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What was wrong with her?
Teo’s head lifted. “There is the part about the tree of life springing from a land awash with the blood of the sun. And we both know that’s here.”
“There’s nothing underneath that tree,” she lied.
“Gina,” he murmured, voice both soft and rough. “If there was nothing there, you wouldn’t be trying so hard to keep me from it. Why don’t you just tell me what happened?”
Her eyes, though she tried to make them stop, flicked to his. He was closer than he should be, or maybe she was. Their knees knocked. Their faces hovered a foot apart. She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to tell anyone, ever. Instead, she touched her lips to his.
He stilled, and for an instant she thought he might pull back, might stick to his promise of not touching. So she flicked out her tongue. Just a quick swipe along his slightly parted lips and he was as lost as she was.
He came to his knees; she came to hers, and they were touching thigh to thigh, hip to hip, chest to breast, mouth to seeking mouth.
His palms rested at the curve of her waist; his thumbs stroked the fluttering muscles of her stomach, chasing them across the taut skin, first above her shirt and then blessedly, thrillingly, below. His calluses scraped, and she caught her breath.
“Sorry,” he murmured, but as he began to withdraw, both hands and mouth, she nipped his lip, snatched his wrist, and he swept his hands upward, cupping her breasts along with her bra. Despite the chill of the night, they both wore far too many clothes.
Gina’s fingers went to his shirt even as his went to hers. But there were too many buttons, too many fingers, too many arms criscrossed every which way.
They broke apart, breathing heavily, mouths damp, eyes dark. Then, as one, they unbuttoned their own shirts.
“You first,” he said, his hanging open, revealing a far too small slice of chest and torso.
Gina shrugged free of the flannel. His gaze hung on her every move. Slowly, she undid her bra, letting the straps slide down her arms the same way the shirt had.
Though the tent was cool, his eyes had gone hot, seeming to warm her flesh wherever they touched.
“I can’t breathe,” he murmured. “You’re so beautiful.”
Right now she felt beautiful.
“Your turn.” She indicated his shirt with a lift of her chin.
The flannel fell away with one quick shrug, revealing gorgeous, gleaming skin. She wanted to touch him so badly; she licked her lips and reached out.
He grabbed her wrist, pulled her close, but being on her knees, she wasn’t very graceful, and she fell forward, crashing into him. They both tumbled to the bedroll, then lay there all tangled together, breathing hard. Gina began to giggle.
“Why is it every time I see your bare chest I fall?”
“I don’t know.” He touched her cheek. “But don’t ever stop.”
The light shone off his glasses like a beacon; she couldn’t see his eyes. Lifting her hands, she touched the frames. “Can you take these off?”
“Sure.” He set them atop his mother’s notebook. “You mind if I turn off the light? Everything’s fuzzy now.”
Gina reached over herself, the movement rubbing her breasts against his chest in new and enticing ways, then flicked the switch. Navy-blue night settled over them with an audible hush.
His hair brushed her cheek; she buried her face in his neck and took a taste. Something that had been slightly hard against her hip became definitely hard and she smiled into the velvet darkness. Reaching down, she slid her thumbnail up his length, and he choked.
“Sorry.” She pulled her hand away, but he caught her wrist and tugged it back.
“Don’t be.”
He let go of her wrist and slid his palm up her body, cupping first one breast, then the other, rolling each nipple until they hardened like him. When his mouth closed over one and his teeth worried it, she muttered a word she’d learned from the Hurlaheys and slid her hand inside his jeans.
He rose, palms at her back, lifting and holding her to his lips as he teased and taunted and took. Her jeans fell away, as did his. Though the tent surrounding them was dark, the night beyond it ever darker despite the distant rumble of thunder, nevertheless, Gina saw in her mind’s eye the contortions of their bodies, the slide of legs, of hands and fingers, of lips, and it excited her.
He urged her onto her stomach so he could run his mouth from her ankles to the soft curves at the backs of her knees, then up her thighs, across the swell of her buttocks, where she felt again his teeth, then to her spine. His fingernail ran gently upward, over each ridge, before his hands spread across her shoulders, down her ribs to her hips. Her skin on fire, she began to turn, but his voice stayed her.
