Montana Sky

murmur. Her response to every touch was as free and open as any man could wish. Beneath his her body was agile, limber one moment, taut the next as she flowed with him. The flavor of her filled him, threatened to drive him mad if he didn’t stop, if he didn’t take more. Her scent—soap and skin—aroused him more than any perfume.
    He took her mouth again, needed it like he needed breath. Her tongue tangled with his in an avid dance. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear the quiet thrum of music.
    He stroked a hand up that long length of leg, stopping just short of the heat, retreating. Her breath came quickly now, fast and shallow while her nails bit into him.
    “Look at me.” He brushed her, lightly, found her erotically hot, wet. But even as she arched, he retreated again. “Look at me. I want to see your eyes the first time. I want to see what it does to you.”
    “I can’t.” But her eyes were open, wide and blind. Her body was on the edge of something, like a high cliff where the wind both pulled and pushed. “I need—”
    “I know.” God, that voice of hers—straight sex. And now even throatier, rustier, and quivering with little gasps. “But look at me.” He cupped her, watched her eyes go dark with fear and passion.
    The first time, he thought. “Let go.”
    What choice did she have? His fingers stroked her to flashpoint, and everything happened at once. Her body tightened like a fist. Lights whirled in front of her eyes, spinning to the roar of sound in her head that was her own frantic heartbeat.
    And this pleasure was kin to pain, an eruption that had her helplessly crying out while her body bucked, shuddered, then went slack.
    Her skin was dewed with sweat now, her lips soft with surrender when he sought them again. Weakness warred, then gave way to fresh energy as he patiently, ruthlessly worked her back into a frenzy. Her system overcharged, reeled, imploded. She rocked against him, wildly greedy for more. And he gave more until she was pliant again, body still quivering in reaction, breath coming slow and thick.
    When he rolled off her she couldn’t even manage a protest, but lay sprawled in the hot, tangled sheets.
    He had to pray he wouldn’t fumble now, though his hands shook when he tugged at the snap of his jeans. He’d wanted her sated and satisfied before he took her, wanted her to remember the pleasure if he was unable to prevent the pain.
    “I feel like I’m drunk,” she murmured. “I feel like I’m drowning.”
    He knew the feeling. His blood was singing a siren’s song in his head, and his loins were screaming for release. Stripping away his jeans, he tossed them aside before he remembered what he carried in his wallet, snugged into the back pocket.
    Blessing Tess, he dug into Willa’s nightstand drawer.
    “Don’t fall asleep,” he begged as he heard her sigh. “For God’s sake don’t fall asleep.”
    “Uh-uh.” But this state of floaty relaxation was the next best thing. She stretched, and the firelight danced over her, rippling golds and reds and ambers. Ben tore his gaze away and finished the business at hand. “Are you going to touch me again?”
    “Yeah.” He had to get the nerves under control. The hunger was one thing, he could keep it chained, but the nerves fluttered through his stomach as he ranged himself over her. “I need you.” It wasn’t an easy admission, notthe same as want, and he gave it to her as his mouth closed over hers. “Let me have you, Willa. Hold on to me and let me have you.”
    And her arms came around him as he slid into her.
    Oh, God, so tight, so hot. He had to use every ounce of control not to plunge mindlessly into her like a stallion covering a ready mare. Battling to go slowly, he fisted his hands on either side of her head, watched her face. Watched it so intently, so closely that he saw those first flickers of shock, of acceptance, and finally, that lovely glaze of dark pleasure.
    “Oh, it’s wonderful.” She breathed the words out as he moved inside her. “Really wonderful.”
    She gave up her innocence without regret, with a smile bowing her lips as she matched him stroke for slow stroke. In his eyes she saw the need he had spoken of, the need focused only and fully on her. When she looked deeper, she saw herself reflected back in them, lost in them.
    And this, she thought, when he finally buried his face in her hair and emptied himself into her, was beauty.
     
    “I DIDN ’ T KNOW IT WOULD