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He didn’t play games. He held the back of her head and opened his mouth over hers. It was lush and exciting. Wet and all-consuming. A thousand never-ending kisses.
Her body turned to mist, and she lost all boundaries, all sense of herself as something other than him. Other than raw sensation. She opened herself up and took everything he gave her. She had no protection. It was just desire and the man she loved.
She moaned and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling herself against him, angry when it didn’t seem like enough.
“Mia—”
“Shut up,” she muttered, unzipping her sweatshirt and tossing it over her shoulder. Closer. She just wanted to be closer to him.
His chuckle rumbled against her chest and she didn’t like that he was laughing at her. She dropped her hand to his belt buckle and his laughter died on a cough. His wiry strength was taut, expectant, waiting for her next move, and she liked that. She really liked that.
Slowly, carefully, she ran her hands over the jeans below his belt, feeling the hard length of him under the metal and denim.
His groan threw gasoline on the fire burning in her body. Her nipples went hard so fast it hurt and the ache between her legs grew, spreading to her whole body.
He’d laid out a blanket, and she tucked her fingers inside the front waist of his jeans and pulled him toward the old quilt that sat aglow in the last of the sunset.
His shirt rode up, and under her fingers she felt the soft tenderness of his belly. The white-hot heat of his skin. She pushed her fingers deeper and felt the wiry curls of the hair that grew there.
It wasn’t enough—the teasing, fleeting sensations weren’t enough to satisfy her suddenly voracious curiosity. And appetite.
She leaned up on tiptoe and kissed him, sucking on his tongue while her fingers undid his belt. His palms slid over her hips, and he grabbed her ass with both hands, squeezing and pulling her close. She lost focus for a moment, groaning into his mouth, arching her aching breasts against his chest, searching for someplace to put this desire that was getting painful.
She wanted him in her hands. Her mouth. She wanted to suck on him. Taste him on her tongue. Feel him against her lips.
She’d never done this. Not really. And she planned on taking her time. She planned on mastering the skill of pleasing her husband, right now.
Jack muttered something dark and dirty into her mouth and she wanted to laugh with wicked delight.
Finally, her awkward fingers got rid of the belt and the button and zipper of his jeans, and she slid her hands, palms against his belly, into his pants.
His erection, hot and smooth, leaped into her fingers and she curled her palm around him.
He hissed, his hips jerking against hers.
“Mia, baby, listen, I love this, but it’s…it’s been a long time.”
She didn’t say anything. Wasn’t about to let him off the hook. She had a plan, damn it. And he wasn’t going to make a mess of this like he had her life.
A little push and he was on his back on the blanket. His shirt had been pulled up and she saw the muscles of his stomach, the pink tip of his erection. His pants were stubborn but she pulled them down past his hips, revealing the full length of him. The dark, coarse hair.
She’d seen men who weren’t her husband, of course. Well, just Bill Winters. But this was her husband, and love made him so beautiful, so much more than his body and his skin and hair.
“Men like this,” she said, though she wasn’t sure why. Doubts, maybe. She was, after all, a thirty-year-old almost virgin.
“If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about…yes, they do.”
She ran her fingers over him, feeling the veins that pulsed just beneath the skin. His hips lifted off the ground and his legs shifted, bumping into her knees where she knelt.
His reaction excited her and she gripped him in her hand, ran her thumb over the tip, smearing the thick liquid she found there. She brought her thumb to her lips and while he watched, panting through open lips, she licked her thumb.
“Mia,” he groaned.
Yes, she thought, heat and desire pulsing through her. I like this.
She leaned over him, licked him from base to tip, and he groaned, twitching beneath her. She sucked him into her mouth, loving the masculine scent of him, and he yelled, fisting his hands in her hair, pulling her against him, showing her what he wanted, how fast, how hard.
He praised her, his words raunchy and rough, and she wanted to laugh with delight. With how damn alive she felt. How connected to him and to her own womanhood. Her own power.
