Iris Johansen - Everlasting

The sensations she was feeling now were all sharp and aching and fever-hot, and she wasn't sure she wanted to be jarred out of blissful euphoria. There was a liquid throbbing between her thighs and her breasts felt full and painfully swollen. She wished he'd move his hands from her face and put them on her breasts. Perhaps that caress would ease their strange aching. She was vaguely surprised that the desire didn't shock her. She had never before wanted a man's hands on her, touching intimately. Yet she supposed it shouldn't have surprised her. There was no comparing any of the emotions she was feeling for Zack with those in her previous experience.

The muscles of his body were hardening, rippling. She was aware of that meaningful tautening, even though he was only touching her with his hands. His body was readying itself. The knowledge sent a near savage jolt of pure desire through her. He wanted her. She could see the pulse leaping crazily in his temple and feel the soft nip of his teeth on the flesh of her throat.

“You see?” His voice was guttural. He lifted his head and his face was flushed and heavy with sensuality. “It never stays the same. There's too much waiting for us.”

“Yes,” she whispered. She wondered if her eyes were as glazed and wanting as his. They probably were. She felt as if every breath she drew was exploding little fiery sparks into her bloodstream.

“I want to touch you. I want my hands on you.”

“Yes,” she said again. She couldn't seem to say anything else to him. Response and assent. The reaction was as basic as nature itself.

“You want it too? I don't want to take, Kira.”

“I want it too.”

His lips curved in a rare smile. “That's all I wanted to know. I'm surprised I even had the restraint to look this particular gift horse in the mouth. Come along, love.”

He was taking her by the hand and, to her surprise, leading her away from the bed across the room. “Where are we going?”

“Right here.” He had stopped beside the deep-cushioned contemporary easy chair against the wall. He sat down and positioned her between his legs. “If we used the bed, I'm sure this preliminary foray would result in an instant merger.” His hands were swiftly untying the belt of her robe.

She felt a swift thrust of disappointment. “I assumed you had grown impatient with your little anticipatory game.”

“I am impatient,” he said dryly. “And hurting and…” He opened the robe and stared at her for a long moment. She felt scorched, burned, and knew her body was responding helplessly and very obviously to his hot, lingering appraisal. The sheer veiling of the yellow chiffon nightgown might just as well not have been there for all the covering it gave her. “Oh, Lord, am I hurting.”

And so was she. The robe dropped, making a pool of sunshine color on the dark brown carpet at her feet, and she stood before him in only the sheer nightgown. There was something vaguely barbaric about their positions-Zack sitting fully clothed and she standing almost naked between his legs like a slave girl waiting to pleasure him.

“What are you thinking about?” His gaze had moved from her body to her face. The tip of his tongue reached out to moisten his lower lip and the unconscious motion sent a surge of aching tension to every muscle in her body. Sweet heaven, those lips were so diabolically and beautifully sensual in his taut face.

“I think you know.”

“I probably have a good idea.” His gaze traveled slowly from the creamy satin of her shoulders to the full thrust of her breasts against the chiffon. “Do you like me to look at you?”

“Yes.”

“That's good. I think there's every chance it will be one of my very favorite things to do.” He slowly reached up and slid first one thin strap off her shoulder, then the other. The bodice of the gown slipped until only the swollen fullness of her breasts was holding the clinging material in place. Zack leaned back in the chair and simply looked at her for a long moment. “You have wonderful skin. It radiates a sheen that glows with life.”

“Do I?” She scarcely knew what she was saying. How could he just sit there looking at her when every muscle and nerve in her body was on fire with frustration? Why didn't he touch her?

“Yes.” He leaned forward and laid his cheek against her abdomen. She inhaled sharply as she felt the sudden warmth of his flesh through the sheer fabric of the nightgown. “Wonderful skin. Strong, firm muscles.” One big hand was lazily rubbing her belly. “And softness.” His palm slid down to gently cup the apex of her thighs so that only the mist of material separated him from that most intimate part of her. She could feel the heat of his hard hand and made a low sound deep in her throat as he started to rub back and forth, alternating hard pressure with gossamer lightness so that she could become accustomed to neither, his every touch then giving her a fresh jolt of sensation. “Do you like this?”

She nodded. She didn't think she could have spoken if her life had depended upon it. With his cheek pressed against her, he couldn't see the nod, but it didn't really matter. He knew very well what pleasure he was giving her. “What else would you like me to do to you?”

She could scarcely breathe. How could he expect her to speak? But he evidently did, for he was lifting his head to look up at her. His hand was still moving gently against her. “What else, Kira?”

Her tongue moistened her dry lips. “Zack…” Her gaze dropped helplessly to the sheer chiffon veiling her breasts. Her nipples were so exquisitely sensitive now that even the light wreath of material was causing them to ache.

His eyes followed hers and then grew midnight dark as he saw the hard, pointed tips thrusting at the material. “Your breasts?” His hand instantly reached out and hovered over her right breast. She could feel the warmth, though he wasn't touching her. “So swollen,” he whispered, his eyes on the firm globes rising from the chiffon. “So ripe and swollen and ready.” His hand closed suddenly over her breast and a wild shudder ran through her. “Ready for me.”

“Yes. Oh, yes.” The cry was wrung from her. “Please, please do something!”

“Shh, I will.” He pulled her onto his lap, settling her astride him. His fingers were trembling as he pushed the chiffon the last few inches and bared her breasts. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Sweet heaven, you're beautiful, Kira.” He lowered his head slowly. She felt his warm breath, then the firmness of his lips, and she gave a low, frantic half-moan, her fingers tangling in his hair, bringing him to her.

Kira heard his low laugh. Strangely, it held no hint of triumph, only an exultant joy. “You want me. Lord, I love to know that.” The words were muffled against her breast. Then his mouth was opening, taking her, his tongue running over one breast in wild delight and then switching to her other breast to suckle and pleasure her with a hunger that soothed even as it inflamed.

She was vaguely aware of his hands on her thighs pushing up the chiffon while his lips and teeth nibbled, nipped, and then soothed with a deep, primitive enjoyment. His chest was shuddering with every breath and his hands were suddenly frantic as they slipped under the gown and cupped her naked buttocks in his warm palms. Another shock, she thought hazily. Every different touch was a fresh shock to her nerve endings, but a shock that she accepted happily and with amazing rapidity. He was pressing her closer and she felt his iron-hard warmth against the center of her womanhood. She nestled even closer and moaned with hunger. Hunger. She had never known such hunger. He kept taking, giving, but it made no difference. The hunger kept growing, sharpening with every passing moment.