Maureen Child - Seductive Revenge

She shook her head, licked her lips and choked out a short chuckle. “No. I think of that drawer as my hope chest. I figured it’s better to have them and not need them—”

“Than to need them and not have them,” he finished for her.

“Exactly.”

He grabbed one of the foil packets, stripped out of his clothes and said, “I do like a woman who’s prepared.”

“Show me.”

He didn’t need another invitation. He came to her, covering her body with his, and Isabelle sighed at the first soft, warm contact of his skin to hers. She’d missed this so much. His scent, his taste, his strength. He was a businessman, but his big hands still carried the calluses he’d earned as a young man. And the scrape of his rough palms along her body created a new and even more exciting layer of sensation.

He rolled over, bringing her on top of him, and she loved looking down into those sea-colored crystal eyes. His hands cupped and kneaded her behind and she writhed on top of him in response. She kissed him hard, fast, then raised her head to watch him as she shifted, rising up, moving to straddle him.

In the moonlit room, even the air felt like magic. This moment was one she’d been thinking and dreaming of since she’d first opened her door and seen him on her porch. Slowly sitting up, she dragged the palms of her hands across his chest and loved the flash of something hot and dark that shot through his eyes.

Isabelle felt a rush of sexual power that ratcheted higher and higher inside her as she went up on her knees and slowly, slowly, lowered herself onto him. She took his hard, thick length inside, inch by glorious inch, and when he was filling her completely, she sighed and reveled in everything she was feeling.

He reached up, covering her breasts with his hands, tweaking and tugging at her nipples until she groaned and twisted her body in response. That movement sent shock waves rippling through her system and made her want to feel more, to feel it all.

Unable to wait a moment longer to experience the release clamoring inside her, Isabelle moved on him, rocking up and down in a slow, rhythmic dance that created tingles that rose up and burst and rose up again. She lifted her arms high over her head, giving herself over to what was happening, and the feel of his hands on her breasts only fed the fire that burned brightly inside her.

Then his hands dropped to her hips and guided her into a faster pace. His gaze locked on hers, they stared into each other’s eyes as they claimed each other in the most intimate way possible. The tingle at her core became an incessant burn that ached and ached, pushing her toward the release she needed. And when Isabelle felt she couldn’t take it a moment more, the needing, the desire, he shifted one hand to her center and rubbed that sensitive nub at her core.

“Wes!” She cried his name but kept moving on him, kept rocking, twisting her hips in a blind effort to take him higher, deeper. That bone-deep ache intensified as they moved together in a dance as ancient as time, and when her body exploded, shattering into a fusillade of color and sensation, Isabelle clung to his forearms and rode the wave to the end.

Only then, when she was shaking and shivering, did Wes let himself follow. She stared into his eyes and watched as he surrendered himself to her. Gave himself to her.

And she wished, from the bottom of her heart, that that surrender was complete.

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