A Different Kind of Forever(37)

“Shit,” she muttered. “Wait.” She reached back and grabbed a condom out of her top drawer. She held it up before him, then pushed it into his palm. She pulled his shirttail from the waist of his jeans and unsnapped them in a flick of her thumb, pulling down the zipper. He lifted his hips as she eased them down and tossed them aside, then bent to take him into her mouth. He made a sound, soft, and he moved uncontrollably as she closed her lips around him, one hand running lightly across the tight muscles of his abdomen, the other stroking him, following the rise and fall of her mouth. His hips moved, imperceptibly at first, matching her rhythm, and he grew harder.

Diane flicked her tongue, delighted with the smell of him, inhaling deeply as she felt her own desire grow. He filled her mouth, not just the feel of his flesh, but the taste of him, sweet, and he made another sound, a low groan, and his legs moved, his hips rising faster. His hand grabbed her hair.

“Wait,” he gasped. “Wait.”

She lifted her head, hitched up her dress, and swung one leg over, straddling him. He sat up and pulled her to him, and his hands came up her legs, under her dress, pulling it over her head. His breath was ragged, and he pulled away her bra as she pressed herself against him, feeling him through the thin fabric of her panties. Her breasts felt tender, and when he put his mouth to her nipple, she whimpered. His hands were on her hips, holding her as she rubbed herself against him, feeling a rise, a swell of pleasure.

She had wrapped her legs around him and he moved, lifting her, then laid her down beneath him. She was gasping, eyes closed, her arms outstretched, fingers gripping the carpet, and he slid his hands under her panties, pulling them down, kissing hungrily her ankle, then the tender spot inside her knee, and the soft flesh of her thighs. She arched her back as she felt his tongue, and her eyes flew open.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, and she tried to push her hips upward, but he held her down.

“Patience,” he said softly, and she felt him again, tongue moving slowly, slowly, and each sweet touch brought from her a sound, deep and breathless. The blood pounded in her ears as she strained against him, and she could feel her climax building. She could hear her voice, pleading, please, please, and she came in a violent wave that took her breath as her body heaved away from him.

Her head was thrown back, and when she opened her eyes, his face was above her, and he kissed her cheeks, and then her mouth, deeply, and she could taste herself on his lips, and the salt of her tears. He was between her legs, and she rubbed his erection, hard against her belly. She reached down and guided him, and he entered her gently, her flesh still throbbing, and she lifted her body to meet his. Her legs curled around him, her hands running down his back, pressing him deeper. He was moving slowly, deliberately, looking into her eyes, and she felt too open, too vulnerable, but she could not look away from him. She felt his body quicken, and at the same time she felt something of the same begin in her again and she wrapped her legs tighter, pushing herself harder into him.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please, don’t stop.” His eyes darkened and his jaw clenched, she could feel all the muscles begin to strain, but he did not stop. He rose

himself above her, watching her as she arched against him, and she came again, crying out, and as she pulled down his head, searching for his mouth, he came with a shudder, his own cry muffled.

He lay still against her. He was lightly built, almost delicate, all wiry muscle and lean flesh. When he tried to move, she tightened her arms, her legs, keeping him close.

“No,” she whispered. “Not yet.” He lifted his head and smiled at her, his body loose now and damp with sweat. The house was quiet, music playing softly from the living room, her breathing finally slowed. He lifted himself off her and rolled on his back, eyes closed, breathing deep.

Diane felt stunned. Every inch of her skin felt new and exquisitely tender. She stared at the ceiling, wishing she could find words, something to say to him, something clever and smart, so he would not know how shaken she was.

Michael rolled to his side, facing her, head propped on his hand. With one finger he outlined the line of her lips, swollen and red, and she bit his fingertip very softly, then kissed it. He brushed the damp hair from her face.

“What is that music?” he asked quietly.

She listened. “Vaughn Williams. It’s called ‘A Lark Ascending’.”

“Pretty. Do you like classical music?”

“Sometimes. I like this. It helps me relax.”