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He pushed up, took one in his mouth.
A moan of pleasure slipped from her parted lips, ruffled through his hair. She started to move, slowly at first, as if unsure of what to do, then faster and faster.
Sweat broke out on his chest. His fingers curled into the warm, solid flesh of her buttocks, squeezing, holding, guiding. Her hips moved in an artless, instinctive motion that drove him crazy with need.
He sucked her nipples, first one, then the other,
drawing the puckered peaks deep into his searching mouth. Above him, she made quiet, gurgling sounds of passion that plunged through him, aroused him even more.
Their bodies turned hot and slick and melted into each other, until he didnt know where she stopped and he began. They found a thrusting, grinding rhythm of flesh on flesh.
He couldnt breathe for wanting her. His every sense felt stretched and heightened to painful intensity. A dark emotion tugged at his heart, consumed him. For a heartbeat of time, he felt vulnerable and afraid.
She came down on him hard, twisting, thrusting, driving the air from his lungs. He clung to her, sucking one nipple, pulling the other with his fingers.
She writhed, moaned, arched. Her head flew back in a spray of brown hair.
He glanced up at her, saw her curved above him, her eyes sealed shut, her lips parted, her cheeks bright with passion.
He tried not to come. For the first time in his life, he cared about making this good for her. As good as it was for him.
Ah, Jesus, how good . . .
Agony twisted his insides at the effort, made him swell and ache and hurt. The urge to release himself inside her, lose himself in her hot, wet warmth, was a driving, burning need.
He gritted his teeth and held back. Her name may have slipped from his lips, he wasnt sure. His body shook with the effort of control, sweat burned across his forehead.
She thrashed atop him, whimpering, then suddenly she stiffened. "Oh God, oh God
. . . "
She plunged down on him, grinding herself against his hips with moist, desperate abandon. Her hands left the bedpost and curled in his hair, clutching his head to her, breasts.
He squeezed her buttocks and arched upward, driving himself deep into her body.
She tensed, cried out. The rhymthic pulsing of her release squeezed him.
"Oh, God . . . Matt . . . " she moaned.
At the sound of his name, he was lost. He grabbed her hard and thrust upward again, arching off the bed. Relief exploded through his body, tingled all the way to his fingertips in waves of painful pleasure.
He clung to her sweaty body, feeling suspended, dizzy. Darkness hovered at the edges of his mind. Her! name slipped from his lips in a sigh as he drifted slowly f back to earth.
Exhausted, he sank into the mound of pillows and! pulled her close. She snuggled up to him, slipped her arm around his waist, and buried her face in the crookl of his neck. The harsh scent of sweat and the sweet| smell of passion filled the air.
He had a moments utter bliss, then reality crashed in. | He frowned, remembering the things hed thought about! her, the way hed needed her, and for the first time in his life, he was truly afraid. Hed never needed anyone in his life; it was something he made certain of. He| lived without restrictions, without commitments. Whenl he wanted to walk, he walked; when he wanted to stop,| he stopped. No one and nothing told him what to do.
That kind of freedom was as necessary to him as? breathing. He couldnt live without it, couldnt live in safety behind a white picket fence. Couldnt grow old on some nothing little apple farm in the middle of nowhere.
And yet, a few moments ago, hed needed her. Not as a physical release, not as a way to pass the time. Really needed. For a few heartbreakingly perfect minutes, with him inside her, holding her, hed felt . . . complete.
Ah, Mariah, he thought, groaning, what are we doing? What in the hell are we doing?
But he knew.
It wasnt just great sex. It was love.
Mariah curled against Matt, holding him tightly. He stroked her hair in gentle, sweeping motions but said nothing.
