Loving Again(5)

                In spite of his claims that he fumbled with women’s clothing, he had no trouble with the zipper on her jeans or with easing them over her hips. She kicked off her sandals and shimmied the jeans the rest of the way off until they fell to the floor. Clad now in nothing but a scrap of lace, she was aware of how naked she was. From the flare of desire in his eyes she knew he was aware, too.

                He led her to the bed, she lay down and he sat beside her. He dipped his head to one breast, teasing the nipple with his tongue, while he massaged the other breast, rolling the hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She arched toward him, as if to bring her breasts closer to his mouth, as a hunger for him increased with each touch, every kiss.

                Wanting to feel his bare chest against her, she tugged at the buttons on his shirt, her fingers shaking with desire, finally getting them undone. He worked the cuffs and she slid the shirt down over his shoulders until it joined her T-shirt and jeans on the floor. She wrapped him in her arms, drew him to her, felt her sensitive nipples brush against his hard chest and sighed with pleasure.

                But he backed away. She made a soft sound, objecting to the loss of his heat, her arms reaching for him, until she saw he was only shedding his boots, jeans, and boxer briefs. Before he came back to her, he pulled his wallet out of his jeans and removed a foil packet, placing the condom on her bedside table.

                If the thought occurred to ask him why he was carrying condoms around, it was smothered in a kiss. And in the thrill of having him run hands down her body until his fingers found the top of her lace thong. When he’d helped her wriggle out of the last barrier of clothing between them, she pulled him close to her, their arms and legs twined around each other. She rocked her hips against his and walked her fingers down his stomach to his thighs, touching the velvety tip of his erection, but he caught her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed her fingertips.

                “Let’s take this slow, baby. We’re in no hurry.”

                As if to prove his point, he didn’t touch her anyplace but her face, tracing around her mouth, her nose and eyes with his forefinger, then kissing each place in turn. “You’re so beautiful. Even in jeans and a T-shirt with dust streaks on your face you were beautiful.”

                “You don’t have to say that, I’m already in bed with you.”

                He gave her a mock serious look. “There are a few rules with me. The first is when I tell you you’re beautiful, you say, ‘thank you, Sam’ and you don’t give me attitude.”

                “Thank you, Sam.” She suppressed a laugh. “Any more rules?”

                “Later.” He went back to exploring her with his fingertips and mouth, back again to her throat, her collarbones and her breasts. “Right now, I’m busy.”

                This time she couldn’t keep the laugh under wraps. “So, you like rules, do you?”

                “Hell, yes. I’m all about rules. Why do you think I’m a cop? Rules, regulations, laws. I’m in my element.”

                “And do you always make your women laugh in bed?”

                “Yeah. Sometimes, even on purpose.”

                She was still smiling when he turned the conversation serious again by making love to her mouth, slowly and sweetly at first then fiercely, demanding she join him in the passionate play of lips. As their tongues explored and played feint and parry, their hands roamed over bodies hot with desire, discovering the texture of skin, finding the places where pleasure lay, warmed by the heat they were generating.

                When he finessed her legs apart and slid one of his legs between hers, she urged him on with her hips, wanting him, ready for him, needing him.