Summertime Dream (24 page)

Still simply kiss upon kiss. Deep and delicious. Soft as down and fiercely claiming. He traced his fingers over her back and sides, as they rose and fell together, filling her with hot shivers. Breaths quickening. Need heating. Still leaving her the bra. Leaving her the choice.

She slid her hands under his T-shirt, savoring hot smooth skin, taut muscles, fingers brushing his nipples. Breaking away on a sharp groan, Christopher yanked his T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

She sat back on his thighs, her pulse drumming, needing the breath-catching pause. The power of her need for him stunned her after the day’s already intense emotional upheaval. Finally, finally, she could explore with her sight, hands, and mouth all of what she’d admired at a distance on those steamy days he’d stripped down to shorts or jeans while working. She skimmed a hand over the pleasing texture of his chest hair, adoring his simmering green eyes and the quiet mature strength in his face. Yes. She would accept Christopher’s gift of change. How could she not let him help her put her fear behind her? How had she ever longed in pain after a boy? She would close the old chapters of her life with Eddie, finally. Making love with Christopher would let her begin writing her own new chapter.

A change. A new story for her own life.

She unfastened his waistband button.

Hunger filled his face, but he took a ragged breath and stopped her at the zipper. “No. Wait. Not yet. Not here.” He softened that order with a long, slow dizzying kiss. “I want this right for us.”

Wait? What? Before she could question him, he stood and scooped her into his arms. She clung tightly with a giddy laugh. “Be careful! Your arm.”

“Arm’s fine.” He charged up the spiraling steps, not even breathing heavily as he carried her through the library and over the threshold into his bedroom. He set her on her feet beside the bed and dragged back the crisply-made bedding, revealing the simple ivory sheets.

He stepped back. As he studied every day-lit inch of her standing before him in her bra and shorts, she stomped down the urge to hide herself. The heat in his unwavering gaze and heavy arousal straining his jeans gave more certain reassurance her scar was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

Her tight breasts ached for his hands and mouth again. Her whole body hummed with need. She raised her chin and unsnapped her shorts, liking his sharp inhale and tightening lips.

Taking a steadying breath, keeping her eyes locked on his, finding strength in his hungry gaze, she drew her shorts down, leaving her panties in place. Today of all days she had to pick the ones with the smiling daisies? Oh, if only she’d worn the pink lace.

Wanting him more than her last anxieties could quench, but unsure what to do next and barely able to breathe for the tension, she blurted, “Your turn.”

He raked a leisurely gaze over her and broke into a sexy grin. “Nice flowers.”

His quip sent all the breath rushing back to her and she laughed.

He toed off his shoes and socks and stepped close, and after a soft kiss brimming with banked fire, this time he let her draw down his zipper. His relieved groan was too much to resist and she stroked her palm over him. “Oh, honey, yeah.” He shucked down his jeans and briefs, and stepped free, now wearing just his smile.

She flushed under another rush of nerves. If only she could be so at ease in her birthday suit. Scrambling in her mind to reclaim her be-bold plan, she took her fill of looking him over—the whole gut-wrenching wonderful appeal of him: his patient smile, his strong broad shoulders, the way the hair swirled over his chest and down in a narrowing path to the eager jut of his erection, to muscular thighs dusted with more brown hair, and back up to meet his eyes, her own cheeks scorching and pulse racing.

His grin widening, he caught her hand to the thick rigid length of him.

Softly, she traced his contours, his skin silky and hot. She closed her fingers over him, fondling and stroking, as he’d caressed her.

With a throaty growl, he rode against her hand tightening and rising in her grip. He wrapped his hand over hers, compressing her grasp on him and guiding her in a firm stroke. “Ah, yeah, good. Harder.” His eyes fluttered closed and face focused.

His hoarse begging sent a thrill through her. Emboldened, she pulled him down for a kiss. He rocked into her hand, taking over her mouth in a sweet fierce invasion. Fueled by his moans, she found her own delight in pleasuring him, loving the play of hands and mouths, the heat of skin to skin, and her anxieties faded to far in the background of her mind.

He sucked in a shuddering breath. “Aw, Margie. Love your hands on me.” He shifted his stance, drawing her hand away to his chest as he brushed his lips over her shoulder, nuzzling gentle bites and soft suckling kisses over her throat. She let her head fall back, dissolving under his touch, sighing with pleasure.

