Summer Desserts

face, of her lips, with his finger. Had anyone ever shown her that kind of tenderness? Had she ever wanted it?
    No. And if the answer was no, the answer had abruptly changed. She wanted this new experience, the sweetness she’d always disregarded, and she wanted the man who would bring her both.
    Taking his face in her hands, she studied him. This was the man she would share this one completely private moment with,the one who would soon know her body as well as her vulnerabilities. She might have wavered over the trust, reminded herself of the pitfalls—if she’d been able to resist the need, and the strength, she saw in his eyes.
    “Kiss me again,” she murmured. “No one’s ever made me feel the way you do when you kiss me.”
    He felt a surge of pleasure, intense, stunning. Lowering his head, he touched his lips to hers, toying with them, watching her as she watched him while their emotions heightened and their need sharpened. Should he have known she’d be even more beautiful in the moonlight, with her hair spread over a pillow? Could he have known that desire for her would be an ache unlike any desire he’d known? Was it still as simple as desire, or had he crossed some line he’d been unaware of? There were no answers now. Answers were for the daylight.
    With a moan, he deepened the kiss and felt her body yield beneath his even as her mouth grew avid. Little tongues of passion flickered, still subdued beneath a gentleness they both seemed to need. Odd, because neither of them had needed it before, or often thought to show it.
    Her hands were light on his face, over his neck, then slowly combing through his hair. Though his body was hard on hers, there was no demand yet.
    Savor me. The thought ran silkily through her mind even as Blake’s lips journeyed over her face. Slowly. She’d never known a man with such patience or an arousal so heady. Mouth against mouth, then mouth against skin—each drew her deeper and still deeper into a languor that encompassed both body and mind.
    Touch me. And he seemed to understand this fresh need. His hands moved, but still without hurry, over her shoulders, down her sides, then up again to whisper over her breasts—until it was no longer enough for either of them. Then wordlessly they began to undress each other.
    Fingers of moonlight fell across exposed flesh—a shoulder, the length of an arm, a lean torso. Luxuriously, Summer ran her hands over Blake’s chest and learned the muscle and form. Lazily, he explored the length of her and learned the subtle curves and silk. Even when the last barrier of clothing was drawn away, they didn’t rush. So much to touch, taste—and time had no meaning.
    The breeze flitted in, but they grew warmer. Wherever her fingers wandered, his flesh would burn, then cool only to burn again. As he took his lips over her, finding pleasure, learning secrets, she began to heat. And demand crept into both of them.
    More urgently now, with quick moans, trembling breaths, they took each other further. He hadn’t known he could be led, and she’d always refused to be, yet now, one guided the other to the same destination.
    Summer felt reality slipping away from her, but had no will to stop it. The music penetrated only faintly into her consciousness, but his murmurs were easily heard. It was his scent, no longer the roses, that titillated. She would feel whatever she was meant to feel, go wherever she was meant to go, as long as he was with her. Along with the strongest physical desire she’d ever known was an emotional need that exploded inside her. She couldn’t question it, couldn’t refuse it. Her body, mind, heart, ached for him.
    With his name trembling on her lips, she took him into her. Then, for both of them, the pleasure was so acute that sanity was forgotten. Sensation—waves, floods, storms—whipped through her. The calm had become a hurricane to revel in. Together, they were swept away.
     
    Had hours passed or minutes? Summer lay in the filtered moonlight and tried to orient herself. She’d never felt quite like this. Sated, exhilarated, exhausted. Once she’d have said it was impossible to be all at once.
    She could feel the brush of Blake’s hair against her shoulder, the whisper of his breath against her cheek. His scent and hers were mixed now, so that the roses were only an accent. The music had stopped, but she thought she could still hear the echo. His body was pressed into hers, but his weight was a pleasure.