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She had the sensation of floating and drifted toward sleep, but a fresh batch of tears kept it at bay. How humiliating. She had gone against her own staunch moral code. She had offered herself to the man she loved. Hal vowed he loved her. But he had flatly and outrightly rejected her!
Even if their love hadn't been consummated, he could have lain with her, held her, provided her with some evidence of the passion he claimed he felt, given her a shred of a memory to cling to while he was gone.
But his rejection had been total. How low sh
e must be in the order of priorities of his life. He had more important things to do than love and comfort her.
Then the bedroom door opened.
Jenny turned toward the sound and tried to focus tear-laden eyes on the wedge of light that was cut into the consuming blackness. A man was silhouetted against the sudden brightness for only a second before he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.
Jenny sat up and stretched her hands out toward him, her heart leaping and racing with joy. "Hal!" she cried gladly.
* * *
Chapter 2
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He made his way toward the bed and sank down on the edge of it. His shadow was barely discernible against the others in the room.
"You came back, you came back," Jenny repeated as she clasped his hands and raised them to her lips. She rained kisses across the ridges of his knuckles. "My heart was breaking. I need you tonight. Hold me." Her words broke into sobs and his arms encircled her with warmth. "Oh, yes, hold me tight."
"Shh, shh."
The sudden movement of sitting up, the few words she had spoken, taxed her dwindling, drug-affected co-ordination. Spent, she let her cheek fall into the cradle of his palm. His thumb stroked her cheekbones, sweeping off the tears. "Shh." When the tears were dried, she buried her face in the hollow between his shoulder and throat.
He bent his head down over hers. His beard was rough against her temple. With mindless curiosity her hand inched up his chest to touch his face. She gently scratched her nails over the rasping stubble on his chin, accidentally glancing his lips with her fingertips.
She heard him gasp. It seemed to come from far away, though she felt the quickening of his body. Uttering a low, rumbling sound deep in his chest, he tilted her head back and his mouth moved down to greet hers. His arms drew her possessively against his chest. Head falling back in wanton offering, Jenny surrendered her last conscious thoughts and entrusted herself only to sensual instinct.
His lips parted. This time his hesitation was short-lived. A heartbeat ticked by, possibly two, before his tongue came swirling down into the sweetest depths of her mouth, touching secret places, stroking madly.
Jenny whimpered and clung to him dizzily. Her head buzzed and she didn't know if it was the power of his kiss or the sleeping pills that made all her senses hum so deliciously. The kiss continued, gaining in fervor with each second, with each pounding heartbeat, until she thought her heart would break through her ribcage.
Had the sheet and blanket fallen away? They must have because her skin was suddenly cooled. Then warmed. As his hand… His hand? Yes. Moving over her. Touching her breasts. Caressing, kneading, finessing.
She felt her head sinking into the softness of the pillow and realized he had lowered her back onto the bed. The straps of her nightgown were lifted off her shoulders. Her moan could have been one of protest or permission. She wasn't certain. She was certain of nothing save the hands ghosting over her nakedness, acquainting themselves with her shape by touch. Fingertips grazed her nipples, again and again, plucking softly.
Then she fell victim to hot, encompassing sensations, surrounding, tugging. His mouth? Yes, yes, yes. The wet wash of his tongue flaying her gently. It caressed. Round and round. Long and slow. Quick and light.
She wanted to clasp his head and hold him against her, but couldn't. Her arms were heavy, useless, lying on the bed at her sides as though restrained by invisible bands. Her blood was pumping like molten lava through her veins, but she had neither the energy nor the will to move.
She welcomed his weight as he eased himself onto the bed and partially covered her, his tongue prowling the interior of her mouth, but softly, like a stealthy intruder. It was delicious. He was delicious. As was the whisper of cloth against her bare breasts.
Directed by his hands, she raised her hips and aided him in slipping her nightgown off. Beneath him she lay naked and vulnerable. But the hands that moved over her were kind, gentle, pleasure-giving. They touched every part of her, pausing frequently, making a gift of every caress.
The very tips of her toes were brushed by his thumb. Or was it his tongue? Her calves were gently squeezed. Her knees. Thighs. The hands lifted her, positioned her, until she felt the cool bed linens against the soles of her feet.
Mindlessly she obeyed every silent direction. To have refused, to have balked, would have been unthinkable. She was a servant of this seductive master, a priestess of sensuality, a disciple of desire.
His hair pleasantly tickled her belly as his head moved from side to side. He lightly pinched the soft flesh between his lips, laved it with his tongue, sucked at it gently.
And when he opened his hand over her mound, she bowed her head against his chest and savored the cherishing caress that revolved slowly, ground gently.
Oh, yes! her mind cried joyfully. He loved her! He wanted her! She proved her willingness by moving her body in a tempestuous ballet.
Tantalizing, investigative fingers left her flesh slippery against his. His thumb applied a massaging friction that accelerated her breathing, made a drumbeat of her pulse.
