He wasn’t about to hesitate, and he tugged the lace down, drawing her breast free, then closed his mouth over it, electricity shooting through him from the contact, and his cock hardening from the sound of her gentle cry of “oh” coupled with her hands clutching hard to his shoulders. That was Anne, he thought. Softness and steel.
And then he stopped thinking altogether, concentrating only on the pleasure of her body.
His mouth moved from her breast up her delicate collarbone, then to her ear, his tongue sweeping in, knowing what made her wet, wanting her as turned on as he was.
Her moan told him that his memories hadn’t lied. Her fingers in his hair moved with desperate urgency. “Reg, please,” she whispered, and he stroked his hands down, down, cupping her sex through her jeans, then feeling a wash of male satisfaction as she writhed against him. “Dear Lord,” she said, her own hands moving, grasping, touching, and his cock hardening in response, although he didn’t see how he could get any harder than he already was.
Her lips were on his neck suddenly, and she was leaning forward, no longer content to sit back as he made love to her. Her fingers eased down, finding the button of his fly even as his own fingers were pulling down her zipper. He let one finger slip inside, easing between denim and satin, then groaned when he found her panties soaked. The groan transformed into one of pure pleasure when her soft fingers cupped his cock through the khaki of his own pants.
“Off,” he said, and she nodded mutely, then started fumbling at her clothes. He did the same, saying a silent thank-you to whoever invented slip-on shoes, then immediately forgetting his damn shoes when he saw Anne, stretched out on the chaise, wearing a sultry smile on her face, and not a single stitch of clothing.
“It’s April Fools’ Day,” he said as the sun streaming in from around the edges of the closed curtains cut shafts of light over her body. “I’m afraid if I blink you’ll disappear.”
“I’m not going anywhere again,” she said, her eyes meeting his. “Are you?”
He didn’t answer—he couldn’t. Nothing had changed, not really. And yet this felt right, and the three years they’d been apart felt so very wrong.
She must have seen the conflict on his face, because she shook her head, and flashed a sad, quick smile. “I don’t need an answer right now,” she said. “Right now, I only need you.”
Thank God for that.
He moved to straddle her, his skin so sensitive that the slightest brush of breath against it could send him over the edge. He craved her like he’d never craved anything before, and he wanted nothing more than to please her, to live up to the desire he saw in her eyes. And the love.
He touched her gently at first, but he couldn’t remain gentle, and when she urged him on, he spread her legs and found the core of her. He slid his hands over her, feeling her slick wet heat, knowing that he wouldn’t last long. He’d put a condom in his wallet—at the time, he hadn’t known why, since he hadn’t slept with a woman since Anne had left. Now, of course, he knew. It was because of her, and when he sheathed himself and slid inside, he seemed to fit her perfectly, her body closing around him like a glove, the small contractions of her muscles drawing him in, growing stronger as her breath grew more strangled and as reality seemed to spin away leaving nothing but the moment. Nothing but them, together, floating high, coming nearer and nearer to some unknown destination until, finally, he realized it wasn’t the destination that mattered but merely that they were coming.
Coming.
And that was when he shattered, the world, the universe, his body exploding, and Anne’s too, as she clung to him, fingernails digging into his back, her legs hooked around his waist pulling him closer and tighter, as if trying to milk every last instant from the moment, every last tremor and pulse of pleasure.
“Wow,” he said, his arms no longer capable of holding him up. He rolled to the side, his back against the couch, his arms cradling her. They were both coated in a fine sheen of sweat, and for a few minutes, or possibly an eternity, they simply lay there. Then she rolled over, pressing her face against his chest so that her breath cooled his damp body. “What happens if we don’t solve the curse?” she asked, not looking up. “Are you just going to walk out on me again?”
He looked down at the dark curls of her head, but he couldn’t see her face. He couldn’t answer. He didn’t know what the answer was.
She tilted her head up, and he realized she’d taken hope from his hesitation. “It’s getting less, you know,” she said. “Years ago, the stories tell of Franklins dying. Now, you lose out on a hotel reservation.”