“Do you really need it?” he asked, as he drew off her panties.
“Probably not.”
He bent over and took her left nipple in his mouth. She tasted sweet. He sucked, then circled her, flicking her with his tongue. She groaned then put her hands on his back. The pressure of her fingers told him what she liked. He licked her skin, then blew on the damp spot. She shivered.
He moved back and forth, giving each breast thorough attention. When her legs stirred restlessly, he kissed his way down her belly.
He slid his hands up and down her thighs. As he nipped at the edge of her belly button, he circled his thumbs closer and closer to her center. At last he eased one thumb through her curls and felt her swollen wetness.
Instantly his arousal pulsed, but he continued to ignore the need as he lowered himself onto the mattress, parted her flesh and pressed his tongue to her center.
She tasted sweet and salty and when she groaned, he nearly joined in. While he ached to be inside of her, he wanted to feel her body responding to his every touch. He wanted to learn what made her tremble and what made her scream. He wanted to be intimately connected, even just for a few minutes.
He explored her feminine center, then focused his attention on that one, most sensitive spot. He circled it, then brushed it with the flat of his tongue. He moved slowly at first, giving her a chance to anticipate the next move. Her hips pulsed in time with his actions, then moved a little faster as if urging him on.
He complied, then slipped a finger deep inside of her. He pressed up, finding her inner pleasure point, then rubbed it in time with his tongue.
She began to breathe faster and faster. Her hips moved and he felt her muscles tighten. There was a moment of stillness, then she lost herself in her orgasm.
Her body shuddered. He felt the waves of contractions tightening around his finger. He continued to caress her with his tongue, lightening his touch but keeping up the speed. It was only when she relaxed that he slowed and finally stopped.
He kissed the top of her thigh, then her belly. She opened her eyes and sighed.
“Score one for the home team,” she whispered.
“I had fun,” he said, almost surprised by the fact. But he’d enjoyed pleasing her. He’d enjoyed everything about making love with her.
His erection pointed out that he would enjoy life a lot more when it was his turn, but he ignored that.
“Fun does not describe what just happened,” Crissy said with a smile. She reached for him. “Come here and I’ll show you what I mean.”
The second she touched him, he nearly lost it. He was shocked by the sudden pressure between his legs and it took every ounce of self-control not to give it up right there. Telling himself it had been a long time didn’t make the situation any more comfortable.
Her touch was sure and erotic. Too erotic. He shifted closer and she guided him inside.
The soft, wet, welcoming heat of her body hardly made things better. He pushed in, filling her, feeling as if he could get lost in her forever.
He’d had big plans of impressing her with his endurance, but that plan turned to dust the second time he thrust in her. She felt too good. He wanted her too much. He pushed in again and again, feeling the pressure build. Then he gave himself up to it, increasing his speed, focusing only on the way she pulled him in and made him never want to leave. Another thrust, then another and he was lost.
Chapter Four
Josh woke early to light spilling into an unfamiliar bedroom. It took him a second to figure out where he was and remember what had happened the previous night. He lay on his side in Crissy’s bed, his arm around her waist, his face close to her smooth shoulder.
Slowly, so as not to wake her, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.
He’d made love with another woman. After he’d met Stacey, he’d known he would be content to be with her—and no one else—for the rest of his life. Yet last night he’d needed with a desperation that still stunned him. There’d been so much heat and wanting. How was that possible?
He braced himself for the flood of inevitable guilt, the sense that he had betrayed the woman of his dreams. Somewhere in the house a grandfather clock ticked off the seconds, then chimed the half hour.
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