Seventy-Two Hours (26 page)

“You’re smiling,” Chris said as he trailed
kisses along my neck.

“I’m happy, Christopher.”

“My dear, I’ve barely even begun to razzle
dazzle you.”

His fingers worked deftly opening buttons on
the old dress shirt I’d stolen from his side of the closet. Before long, it
was tossed aside as he went to work on the clasp of the demure pale pink bra I
was wearing. It, too, was discarded with haste. My scarred breast no longer
brought a moment of unease or embarrassment to me. Chris assured me over and
over that what he saw when he looked at me was the beautiful woman he fell in
love with.

I shivered with delight as his breath brushed
along my breast before his lips sealed over the peaked nipple and began sucking
it and teasing it with his tongue. My already heated core turned to molten
liquid as I felt my wetness grow in anticipation for what was to come.

Christopher pulled away from me and traced
his finger along the wing of my butterfly tattoo. His touch, gentle and
feather-light, left me panting for more.

On a breathless whisper I said, “Christopher,
please make love to me. Fast and hard. I’m coming out of my skin right now
waiting.”

“We’re not rushing this, Jennifer. We have
the cottage to ourselves and I intend to take advantage of it,” he told me
softly. “I’m going to work you up into a frenzy just to watch the results
unfold before me. Sort of like watching an element convert from a solid state
into a liquid. Ideally, it’s a slow burn until the satisfied results of
pooling occurs. Too hot, too quickly and it combusts with less than perfect
results.”

My breath caught momentarily before I could
say, “Please. Talk more nerd with me.”

Chris lifted me up and placed me on the bed,
“Baby, that’s all you needed to say.”