Sarah's Child. Linda Howard

garment to her hips, then dispersed with her bra, freeing her breasts to his hands and gaze.

      Sarah moaned softly as he cupped both of her breasts in his palms, kneading her soft flesh and gently pinching at her pink nipples. “You’re so beautiful,” he groaned and the rough desire in his voice made her feel beautiful. She loved the way the mounds of her breasts filled his palms, hardening and thrusting out to seek his touch.

      Abruptly he turned her in his arms, holding her so tightly against him that her ribs ached, while he kissed her with blatant hunger. With his tongue, he told her what he wanted to do, and the symbolism was unmistakable. Sarah gasped under his mouth, seeking air to feed her starving lungs. “Rome…please!” But she didn’t know if she begged for mercy, or for more of the primal pleasure he was giving her. Her body was growing heavy and liquid, and a deep inner throbbing made her move restlessly against him.

      “Yes,” he said against her throat, interpreting her plea as he chose. He bent her over his arm to give himself access to her tempting breasts, and she gave a thin cry when his hot mouth closed over her nipple, sucking it strongly into his mouth. Blackness swirled over her, a warm, velvet blackness that blocked out any reservations she might have had about belonging to him. She dissolved into a purely physical animal, instinctively seeking more of the pleasure he offered her. Her hands roamed his body as his had roamed hers, impatiently brushing away the layers of cloth that separated her from his hard muscled flesh. He trembled wildly at her intimate touch and pleaded with her for more.

      At some point, they dropped to the floor, the plush carpet soft under her back. Too impatient to undress her completely, he lifted her skirt out of the way and stripped her panty hose down her legs. Sarah reached for him, her expression rapt, lost in the passion he’d aroused in her, and he caught his breath sharply. “Easy, easy,” he said hoarsely, not wanting it to end too quickly, and knowing he was perilously close to satisfaction. He wanted to make certain she was satisfied too; he wanted to see her face at the peak of her pleasure. He held back, twisting his body away from her inciting hands, while he stroked and petted her, bestowing fleeting, intimate caresses on her that had her arching for more.

      Sarah cried out at the tension that was building in her, the sensation that was as frightening as it was pleasurable, as if she might explode into a thousand little pieces. His warm hand, his devilishly dancing fingers, were doing things to her that were destroying her control, her sense of self. “Let go, let go,” he cajoled in a rough whisper against her ear, and she did, crying out unintelligible sounds of passion fulfilled, her hands clutching at him as her body writhed in the glory that consumed her.

      Just as she began the downward slide into peace and relaxation, he pinned her to the floor with his weight, adjusted himself between her thighs, and thrust into her with one powerful deliberate movement. Sarah was unable to hold back the sharp single cry that tore from her throat, and her body jolted in shock. But she reached up to wind her arms around his neck, clinging to him, as she offered him the comfort of her loving body. He groaned thickly against her throat and lost all control, taking her swiftly, a little roughly, and somehow, despite her discomfort, lighting again that small spark of desire in her. It was over before that spark could grow into the inferno that would consume her; with a cry from between his clenched teeth, he reached his own pleasure.