Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(45)

He pushed his finger beneath the leg opening of her panties and slipped it inside her.

She gasped and sagged against him.

“Don’t move,” he whispered.

He withdrew, circled, entered. Withdrew again. That torturous circling. Another entry.

“Oh, no . . .” she moaned.

He caught her earlobe between his lips and held her still like a great male animal keeping his mate in place while he took his pleasure.

She groped for the snap on his jeans, fumbled with the zipper, slipped her hand inside and caught him in her fist.

Now he was the one who gasped.

“Don’t . . .” he moaned. He withdrew his finger and moved it forward. He rubbed.

“Don’t . . .” she moaned, as she stroked him.

They shuddered together, each on the brink of a precipice neither was ready to tumble over.

He took his hand away.

She took her hand away.

They rose together, and he let her finish removing his clothes. They made a bed from her dress, his jeans and T-shirt. He threw her tiny yellow panties on top, then stepped back to gaze at her as she stood before him, the rain running in rivulets over her shoulders and past the sprinkle of freckles on her chest. It slid over her breasts and down her belly.

While he gazed at her, she looked her fill at him. His chest was muscular from hard work, his abdomen flat where it wasn’t rippled with muscle. Rain matted the dark hair at his groin, making his erection even more prominent. She could no longer resist touching it.

“Take your time.” He drew in his breath, and his voice rose slightly in pitch. “I’ll give you all of five seconds.”

He gave her longer, although not much, and then she found herself once again falling backward as he tumbled her onto the ragtag bed they’d made in the wet Carolina grass.

He spread her legs, and she knew that he was going to do something blissfully raunchy. She squeezed her eyes shut as he raised her knees. “Oh, Bonner . . . Please don’t disappoint me.”

“It’s a good thing,” he whispered against her inner thigh, “that I’m a man who does his best work under pressure.”

“Ohhh. . . .”

She hadn’t expected that he would dawdle so much, taking his time as he parted her, studied her, touched here and there with the tip of his callused finger, brushed with his lips, his tongue . . . When she felt the first gentle suction, she began to sob.

He understood, and he didn’t stop. She shattered within seconds.

As she recovered, she felt her eyes fill with tears. “Thanks, Bonner,” she whispered.

“My pleasure.”

He reached for the wallet that had fallen out of his jeans, but she caught his arm. “Not yet, okay?”

He groaned, but fell back. She liked that he was willing to let her take the lead, and now she was the one who dawdled, touched, and explored, satisfying years of curiosity.

With no warning, she found herself on her back while he grabbed his wallet and spoke in a strangled whisper. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know this is important to you, but believe me, you’ll get a lot more enjoyment if you let me take over now.”

“Okay.” She smiled up at him.

He smiled back at her, but only briefly. She saw the exact moment when the shadow of remembrance came over his eyes, just as she watched him fight against it.

He shut his eyes, and she knew he was trying to forget that the woman who lay beneath him wasn’t his wife. She couldn’t bear letting him pretend she was anyone else, so she brushed her fingertips across his lips, and said softly, “Don’t go squirrely on me now, dude, or ‘Ill have to throw you out and find a younger model.”


His lids shot open. She grinned and took the condom from him. “I’ll do this.”

He grabbed it back. “No, you won’t.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Hussy.”

She’d erased the darkness from his eyes, and only seconds passed before he settled between her thighs.

He felt so good there. Heavy, but solid. Dampness had penetrated their makeshift bed, and the sodden grass squished beneath her back. She should have been uncomfortable, but she could have stayed like this for a thousand years, safe and sheltered beneath his strength with the warm summer rain falling on their bodies.

She had never imagined she could feel aroused and weepy at the same time. She pushed herself against him, needing more. He pushed back, but her body wasn’t as willing to accommodate him as her mind.

“Sorry,” she managed, wanting to burst into tears.

“It’s been a long time for you,” he replied, not sounding all that upset about it.

Once again he began his slow dallying. Even though his breathing was uneven and she could feel his tension, he didn’t rush.

But she wasn’t nearly as patient. It was his fault. He was too big; he was too . . . She arched against him and writhed, really writhed, couldn’t help herself because she had to . . . she simply had to . . .

“Easy . . . Easy . . .”

“No!” She pushed against him, doing her best to impale herself. Needing . . . wanting . . .

He reached between their bodies. What was he doing now? Idiot! Moron! Couldn’t he stick with one thing at a time? Couldn’t he—

She exploded into a million pieces at his touch, and he drove inside her.