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“Turn around,” she whispered in his ear after a few more moments of delicious torture. “I need to do your front.”
No. AndNo… andyes!
Slowly he turned to face her.
For what seemed like forever they lay with their foreheads almost touching, the air thick with tension and body heat. Her hands swept his pecs. Her breasts couldn’t help but join in, pressing deliciously against his chest.
Now their cheeks were touching, her skin as soft as silk against his beard.
“Felicity?” he whispered hoarsely.
“Yes?”
“What are we doing?”
“Going to sleep.” She buried her face in his neck and he realised he was smiling into her hair. “I see.”
And then she pushed her belly—very gently—against his cock. Rotated her hips. Just a little. A long groan escaped him that may or may not have been her name, and he found his mouth trailing along the soft skin of her neck, towards her collarbone.
She let out something between a sigh and a moan, and her hands shifted around his back and down to his buttocks.
And that, quite simply, was the end of all pretence.
Breathing hard, Oliver covered her mouth with his and sipped and sucked and shuddered against her lips. She opened to him on a sigh and his tongue entered, tasting the sweetness of her mouth, like buttery peppermint.
A second later, she broke away, wriggled, sat up and untied the sarong. She let out a shaky little laugh as it dropped away, half shy, half brazen. God, she was beautiful. His very own Tolkien elf, with her pointed chin, and the butterfly of freckles on her nose, and eyes that glittered deep and hazy with want.
Want for him.
And oh, god, those fantastic breasts!
When she lay back down, he couldn’t help himself, he cupped them in his hands, feeling their weight and, almost dizzy, bent his head, took one pebbled nipple into his mouth and sucked. Like he’d yearned to do since the day he’d carried her out of the shower.
She let out a little cry of assent and arched her body into him.
And Oliver realised that right now, right here, in this tiny camper in the middle of the Nullarbor Plain, there was only room for this moment.
No past and no future.
Just this.
* * *
The feelof his mouth sucking her nipple blew her mind.
Felicity let out a little sound; she wasn’t even sure if it was a sigh or a moan or a sob as she held his darkbeautifulhead to her breast, felt the sharp scrape of his beard against her skin.
If it all went to hell in a handbasket by morning at least she’d have the memories.
In the soft damp night, in this tiny space, Oliver’s body and hers. Touch and sound and smell and taste. Nothing else held any credence.
She let her hands roam down his back, felt the ripple of goosebumps under her fingertips. Dilated pupils darkened those dark eyes even further as he gazed along the length of her body. His jaw worked madly. And any minute now, she knew, he was going to let go of that last shred of control.
And god, shewantedthat.
Boldly, she reached between their bodies, took the shaft of his cock in her hand, felt the slippery swollen tip, loving how it throbbed in her grasp. Then Oliver’s hand encased hers with a rasped “No” before gently, firmly, he removed her fingers and said, “I haven’t been with a woman in six months. We need to slow this down.”
He kissed her lips then, tenderly, his palms stroking over her shoulders, said, “I don’t have condoms.”