“Your turn,” he murmured as he slid one bra strap away and the next. He slipped the hooks and dropped the bra away. Cupping her bare breasts, he brushed his thumbs over her nipples, making her gasp as sensation zinged through her. He smiled, and stroked her again. “Like that?”

Her breath caught sharply at the pleasure. “Oh, yes.”

“Good. Feels good here, too. Oh, look at you, so beautiful.” Conviction rumbled in his hoarse statement, his steady eyes drinking her in, deep with desire as he caressed her breasts. “Look.”

Dragging in a shivering breath, she looked down at his strong-boned hands, tan against the pale cream of her breasts and washed in sunlight, her nipples tight and rosy from his attentions. For the first time since the operation, she felt beautiful, desirable. For the first time, she saw her scar without a stab of despair.

She sought his mouth, licking at the seam of his lips. He opened hungrily to her offer and they sank together onto the bed, the smooth sheets cool against her heated skin. His arousal pressed hard and hot against her thigh. Breaking the kiss to lean over her, he closed his mouth over her breast, a searing exquisite suckling, shooting sharp pleasure through her. He played his free hand over her, caressing her, tickling, tracing, sliding over every inch of bare skin.

She caught her hands onto his head, threading her fingers into his hair, too captivated by his sensual play to do other than hold on and beg for more.

The next slide of his hand brought him down over the thin cotton barrier of her panties in a gentle stroke.

“Oh!” She arched into his touch, opening her legs to his next caress.

With a pleased chuckle, he suckled firmer, teasing with his tongue, his finger strokes below tender and relentless. Tingles of heat built, luscious tension coiled deep and powerful. Just when she thought he would relent and send her over the edge, he shifted and brought his mouth to her other breast.

This time he slipped his questing hand beneath her panties. He cupped her, stroking a firm finger over her needy place. She tightened, riding into his touch. He stroked lower, gently entering her wetness below. She surrendered to his loving, rhythmic touch with abandon, shuddering at the delicious sensations, needing him closer. The next sleek, slick contact jolted her with a hot, bright flush of pleasure and sharp shivers. Her cry burst free. “Chris!”

He leaned up, his eyes hot, and a pleased-with-himself grin on his face. He should be pleased. She was certainly pleased with him.

After a lingering kiss to her mouth, he swept her panties away. Now both of them were bare to each other.

The passion in his eyes heated again as he studied her lying there decadently laid out before him. “You are so beautiful.” He traced his hand over her, breasts, belly, thighs, following with light kisses, making her shiver and sigh, sending her floating in pleasure. He was treating her like she was fragile—no, treating her like she was precious. All the difference in the world. He’d said he wanted to do this right. Oh, he was doing far better than right.

He teased and stroked, giving her kisses and soft nips and licks, along with sweet whispers and praises for her gasps and moans. The humid breeze added its own cooling caress over her hot skin. He kept up his sensual assault until she was riding his hand in abandon and gasping, needing more, needing all of him. “Christopher, Chris, I need you, please.”

“I need you, too.” His voice rolled low and rough.

When he twisted away abruptly, reaching toward the bedside table, the sudden absence of his touch was a shock, but she was rewarded with a gorgeous view of the lines of his shoulder, back, and rear. Was there anything more beautiful than a strong man’s shoulders and back?

He removed a condom from the drawer.

Chill anxiety skittered along her nerves again. The point of no return. Was she really ready…Just at that moment, he glanced over his shoulder, his expression all hungry and loving, warming her like the clearest sunshine.

She smiled. No, she wouldn’t let false fear win.

He returned, stretching out over her, and claimed her mouth with a powerful kiss, positioning himself between her legs, but only teasing his length slickly against her center, the pressure strangely comforting.

Loving the weight of him cradled between her legs, she rocked with him, feeling loose and wound and aching for him to fill her as the sizzling heat in her belly rekindled. She cupped his face, the sandpapery prickles of beard rasping against her palms. “I need,” she gasped. “Now.”

“Yes.” He nudged at her, teasing, stretching. Taking her mouth in a hot deep kiss, his tongue stroking in time with his gentle questing thrusts.

Her hips lifted reflexively, wanting more, deeper, even as a last burst of anxiety overtook her, tightening her against his entry. Gathering in a shaking breath, she slid her hands over the tense muscles of his arms and settled her grip. She
was
turning this page.

