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"Make love to me, Nick," she begged when he hesitated.
"Oh babe," he groaned wanting to hear those words over and over, and unable to stop the rush of adrenalin that came with the restlessness of his body.
This all felt so right to him. So just this one time he'd take her, and rid himself of desire.
Their lips met in a storm of passion that threatened to undo everything. He wanted to taste every nip and nook of her. "God, you taste good, even better than I remember." he whispered as his lips wandered over her face, touching, kissing, needing. He'd give in to this sudden wanting growing, festering, and unleashing. He wanted to be gentle, to take his time, to give her everything, to make her feel.
His hands went from her hair to the hem of her teddy in one long caress, achingly slow. Without further thought, his hands strayed to her thigh and she uttered a soft guttural sound. A slow slithering hand found the velvet bud of her womanhood moments later, finding it hot and surprisingly moist as he slid the silk aside.
Silk? He groaned from deep within. Goody-Two-Shoes wore silk? How much could he take?
"Oh yes," she cried as his fingers slid inside the silky teddy and began the rhythm of life. Still, he needed to slow down, to take his time, to show her what love could be like.
Suddenly his kisses became softer, more languid. His hand moved upward to cup her face. Their lips fused like hot glue, tongues mating slowly, lapping like kittens to warm milk. His big rough hands crept slowly over her with incredible gentleness, reveling in her smallness.
He slid the thin strap of the ice blue teddy from her shoulders, and his hands glided over her as it slithered down her curves. He groaned.
He held her tight against him for one long moment, and then he moved away, just far enough to peel the teddy downward, slowly. Deliberately he slowed his actions; his desire to please her took over.
With unerring accuracy his kisses went lower, to the soft lobe of her ear where he whispered sweet nothings, to the sweet hollow of her throat, tasting, laving, and demanding. Then finally he eased down to the swell of her small but perfect breast. He lost his breath for a moment as his eyes feasted on her. She was like no other woman he had known,so small, and yet so womanly. His hands cupped her like precious jewels. As her pearly breast grew and puckered, his tongue circled her, enticing a response from her that she was helpless to fight. His nose nudged the pink bud; his eyes glittering at her reactions, her soft moans of pleasure became his reward.
"You're so gorgeous." He whispered between kisses and nips.
He suckled her, lathering her with the moistness of his warm tongue and lips. His breath blew softly against her till she squirmed and moaned her pleasure.
Fireworks went off in his head, as he realized the specialness of this coming together. He coveted the moments, savoring them in his memory for later. If she had to get pregnant, if she had to have it this way, then he would love her so much, and so hard, that she would never be able to forget the father of her baby. And his baby would be born of love, he vowed, his love.
He wanted to shout out his emotions in some sort of release. He wanted to cry, for the love they would share but not keep. He wanted to kiss every part of her until she forgot who she was, where she came from. Yet most of all, he wanted her to know that loving a man could be good, unforgettable. He wanted her to quit thinking, and just feel.
He wanted so much, so little.
When her small, perfect little body, was on fire for him, when she squirmed to be closer, to feel him inside her, he urged himself down on top of her, as the last piece of silk joined the rest. How his clothes joined hers he wasn't sure, but he remembered hot and eager little hands pulling and snatching.
She reached for him, pulling him tighter, moaning softly against him as he let his fingers build the fire. He gloried in the way her legs encircled him, the soft guttural sounds in her throat urged him in his quest to conquer her.
"Oh Nick," she whispered, "Please—."
Then unable to sustain the tension mounting in them both he entered her. For a moment, he closed his eyes and reveled in the feel of just being one with her. Nothing prepared him for the rightness of it. Only God could make them fit so perfectly.
Slowly he began the rhythm that swirled her into a tunnel of sensations. He wanted this to be so special, to wait until they could no longer wait.
It was a glorious high as they reached the highest plateau together, crying out for each other. "Oh, Nick, yes, love me," she cried out as her teeth sank into the hard flesh of his arm, his shoulder, as her fingernails dug into his hard fleshed back.
Nick didn't flinch; he reveled in her need of him. He wrapped his heart around her like a soft, warm blanket, his eyes meeting hers. He was lost in her happiness, in his.
Her skin was moist and hot, her eyes danced in the darkness, and a smile broke across her face as she lay cuddled into his arms moments later.
He couldn't let her go yet. He wasn't sure he could ever let her go again, not after loving her so thoroughly. He'd hoped he had been tender enough, slow enough, but his own wild passions had at long last overtaken the situation. He smiled at the memory of her reaching for him when they met each other with such equal force.
Thoughts of her leaving made him hold her tighter, and kissing the top of her head. How could he want her over and over again? How could he ever get enough of her? She tasted sweeter than any woman he'd ever known. It was as though her very taste were made for him. She felt so right in his arms.
Nick didn't want to think of her leaving him, couldn't, so he erased it from his mind. He thought only of her, with him, loving him, nurturing this newfound feeling for all the moments he might have with her. Could she ever learn to trust the feeling of love?
Later she giggled joyously into his ear, "I never thought I'd be doing something like this in the back of a '57 Chevy."
"Sorry, but it's better than that cot I've got in the back room, believe me." He whispered, his lips still lingered against her heated skin. Yet even as he spoke the words, his heart shouted with words of love, unexpressed.
"Is it morning yet?" she gasp when his lips captured one peak of her breast and suckled. She squirmed, and moaned and began touching him, as though he was a road map and she needed to memorize her destination.
