Cara Summers - A Sexy Time of It

Questions whirled through his mind. He wasn’t sure whose they were—his, hers? Who are you? Where are you from? But the words they both spoke aloud were, “I want you.”

He felt the shudder move through her, then him. Then came the heat and he felt the last thin grasp he had on reason slip away. This time when their mouths joined, jolts of pleasure sparked through his system with the jagged, pulsing impact of an electric current. Later, he’d try to figure out who made that final move, but as her mouth heated beneath his and he once more sampled her honey-sweet flavor, he didn’t much care. Wasn’t this what he was sure they were headed for? Wasn’t this what he’d known he’d take from the first time he’d seen her picture?

More.

NEELY FELT as if she were drowning in sensations. She couldn’t think. She could only feel. His mouth was hard and hot, just as it had been before. As he used teeth and tongue to deepen the kiss, his taste, dark and male, pumped into her like a drug and only intensified the aching greed that threatened to consume her.

More.

As if sensing her wish, his body covered hers again. Heat arrowed through her, and her body arched. Though they were both fully clothed, she felt the sensation of skin rubbing against skin. And she felt the calluses on his palm as he pressed it against her breast. Then he ran that wonderfully rough hand down her body from breast to thigh. Once more she absorbed the contact as if she were naked, and she felt the heat of his wide hand on her leg like a brand. When he slipped two fingers between her legs and pressed them against her center, a jolt of pleasure shot through her. More.

He began to stroke her.

Gently. Too gently.

He increased both the pressure and the pace.

In some part of her brain, Neely sensed that he could read her mind. No, more than that, he was in her mind, registering each of her desires, and giving her just what she craved. She knew she was still fully clothed, and so was he, but she felt the moist heat of his tongue circling her nipple. And his thumb as it stroked down her fold, separating her. Then he slipped two fingers into her.

She felt the shock of the penetration and need slammed into her like a fist. She arched upward, straining for release, crying out when he withdrew his fingers. “Don’t stop.”

“This time I won’t.” He slipped between her legs. She felt his thighs spread hers apart. He thrust into her in one smooth stroke. She surrounded him, gripped him, absorbed him. The pressure was huge, and the pleasure teetered on the edge of pain. For one timeless moment neither of them moved.

Look at me.

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