
in the flickering candlelight. She unbuttoned one more button, just to watch his eyes widen, then darken
with increasing excitement. Another button, then another, until she reached the waist, then she slipped the
velvet and lace off her shoulders and in her half-nakedness, gave him more of herself than she’d ever
given another man.
He seemed awed by the sight of her as his hands came up to cup her breasts, to stroke them again,
gently, then with increasing pressure. It was ecstasy, being touched like that. She leaned into his hands
and rocked against him, seeking more of him against her, feeling the tremulous beginnings of something
building inside her that was almost frightening in its intensity. When she groaned, he picked up her rhythm,
moving with her, increasing her pleasure. Her eyes lost their focus. She felt more than saw the flickering
candles, the shadows they made against the walls, the rapid bucking of his hips beneath her.
She was falling, falling into an abyss of aching delight. With a surprised cry she fell forward into his
waiting arms.
And instantly moaned, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know how that happened. I didn’t mean to … it
wasn’t the way it was supposed to…”
He tipped her over onto the coverlet and smothered her words with his lips, then lifted himself just
enough to say, “Oh, yes it was. That was so good. So good.”
She slid her mouth out from under his. “Was it really. Was it okay for me to…” He was tugging her
jumpsuit over her hips, down her thighs, and she tried to help him, only managing to get completely in his
way.
“Not just okay.” He pulled the jumpsuit away, tossed it away into some distant corner of the room and
quieted, gazing at her body, now naked except for her black lace bikini panties. “It’s … it’s…”
She’d rendered him speechless. At last he got his voice going again, and his hands.
“It’s essential.” He was breathing hard as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic of the panties and guided
them in the same direction he’d sent the jumpsuit. “Call me crazy, but I just … can’t … feel a thing…”
He tossed the panties. “…until I know you’ve had almost all you can stand at one time…”
He sat up, pulled his sweater over his head and disposed of it in one swift gesture. “And we’re nowhere
close to that point…” He unzipped his slacks and seemed to snake himself out of them, then flung back
the coverlet and nestled her into the bower of sheets where he lay beside her at last, as naked as she
was, and at last he was silent.
His voice was silent. The rest of him spoke poems of desire. For a moment she drank in the beauty and
the sheer power of him, the breadth of his shoulders, the velvet of dark curls that fanned across his chest
and dived below his narrow waist, the muscles of his legs, and most of all, the mute evidence of his need
for her. Barely giving her time to explore him with her gaze, he buried his face between her thighs,
unerringly found the spot where she still throbbed, felt swollen, and caressed it with the tip of his tongue.
She felt she was pretty close to the point that she couldn’t take any more. She was lost, lost in a pool of
animal instinct. She’d lost her ability to worry about his reaction to her—did he like the way she looked
without clothes, was he having a good time? She could feel nothing but the currents that raged inside
herself as his tongue dipped and darted, teased that tiny part of her that held the secret to her pleasure.
She was on the brink, welcoming the rising tide, when he began to move up her body, kissing and tasting
her stomach, darting his tongue into her navel. She couldn’t help the little cry that exploded from her.
He slid up and up, reaching her breasts, teasing them with his tongue in a circling dance before his mouth
closed on one nipple, then the other.
Every move of his body sent a message to the lower half of her body, where that tiny part of her was
making such urgent demands she could hardly concentrate on anything else. She nudged herself closer to
him, fluttering her fingertips over his back, his shoulders, into the silk of his hair, then returning to sink her
fingers into the crisp curls that tickled against her skin, finally searching for the one thing she wanted and
at last finding it.
When her hand closed on the hot shaft he groaned, moved within the circlet she’d made around him. He
felt so silky, so different from the rest of him. She looked at his face, his eyes half-closed, his dark hair
making damp ringlets against his forehead, his mouth swollen, his lips parted, and felt an affection for him
so strong, so sharp, that it frightened her.
“I want this. I want it now,” she whispered, wishing again for an end to the sweet pain, wanting life to go
back to normal.
“Not yet.” He seemed to struggle to speak. “Not quite yet,” as his fingertips slid back down to her
womanly core to tease, torment and then to bury themselves in her.
She arched against him, feeling the wave coming again, threatening to wash over her and carry her away,
concentrating on herself again, because she could think of nothing else but the sensation closing in on her.
It happened all of a sudden, no time to think, no time to do anything but feel, to cry out from the intensity
of the feeling because it was so much stronger than before, lifted her so much higher.
He held her tight against him until at last she fell limp against the sheets.
She opened her eyes. They were wet with tears. She held out her arms. “Now, please,” she said. “Now
you.”
