Deadline (Sandra Brown)

fantasized you doing it, too.”
    They smiled at each other as he settled between her thighs, pushing into her only a little, but enough to cause him to groan softly. “God that feels good.”
    “What else have you fantasized?” she asked.
    “Hard and fast against a wall. No, wait. We did that for real. It just seemed like a fantasy.” He felt her soft laugh all the way to the base of his cock, and it caused him to grimace with the effort of withholding himself from sinking into her completely.
    She trailed her fingers down his spine to the cleft of his butt. His breath caught. “Anything else?” Her voice was as sexy as the feathering motions of her fingertips.
    “You taking me in your beautiful mouth. Oh, you did that, too. Or was I hallucinating?”
    “If you were, so was I.”
    “That’s a fantasy that bears acting out again, don’t you think?”
    “Oh, absolutely. Often.”
    He gave her a wicked smile, which she matched.
    “So, is that it?” she purred. “Have we run out of fantasies?”
    “Hell, we’re just getting started.” Sliding his hand beneath her bottom, he tilted her up. “Going real slow, like now.” He kissed her, his tongue sliding into her mouth with the controlled intensity with which he was pushing into her. He pulled out, almost entirely, before sinking into her a little deeper than before. And again.
    She made a small, wanting sound and breathed his name. “What exactly do you call this particular fantasy?”
    He buried himself inside her fully and, just as he kissed her again, whispered, “Making love.”
    *  *  *
     
    She lay on her side, facing away from him. Replete. Happier than she remembered feeling in…Possibly ever. She slid her foot up the length of his shin.
    “Know what first attracted me?”
    He pushed his penis against her bottom. “It is impressive. Sometimes embarrassingly so.”
    She laughed. “That wasn’t it.”
    “Oh.”
    She laughed again over how crestfallen he sounded. “It was your crooked tooth.”
    “The one that defied orthodontia?”
    “It’s very sexy.”
    “Glad you think so.”
    “And your hands.”
    “They’re sexy?”
    “They’re large and masculine and capable. And sexy.” She sighed as one closed around her breast possessively. “Will you be able to sleep tonight?”
    “Well, if my recent exertion didn’t wear me out enough to sleep, I can’t imagine what would.” He bit her lightly on the shoulder. “Who knew you’d be so insatiable.”
    She bumped his ribs with her elbow, but, unwilling to leave the subject of his nightmare, repeated her question.
    “Sleep? Maybe,” he said.
    “Surely talking about it lanced the wound.”
    “We’ll see.” His arm tightened around her. “Lying with you is bound to help.”
    Contentedly, sleepily, she mumbled, “Notch up another fantasy fulfilled. I’ve been longing to sleep with you.”
    “You will.”
    “Will?”
    “Just not quite yet.”
    His hands, with their tender touch but masterful guidance, drew her back and up and open for him. He secured himself inside her with his hand on her front, planted firmly between her thighs.
    With very little movement, he pumped into her rhythmically while in shockingly coarse terms he described how it felt to be enveloped by her and the pleasure his fingers and mouth derived from pleasuring her. Soon his lyrics changed to those of poets, but the subtext was as erotically charged.
    When both were on the brink of implosion, his voice became rough with emotion. His breaths became bursts of air against the back of her neck. In the language of raw need, he gasped, “Squeeze me. Tighter.” His body strained, and each shudder was marked with the harsh, choppy cry of a man in the throes of release that went beyond the physical. Finally, as his body relaxed and enfolded hers, he sighed her name like a benediction.
    She fell asleep with all those wonderful words echoing in her heart.
    Hours later when she woke, she instantly missed his warmth, his scent and breath, the weight of his arm across her waist. Alarmed, she sat up. “Dawson?”
    He was gone.

Chapter 30
    H eadly had persuaded Eva to go to the hotel. His condition continued to improve. Carl Wingert was no longer a threat. It was unnecessary for her to spend another uncomfortable night on the foldout chair in his hospital room.
    “But you know the real reason I didn’t want her here,” he said to Dawson after explaining Eva’s absence.
    “Same reason I came now, in the