Lifting away from their kiss, his temples beaded with sweat, he locked his eyes on hers. “You’re mine.” Rearing back, he shifted his knees, spreading her, and gripped her hips.

His, his, his, oh, yes, she was his. She arched, digging her fingers into the bedding, lifting for him. “Yes!”

He thrust hard, filling her deeply, stunning and wonderful, painful and precious. She gasped, drowning in sensation: the foreign, luscious fullness and sharp pinching discomfort, his firm grasp, her panting breaths.

Eyes wide, he stilled, rigid as stone. “Aw, honey...”

So much for hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Tense tremors ran through him. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you say—”

She pressed a finger to his lips. No regrets. No guilt. “I wanted you. I still want you.” Instead of guilt, she felt wonderfully, amazingly free. She tightened around him experimentally, loosening and contracting her muscles, and shifted her hips. The pinching ache eased and ripples of pleasure swelled.

“Easy—” He groaned, moving deep within her. “Aw, hon, you feel so good.” He retreated and returned in a tense gliding thrust.

“So do you.” Craving more, and curious, she rocked against him, rewarded with another pulse of pure pleasure and driving another gusty groan from him.

“Wrap your legs around me.” He smiled and leaned in for a kiss.

Oh, that was even better as they rode together in long, easy strokes. Even better as she learned to rise and meet him.

Quickly, the rush of his breath grew harsh, his rhythm sharper. He shifted. “Hold on. Got to move.”

His next powerful stroke took her breath. She grabbed onto his shoulders. So many sensations to focus on: Their eyes locked together, his strokes shortening, strengthening, the powerful shift of his muscles under her hands, their breathless urgent gasps and moans, the perfect ride of their bodies together, wilder, harder. Strange shakes raced through her thighs. She whimpered, panting as she trembled and strained under him, needing
more
. So close, so close.

“Yes! Come on, honey. I can’t—Now.” A hard thrust and he stiffened, throwing his head back with a harsh groan.

Joy blazed in her as she savored his face fierce in his pleasure and the heavy pulse of him within her. She clenched around him, setting off a new heavy groan, his throat working.

He collapsed forward onto his elbows, chest heaving in ragged gasps, blindly nuzzling kisses over her. Wrapped together, she’d never felt more close, more perfect. Sweat slickly glued their skin together. Little shivers ran over her skin. His body gave gentling twitches within her, setting off another ripple of her body around him.

“Oh, so good.” He pressed his cheek to hers. “Sorry, honey, couldn’t hold off. I wanted this to be good for you.”

Her mind still spinning in a dreamy mix of wired and relaxed, she caressed his damp, tense back. “Sorry? Good? You were awesome.” Why on earth was he sorry?

“I wanted to give you more. I wish you’d told me. I wish I’d known I was your first.”

She kissed his cheek, love for him blooming rich and huge. “No regrets. You made me feel wonderful. So wanted.”

“I wanted you. Beyond wanting.” His eyes fierce and his expression complicated, he crushed his mouth down on hers in a plundering kiss as if to underscore that vow, taking her breath away, and then gentled into utter tenderness. With a last brush of lips, he sucked in a breath and shifted, withdrawing from her. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

She nodded and shut her eyes, sinking into contented, elated fatigue. His footsteps padded off quickly. Distant water ran.

The edge of the bed dipped. She opened her eyes to find him sitting beside her, his face rumpled in soft worried lines, and a warm, wet washcloth clenched in his hand. He leaned over and brushed his lips over hers. “You really are okay?”

She stroked his cheek. “I’ve never been happier.”

Between showers of kisses, he lovingly tidied her, a disconcerting and terribly sweet intimacy. He locked his gaze with hers, the tension in his face easing, but his expression resolute. “I promise to do better next time.”

She smiled. “I don’t know what’s better than perfect, but I’ll hold you to that promise.”

****

Christopher chuckled, his remorse ebbing under Margie’s radiant smile. He stretched out beside her and gathered her close, humbled, shaken to have been her first, and absurdly honored at her trust. He stroked his hand over her hip, relishing her cheerful humming sigh, the skin on skin contact, and the simplicity of relaxing in each other’s arms. As for him, for the first time in his life, sex was more than a frustrating empty pursuit of connection and pleasure.