His gaze probed her as his hand stroked her face, smoothed away the moisture of tears and
perspiration. His mouth moved over hers in the gentlest of kisses. She could feel the way he held himself
back, even now.
* * *
Try explaining that to his body, though, now that he’d tasted her, touched her, given her pleasure and
gotten pleasure from it himself.
Even her quick arousal, her cries of delight, couldn’t hide her lack of experience. He’d found it touching,
exhilarating, because everything she felt was real, not practiced. Tonight would mean something to her,
more than it should, because he couldn’t fit into her life plan, either. Two people as driven as they were
needed support at home, not a comet flying off in another direction to come back to earth a hundred
years later.
Try telling that to his body. Feeling a groan rise from deep inside him, he reached for the condoms he’d
dumped on the bedside table, quickly covered himself with one and rolled her over until she was
straddling him, sitting up, gazing down at him.
She touched him, her breath quickening, her eyes glittering like gems in the candlelight. She grasped the
tip and edged herself closer. His thoughts moved further and further to the background. She’d said yes.
What else mattered? She was an adult. He was an adult. Whatever happened, each of them was
responsible.
She lowered herself over him, panting, aroused, wanting in a way he’d always dreamed of a woman
wanting him. When he met the slight resistance he’d wondered about, even feared, he found the presence
of mind to say, “Are you sure? Is this what you want?”
“Yes. Oh, please, yes,” was all she said, and then it was done, he’d broken through her maidenhead, felt
his own surprise and hers, and then he entered a world of fire and flood, heat flowing like lava through his
veins.
He could feel her tears falling on his chest, but she seemed unaware of them as she rocked with him, lost
in her own apparent pleasure and need. His breathing quickened as the pressure built up inside him. He
fought it down, struggling to hold back, desperate with the need to let go, but wanting her to share it with
him. He held back until her sharp cry sounded in the quiet room and she collapsed against his chest, and
at last he succumbed, holding on to her for dear life.
When the storm had let up, he rolled her to his side, not letting go. “You okay?” he whispered. His voice
was funny, didn’t work very well.
“Oh, yes, very, very, very okay.” She hesitated, then whispered brokenly, “And very glad to be a
woman.”
“I am, too,” he rasped against her hair. “Glad you’re a woman.”
“You gave me so much before you took anything for yourself.”
She couldn’t imagine how much he’d taken for himself. “For a woman,” he said, smiling in the darkness,
“the pleasure is infinite. For a man…”
Even as he spoke he felt himself hardening, felt the need rising again, wondered if he would frighten her
by giving in to it. “A man,” he began again, “has to wait, oh, two or three minutes in between.” And he
gave up, gave in, reveling in her soft, surprised laughter as she pulled him tight against her.PURE PLEASURE
H
is kiss brushed her lips, then brushed them again on the wake of his sigh. “Don’t be afraid,” he
whispered. “This is going to be fun.”
His hands cupped her face, and his thumbs gently massaged her earlobes as he continued his soft,
whispery kisses. For a moment she let herself flow along with the thrumming sensation from his light
caresses. They felt sweet, delicious and not at all frightening. Pure pleasure.
His mouth hovered over hers for a second, and then his kiss deepened. His fingers threaded through her
hair as his hands found their way to her neck, her shoulder blades , until his arms closed around her. Pure
pleasure gave way to something more demanding as she returned the kiss.
His arms tightened around her waist and he lifted her off the counter, sliding her down his body with a
sensuous slowness, letting her feel his arousal until at last he held her just where she’d wanted to be, her
breasts tight against his chest, his hardness against her heat. She heard his breath quicken, felt the moan
rise in her own throat.
His quiet, persuasive assault seemed to last for hours. She floated on a cloud of escalating desire. A
storm was building up inside that cloud. She could feel it in the pounding of her heart, the shortness of her
breath, the waves of euphoria that swept over her.
The change in tempo wasn’t sudden, but it was definite. His mouth felt harder against hers. His tongue
explored more deeply, exciting her to play against him, thrust hers against his. His hands cupped her
buttocks, caressing them through the velvet, through the silk of her panties, molding her body ever more
closely to his.
She was aware that he was moving them toward the bedroom, engaging her in an enticing dance she
wished would last forever. They were almost there, almost there. He pushed the bedroom door open
with his elbow. Through half-closed eyes she saw the candles burning, just as she’d left them, waiting for
this moment.
It was her turn to lead now. She reached out with her hand toward the bed—and lurched suddenly to
one side.
He caught her, held her tighter. She could feel the hard pounding of his heart against her breasts. His
words rasped against her ear. “What’s wrong? You okay?”
“I can’t,” she gasped, “I can’t…”
“Hope.” It came out as a groan. “Can’t what? Can’t…”
“I can’t find the bed.”
