fire, and, yes, anticipation—every pulse point hammered with it. She focused on his gaze and told him with her eyes.
But he didn’t reach for her. With a swift tug, he rid himself of his T-shirt, tossed it on the floor beside her dress. His eyes burned. ‘Touch me.’
She swallowed over a healthy dose of nerves. Clothed, no problem, but alone with a semi-naked man and knowing he was going to get a lot more naked any minute…What if he wanted her to do…something she didn’t know how to do?
Get a grip, he’s only asked you to touch him. So far. Tentative, she touched the dark hair sprinkled over that massive chest, felt the texture against the warm, hard skin beneath. She trailed her fingers lower, following the line of hair to his navel and below, where his jeans rode low on his hips…
Taking her hand, he pressed it against his thick, throbbing erection and squeezed. Heat burned through his jeans; his body jerked. Very soon, that heat, that hardness was going to be inside her. The last thing she needed was a pregnancy. She gazed up into his eyes again. ‘You do have protection. Don’t you?’
‘It’s okay, Carissa. I won’t let anything happen to you. Trust me.’ Then with a growl he tumbled her backwards onto the bed. One shoe fell to the floor. A flick of his wrist and his jeans snapped open. He pushed them off his hips, down his legs with his boxers and a hard, hairy thigh nudged between her legs.
The contrasts were stunning. His heat, the angles and planes of his masculine body, the coolness of the crisp cotton sheet, the sultry air against her dewy skin.
Soft light played over bronzed flesh and hard-packed muscle and his, oh…his restless hands as they slid across her belly and up over her breasts. He sifted his fingers through her hair with a murmur of masculine appreciation.
Lowering his head, he closed his mouth over one nipple, then the other. She felt the tug all the way to the soles of her curled feet. She arched her back on a moan as sensation layered over sensation.
The stockings were last to go. He took his slow sweet time, his fingers brushing aside the nylon, laying a sensuous trail of kisses behind until there wasn’t a square inch of skin that wasn’t tingling. Except where she wanted him most.
At last, when she didn’t think she could stand it any longer, he parted her thighs with his hand and slid a finger over moist flesh that had never been touched. She went weak, moaned again. She’d never dreamed it could feel this…good.
He was familiar with things about her woman’s body she’d never known. Exactly the right place to touch. When to stroke, slide, dip or plunge. How absolutely arousing a slow, smooth hand could be. Their world became her only world.
‘Ben…’ She couldn’t help the breathy little sounds coming from her throat, couldn’t help arching blindly towards the source of that pleasure. But there was more; something just out of reach. Something her body instinctively sought. ‘Ben, I want…I need…’
‘I know.’ The hot glide of his clever fingers over slick and swollen flesh increased. Darts shot through her body, lights exploded behind her eyes. Her body spasmed as her climax ripped through her, sending her to another dimension.
He was still there when she floated back to earth. Time drifted like the tide, the air hung heavy, languid, scented with desire.
Then he rolled away, reached for something on the night stand. She heard the rip of foil and closed her eyes as his weight settled over her. She felt his heart thundering against her breast, his breath hot against her ear, and prepared to be swept away.
But when the blunt tip of his sex nudged her, rosy dreams and soft sighs vanished, and reality intruded like a harsh white light. The magnitude of what she was doing hit her.
Too late. With one deep thrust that stole the air from her lungs, he pushed inside her, then went utterly still. And bit out a short four-letter word.
She tensed at the quick sharp pain and held her breath, trying not to panic. She felt impaled, his hardness invasive and foreign. Only his rapid and heavy breathing broke the silence.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You didn’t ask.’ She could barely speak, so focused was she on her own body and what was happening to her. Already the pain was subsiding, already she wanted more. Until an added vulnerability cooled her enthusiasm. Perhaps he didn’t like virgins; perhaps the reason he was speaking in that harsh tone was because he was disappointed. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Too bloody right.’ He carefully withdrew a little, propped himself on his elbows over her and dropped a sweat-damp forehead on hers. ‘There are rules…’
‘We…I…broke a rule coming here. You said—’
‘My rules. There’s a difference.’ He traced a finger over her cheek, her lips. There was a myriad emotions in his eyes. ‘Why now…why me?’
‘Because I want it, because you’re here. Please…’ She grasped his hand, took it to her breast. ‘Tonight you’ve made me feel beautiful and so alive.’
An infinitely more wary look crossed his face. ‘Don’t make this into something it’s not, Carissa. I’m not that man of your dreams, nor am I a settling-down kind of guy. This is all there is.’
She swallowed and forced herself to remember how it was. ‘This is all I want. I’m not looking for permanence. That makes us ideal partners for this evening.’ She twined her arms around his neck and experimentally moved her hips.
His jaw tightened, his arms quivering with the strain of holding his weight off her. ‘Look, Carissa, I don’t want to hurt you…’
‘Don’t give me that sexist rubbish about it being different for a woman.’ She raked her nails over his back and the hard curve of his buttocks, making him shudder.
‘Well, then. You’ll want something worth remembering.’ His eyes darkened. ‘That I can give you.’
He was true to his word.
Hungry for his taste, his body and completion, she took what he gave greedily, storing the sensations and emotions for later. Dark, heavy heat engulfed her, molten fire flowing through her veins, spreading over her skin. Her body relaxed as she became familiar with him moving over and within her. She’d never forget this one time with him. He was everything she’d dreamed of and then some.
Strength. His body was hard and smooth against hers, tempered with a gentleness she hadn’t expected.
Patience. Another surprise, his willingness to linger over small things—a touch, a kiss, a murmur.
Tenderness. It flowed from his touch like soft summer rain.
And when the ache built again and became unbearable, he knew, and let her fly.
After, he lay silent and still, holding her against him, but somehow removed. As if he’d distanced himself.
How it should be, she told herself. He’d be moving on and she’d go back to her two jobs, her falling-down house and her debts.
But rather than the satisfaction she’d expected, she felt…empty. And cheated somehow, as if she’d opened the door to another world and had it slammed in her face. And she
