Not Even for Love(9)

But his hands had slipped under her sweater and were learning the lush curves of her breasts. “Reeves, please … no,” she pleaded. “No…I can’t. I don’t …”

“I do, Jordan. I do. But not like this. Never before like this.”

Then the sweater was being peeled over her head and she lay exposed to his ardent eyes. “My God,” he breathed as his heated gaze devoured her. Tenderly, his hands caressed her and he watched in adoring wonder as her breasts responded readily, eagerly, to the manipulation of his fingertips.

Embarrassed by his scrutiny and her response to his touch, she shut her eyes. His mouth closed over her breast. The nipple knew the sweet nudging of his tongue. He tugged on her gently, yet she felt it deep within her body, igniting a fuse that raced through her veins, leaving behind a thrilling conflagration. She cried his name softly.

He lifted his head and asked anxiously, “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” she sobbed, and clasped his head, drawing it back to her.

“Jordan,” he murmured against her dewy skin. “You’re delicious.” His mouth continued to torture and tease and she knew that she was lost. The battle was over before it was begun. He was the victor because he really had no opponent. She had forfeited. She wanted this now as much as he did.

When he undid her slacks and slipped them and her panties down her legs, she made no move to resist. He stood, and with a quick yank to the string at his waist the pajamas slid down his legs to the floor. He lay down again and gathered her to him.

His body moved along hers, detailing the physical differences between them. His leg with its hair-roughened skin lay across hers, heavy and protective. His chest raked against her breasts, tickling them with the crinkly brush that covered it. A thumb feathered her cheek as he kissed her long and deep.

His hand smothered over the satin skin of her hip and along her thighs, between them. His sharp intake of breath echoed hers when he touched the gate of her femininity. He found it pliant and ready for his caress. He stroked her appreciatively. “Jordan, you feel so good. So incredibly good.”

His fingers worked like a magic wand that showered her body with iridescent sparks of ecstasy. Fervent kisses were rained on her breasts. His body continued to stroke hers. With every movement, every soft panting breath, she beseeched him to explore further.

When she could bear no more, she clutched him tightly. He moved over her, but restrained himself long enough to ask hoarsely, “Jordan, is there any reason why I shouldn’t do this?”

Yes! There were a hundred reasons. Thousands. A vision of another face was projected onto her brain, but she refused to look at it. She was at such a level of desire that nothing else mattered. Reeves had kissed her, caressed her like no other man ever had. She couldn’t deny the sleeping passion he had awakened. None of this should be happening. But it was. And she wanted it to happen.

She shook her head against the pillow. “No, no reason.”

He fused their bodies together so consummately that she gasped her pleasure in the form of his name. “Yes, Jordan, yes,” he rasped against her ear. “It’s good. Wonderful.”

The rightness of it didn’t escape their passion-clouded minds. Each recognized the harmonious way their bodies coupled. The rhythm with which they moved seemed rehearsed. They withheld nothing. Barriers didn’t exist. Inhibitions were banished.

Nor did they hasten.

Every move was calculated to bring the other pleasure. Each caress was slow and provocative, its sole intention to please. They each became drugged with the essense of the other until the culmination exploded upon them. It rocketed through them simultaneously. Reeves buried his face deep within the curve of her shoulder. Jordan clasped him to her and gloried in the fulfillment.

“I don’t understand this.” She shifted closer to him and rested her cheek on the dark hair on his chest.

“What’s to understand?” he asked softly. His arm cradled her against him while the other hand stroked her hair.

“This isn’t like me. I’ve never … I haven’t been with a man since my husband,” she admitted abashedly. He probably wouldn’t believe her. She hardly believed it herself.

He lifted his head off the pillow and gazed down at her face, which was shadowed by the single candle on the bedside table. His index finger traced down her cheek, still flushed with his love. “You don’t have to justify that or apologize for it. I think I would have known it anyway.”

She raised her eyes and looked at him. “Was I that awkward?” she asked.

“You were perfect.” He kissed her gently on the lips. “But physically it didn’t feel like you were often with a man.”