He stood absolutely still for a second, then suddenly swept her off her feet and cradled her in his arms.
“I’ll find it, don’t you worry. Like an explorer in uncharted territory.”
Level with the foot of the bed he paused again. “You are an amazing woman, Hope Sumner.” He took a
step forward. “You have hair like copper and eyes like emeralds.” Another step. “You’re smart, you’re
cute, you’re funny.” Step, step, step. “It makes me happy just to be with you.” The last step. “And tonight
you’re mine.”
He laid her gently on the flowered coverlet and slid down beside her.
When he put his hand, such a warm, strong, smooth hand, to her throat, trailing one finger down, she
thought her heart might stop beating.
He unbuttoned the first satin button and then another. He trailed his finger across her skin, moving closer
and closer to her breasts and finally sliding it down between them.
She moved restlessly against his touch and heard his breathing quicken. Then his lips were against her
skin, just above her breasts, nudging the lace of her bra aside, moving hotly, inexorably downward.
Her nipples tingled, tightened. She moaned, raising her body to meet his kiss. He slid his hands behind
her to unfasten the strip of lace. It fell away and her breasts were open to him, open to his mouth, his
fingertips, his tongue. He teased them, circling them until she wanted to pound her fists against his back
out of pure frustration. She wanted more, so much more.
“I think you should stop doing that,” she whispered, raking her fingernails across the back of his sweater,
wanting to feel skin instead.
“Why?”
“Because it’s making me crazy.” She pulled his head away from her breasts and brought his mouth to
hers, her fingers threaded through his hair, her body searching for his.
“That’s the idea,” he managed to say before he yielded to her, giving her the kiss she wanted and
needed, hard and hot, and crushing her against the full length of his body.
More hardness, more heat. More than she could bear. She rolled over him, straddling him, hearing his
gasp of surprise.
His hands gripped her buttocks to pull her hard against his erection, and at last she was where she’d
longed to be. Almost. There was still one thing wrong with the picture. There was still too much between
them.
Slowly she sat up, still straddling him, and gazed down at him. His eyes glittered with stars of their own
in the flickering candlelight. She unbuttoned one more button, just to watch his eyes widen, then darken
with increasing excitement. Another button, then another, until she reached the waist, then she slipped the
velvet and lace off her shoulders and in her half-nakedness, gave him more of herself than she’d ever
given another man.
He seemed awed by the sight of her as his hands came up to cup her breasts, to stroke them again,
gently, then with increasing pressure. It was ecstasy, being touched like that. She leaned into his hands
and rocked against him, seeking more of him against her, feeling the tremulous beginnings of something
building inside her that was almost frightening in its intensity. When she groaned, he picked up her rhythm,
moving with her, increasing her pleasure. Her eyes lost their focus. She felt more than saw the flickering
candles, the shadows they made against the walls, the rapid bucking of his hips beneath her.
She was falling, falling into an abyss of aching delight. With a surprised cry she fell forward into his
waiting arms.
And instantly moaned, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know how that happened. I didn’t mean to … it
wasn’t the way it was supposed to…”
He tipped her over onto the coverlet and smothered her words with his lips, then lifted himself just
enough to say, “Oh, yes it was. That was so good. So good.”
She slid her mouth out from under his. “Was it really. Was it okay for me to…” He was tugging her
jumpsuit over her hips, down her thighs, and she tried to help him, only managing to get completely in his
way.
“Not just okay.” He pulled the jumpsuit away, tossed it away into some distant corner of the room and
quieted, gazing at her body, now naked except for her black lace bikini panties. “It’s … it’s…”
She’d rendered him speechless. At last he got his voice going again, and his hands.
“It’s essential.” He was breathing hard as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic of the panties and guided
them in the same direction he’d sent the jumpsuit. “Call me crazy, but I just … can’t … feel a thing…”
He tossed the panties. “…until I know you’ve had almost all you can stand at one time…”
He sat up, pulled his sweater over his head and disposed of it in one swift gesture. “And we’re nowhere
close to that point…” He unzipped his slacks and seemed to snake himself out of them, then flung back
the coverlet and nestled her into the bower of sheets where he lay beside her at last, as naked as she
was, and at last he was silent.
His voice was silent. The rest of him spoke poems of desire. For a moment she drank in the beauty and
the sheer power of him, the breadth of his shoulders, the velvet of dark curls that fanned across his chest
and dived below his narrow waist, the muscles of his legs, and most of all, the mute evidence of his need
for her. Barely giving her time to explore him with her gaze, he buried his face between her thighs,
unerringly found the spot where she still throbbed, felt swollen, and caressed it with the tip of his tongue.
