Blue Smoke

cocked her head. “Generally, I distrust men who say just the right thing at just the right time. But I have to say, it’s working for you. Think you can remember your place?”
    He lowered to her, felt her sigh. “Yeah, that’s it.”
    The fantasy of her had been with him all of his adult life. In fantasy she could be—had been—whatever he wanted. But the reality of her was more. Skin and lips, scents and sounds. All washed over him in a hot flood that was need and pleasure and bedazzlement.
    It wasn’t a dream that moved under him, that met his mouth with eager heat. And the woman she was rose out of that dream to surround him.
    He spiked her pulse, had it hammering, had her mind blurring with movement and textures. The scrape of teeth, the glide of tongue, the mix of breath and sighs. His mouth was like a fever, yet somehow patient. As if he was content to let them both burn through kisses alone.
    Then, when she thought she could bear it no longer, when her body arched up to him to offer more, he used his hands.
    Hard, strong hands, brushing, tantalizing, then clamping, possessing. Breasts, thighs, hips, with the heat still rising so she wondered her skin didn’t catch flame.
    He pulled her shirt over her head, and then it was his mouth on her, feasting on the rise of her breasts over cups of lace, sliding his tongue under thin fabric to sample, to tease.

    On a gasp she rolled over him to tug at his shirt, to fight with buttons. She flung back her hair, straddled him as she parted the shirt, ran her hands up his chest.
    “You’re built, Goodnight.” Her breathing was already thick, already unsteady. “Seriously built. Got yourself a few scars.” She trailed her fingers over one that skated along his rib cage, felt him quiver. Then she lowered her head to skim lips, teeth, tongue over flesh.
    He pushed up, shifting her so her legs hooked around his waist. The hands that ran up her back were rough with calluses, and more exciting for it. With one flick of his fingers, he unhooked her bra. She bowed back and moaned when he closed his mouth over her.
    He could feel her heart beat under his lips, all but taste it. Her long body was so smooth, so agile. Narrow torso and hips, miles of leg. He wanted to spend hours exploring her—days, possibly years. But tonight, all those years of longing pressed at him to take, just take.
    He pushed her back, dragged her pants down, followed them with his hands and mouth. Her body undulated, and when he once more feasted on flesh and lace, it bucked.
    Her hands clamped his head, pressing him against her when she came, when she cried out and shuddered. His blood pounded in response as he stripped away the lace and drove her over again.
    And she was dragging him up, her words incomprehensible now as they rolled over the bed. Her hands were quick as well, stripping him bare. Body and soul. Her mouth was hot and hungry, her body vibrating.
    She stayed clamped around him when he tore open a condom, then pushed him next to madness when she took it from him to do the honors herself.
    Once again she straddled him. He stared up at her. Her skin, her hair, her eyes, were all burnished gold in the candlelight.
    She took him into the wet wonder of her.
    Once again her body bowed back as she absorbed the quakes of pleasure. Shimmering through her, silken heat, velvet aches. She rode, taking him deeper, glorying in the desperate grip of his hands on her hips.

    Flash point, she thought dimly when the orgasm ignited inside her. And her body swayed down to his.
    Her head was still spinning, barely registered shock when he rolled, pinning her under him. He was deep in her, hard and deep. She heard his labored breath mix with her own.
    She reached up, braced her hands on his shoulders. His eyes were so green now, she realized, like crystal, with all those mists burned out by passion.
    He plunged into her, stealing even her gasp. Plunged, so that her fingers dug into his shoulders and her stunned system jolted with shock.
    She thought she might have screamed. She heard some helpless sound as her blood rushed through her like a storm. Her body gathered for more, took more even when the pleasure became unspeakable.
    She felt the muscles she gripped harden like iron, knew even as she imploded he was with her.
    And as her hands slid limply off his shoulders, she thought, dazed, Flashover.
    S he was sprawled like the dead under him. Like someone killed in battle, she imagined. Sweaty and