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“You’re a dead man,” she managed.
“Humor me.” His palms slipped along her spine and the teasing faded. “You feel so damn good.”
His stroking felt even better.
He touched her bottom, the back of her thighs, pulled her more tightly against him. “Do you have any idea what I want to do with you right now?”
Yes, but she still wanted him to tell her. She wanted to hear words that weren’t polite. Lovely sexual dirt
y talk that would stir her blood. “Tell me,” she heard herself say. “Tell me exactly.”
He squeezed her nipple. A deliciously sensuous threat. “You like playing with fire?”
“Yes.”
“Then get ready to burn.”
And burn she did . . . at the graphic descriptions. The lusty demands. The earthy language of sex and lust.
“. . . stretch you out . . . open your legs . . . open you . . .”
He spoke into her mouth. Claimed her with his tongue. And his hands . . . oh, his hands . . . they were everywhere. Possessing her body as if he owned it.
“. . . touch you here . . . press right here . . .”
Between her legs . . . fingers seeking . . .
“. . . in here.”
No reticence, no hesitation, no repulsion because she was female.
“And here . . .”
Reveling in her woman’s scent and feel . . .
“A little deeper . . .”
Burning for her.
His touch quickened. She cried out and shattered.
He held her and kissed her through the tender earthquakes.
As the aftershocks faded, she grew aware of his strong bare back beneath her palms, the skin hot and damp, muscles taut from self-control. She reached between their bodies and touched him.
He leaned into her hand. His breath rasped in her ear. And then he jerked away. “Damn those kids!”
She dragged air into her lungs.
“I want you to myself!” His voice was ragged with frustration. “I don’t want to worry about how much noise we’re making or whether somebody’s going to wake up for a drink of water.” He uttered a blistering obscenity, one he’d used in an entirely different way only moments before. And then he straightened. “Iowa!”
Her brain felt muzzy. “What?”
“No kids. And a bed . . .” His hands slicked over her. “Not just a pile of pine needles. As soon as we get to Iowa, we’ll have real privacy, and then we can finish this.”
“Iowa . . .” So far away.
He bent over, and she heard a rustle. He pressed her nightgown against her. “I’m not giving back the panties.”