She felt she was pretty close to the point that she couldn’t take any more. She was lost, lost in a pool of
animal instinct. She’d lost her ability to worry about his reaction to her—did he like the way she looked
without clothes, was he having a good time? She could feel nothing but the currents that raged inside
herself as his tongue dipped and darted, teased that tiny part of her that held the secret to her pleasure.
She was on the brink, welcoming the rising tide, when he began to move up her body, kissing and tasting
her stomach, darting his tongue into her navel. She couldn’t help the little cry that exploded from her.
He slid up and up, reaching her breasts, teasing them with his tongue in a circling dance before his mouth
closed on one nipple, then the other.
Every move of his body sent a message to the lower half of her body, where that tiny part of her was
making such urgent demands she could hardly concentrate on anything else. She nudged herself closer to
him, fluttering her fingertips over his back, his shoulders, into the silk of his hair, then returning to sink her
fingers into the crisp curls that tickled against her skin, finally searching for the one thing she wanted and
at last finding it.
When her hand closed on the hot shaft he groaned, moved within the circlet she’d made around him. He
felt so silky, so different from the rest of him. She looked at his face, his eyes half-closed, his dark hair
making damp ringlets against his forehead, his mouth swollen, his lips parted, and felt an affection for him
so strong, so sharp, that it frightened her.
“I want this. I want it now,” she whispered, wishing again for an end to the sweet pain, wanting life to go
back to normal.
“Not yet.” He seemed to struggle to speak. “Not quite yet,” as his fingertips slid back down to her
womanly core to tease, torment and then to bury themselves in her.
She arched against him, feeling the wave coming again, threatening to wash over her and carry her away,
concentrating on herself again, because she could think of nothing else but the sensation closing in on her.
It happened all of a sudden, no time to think, no time to do anything but feel, to cry out from the intensity
of the feeling because it was so much stronger than before, lifted her so much higher.
He held her tight against him until at last she fell limp against the sheets.
She opened her eyes. They were wet with tears. She held out her arms. “Now, please,” she said. “Now
you.”
His gaze probed her as his hand stroked her face, smoothed away the moisture of tears and
perspiration. His mouth moved over hers in the gentlest of kisses. She could feel the way he held himself
back, even now.
* * *
Try explaining that to his body, though, now that he’d tasted her, touched her, given her pleasure and
gotten pleasure from it himself.
Even her quick arousal, her cries of delight, couldn’t hide her lack of experience. He’d found it touching,
exhilarating, because everything she felt was real, not practiced. Tonight would mean something to her,
more than it should, because he couldn’t fit into her life plan, either. Two people as driven as they were
needed support at home, not a comet flying off in another direction to come back to earth a hundred
years later.
Try telling that to his body. Feeling a groan rise from deep inside him, he reached for the condoms he’d
dumped on the bedside table, quickly covered himself with one and rolled her over until she was
straddling him, sitting up, gazing down at him.
She touched him, her breath quickening, her eyes glittering like gems in the candlelight. She grasped the
tip and edged herself closer. His thoughts moved further and further to the background. She’d said yes.
What else mattered? She was an adult. He was an adult. Whatever happened, each of them was
responsible.
She lowered herself over him, panting, aroused, wanting in a way he’d always dreamed of a woman
wanting him. When he met the slight resistance he’d wondered about, even feared, he found the presence
of mind to say, “Are you sure? Is this what you want?”
“Yes. Oh, please, yes,” was all she said, and then it was done, he’d broken through her maidenhead, felt
his own surprise and hers, and then he entered a world of fire and flood, heat flowing like lava through his
veins.
He could feel her tears falling on his chest, but she seemed unaware of them as she rocked with him, lost
in her own apparent pleasure and need. His breathing quickened as the pressure built up inside him. He
fought it down, struggling to hold back, desperate with the need to let go, but wanting her to share it with
him. He held back until her sharp cry sounded in the quiet room and she collapsed against his chest, and
at last he succumbed, holding on to her for dear life.
When the storm had let up, he rolled her to his side, not letting go. “You okay?” he whispered. His voice
was funny, didn’t work very well.
“Oh, yes, very, very, very okay.” She hesitated, then whispered brokenly, “And very glad to be a
woman.”
“I am, too,” he rasped against her hair. “Glad you’re a woman.”
“You gave me so much before you took anything for yourself.”
She couldn’t imagine how much he’d taken for himself. “For a woman,” he said, smiling in the darkness,
“the pleasure is infinite. For a man…”
Even as he spoke he felt himself hardening, felt the need rising again, wondered if he would frighten her
by giving in to it. “A man,” he began again, “has to wait, oh, two or three minutes in between.” And he
gave up, gave in, reveling in her soft, surprised laughter as she pulled him tight against her.

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