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"You've asked me a dozen questions since this got started, but not one of them had anything to do with whether or not I might have a condom on me."
He was right. She hadn't given a thought to birth control, probably because she'd never used it. It had taken her so long to get pregnant with Edward that she'd been afraid she was infertile.
"Do you have one? Stupid. Of course you don't. Why would you?" She jerked the dress back over her breasts and regarded him glumly. "Sex is so easy for some women. Why is it so hard for me?"
His knuckles brushed her cheekbone and he smiled. "Actually, I do."
"You do?"
He slipped his hand inside the collar of her dress and cupped her neck. "This past week the air between us has been hot enough to boil water, so I bought some on Monday. And don't think everybody in town knows about it. I drove over to Brevard, so we could keep this between ourselves." He paused. "I wouldn't hurt you for the world, sweetheart."
The endearment felt like warm syrup poured right over her heart. His voice grew soft and gruff. "Now are you ready to settle down so we can enjoy this, or do we have to keep talking for another hundred years."
The unsteadiness inside her vanished. "I'm ready." She smiled. "Let's go inside."
He regarded her thoughtfully. "I don't think so. If you were a nice lady, I'd take you in the house. But a wanton woman like you doesn't need a bed." He slipped the dress back down over her shoulders and cupped her breasts.
The next thing she knew, they were kneeling in the wet grass and her dress had fallen down around her hips. Through the haze of her desire, she realized they hadn't kissed. She wanted to see what it would be like to engage in one of those dirty soul kisses with him. She leaned back far enough to gaze at his obstinate mouth, then tilted her head toward it and closed her eyes.
Her lips brushed his, but a strand of her hair was in the way. She reached up to push it aside, only to feel herself tumbling backward.
He sprawled next to her, slipped his hand under her full skirt, and ran his palm up the inside of her leg. A lock of wet, dark hair curled over his forehead. His white T-shirt had gone transparent from the rain, and she could see his flesh beneath. His fingers brushed over the silky crotch of her panties.
"You feel so good," he said.
She lay nearly naked in the high, wet grass, and she should have been cold, but she was on fire. She couldn't speak as he tortured her through the nylon, almost, but not quite, touching where she most wanted to be touched. He set one leg across her knee, holding it open, as if there were any need.
"Too many clothes," she managed, clutching a handful of wet cotton T-shirt in her fist.
"My thoughts exactly."
Even as they rose to their knees, he continued to cup her, rub her, so her legs remained parted and her breathing grew shallow and rapid. She jerked his T-shirt from his jeans and dragged the wet fabric up over his chest.
He pushed his finger beneath the leg opening of her panties and slipped it inside her.
She gasped and sagged against him.
"Don't move," he whispered.
He withdrew, circled, entered. Withdrew again. That torturous circling. Another entry.
"Oh, no…" she moaned.
He caught her earlobe between his lips and held her still like a great male animal keeping his mate in place while he took his pleasure.
She groped for the snap on his jeans, fumbled with the zipper, slipped her hand inside and caught him in her fist.
Now he was the one who gasped.
"Don't…" he moaned. He withdrew his finger and moved it forward. He rubbed.
"Don't…" she moaned, as she stroked him.
They shuddered together, each on the brink of a precipice neither was ready to tumble over.
He took his hand away.
She took her hand away.
