The Witness

the muscles of her belly quivered when his lips brushed there.
    Her response was just as simple, the give, the touch, the fluid rise of her legs and hips as he continued to undress her.
    And then.
    She erupted under him, jackknifing up, a whip of those long, firm legs, a twist of that compact body, and she was over him. Her mouth clamped down on his, ripped his dreamy languor to shreds and scorched the shreds to ashes. Her breath came on a tear as she scraped her teethover his shoulder, slithered down, lithe and lethal as a snake, to nip at his chest while her hands tugged at his belt.
    He levered up to drag her mouth back to his, to feed on the heat that radiated from her. Urgent now, urgent and hungry.
    She arched back, limber as a bowstring, and pressed his face to her breast.
    “I need.” He heard her moan it as she straddled him and rocked until he dug his fingers into her hips to keep from imploding. “I need.”
    She was a madness of drive and movement. Caught in the storm of her, he let himself be blown, be battered, as they ravaged each other.
    Too much, but not enough, she thought frantically as all those needs clawed and bit. She had to take, had to have, before this terrible pleasure broke her to pieces. His body, so strong, so tough, incited so many wants, his mouth and hands so many sensations. He could take her to that moment of relief and release.
    Desperate, she grabbed the condom, ripped it open.
    “Let me,” she whispered, stunned that her hands weren’t quite steady as she covered him.
    She rose over him. In the soft bedroom light he could see the intensity of her eyes, the glow of her skin. Then she took him in. For one breathless moment, everything stopped. Sight, sound, movement. Those fierce eyes stayed locked on his as their bodies joined.
    He thought, Eye of the storm, then she swept him away.
    She rode him as if her life hung in the balance, with urgent, focused speed. He raced with her, beat for crazed beat, with his heart drumming those frenzied strokes.
    When she broke on a half-sob, half-cry, those fascinating eyes closed, that dazzling body bowed, as her arms lifted to wrap around her head in a picture of utter, wanton pleasure.
    Those eyes sprang open again when he yanked her down, rolled her under him. Her mouth yielded, soft and swollen when he captured it, when he swallowed her quick, surprised cry as he thrust into her.
    Now he rode, driving her up again, pleasing himself ruthlessly as she quaked, as she clung. He felt the orgasm rip through her, felt her nails bite into his back. And let his own release rend him to tatters.
    It took him a moment—or two—to realize he’d collapsed on her, his breath whooping out like a marathon runner’s after a dive across the finish line.
    He rolled off, sprawled out on his back, hoping if he ended up having a heart attack she had it in her to do the CPR.
    He managed one raw and reverent “Wow.”
    Glancing over, he saw Bert had remained in his bed but stood and stared.
    “I don’t know if your dog’s curious or just plain jealous, but you might want to let him know you’re okay.”
    She gave Bert the command for rest. While he settled down, he kept his eyes on the bed.
    “Are you okay?” Brooks asked when she said nothing more.
    “Yes. It’s been several months since I had sex. I realized I rushed you.”
    “From my point of view, I think we timed it just right. Jesus, you’ve got some body there, Abigail. About as perfect as they come.”
    “I like yours very much. It’s very well proportioned, with excellent muscle tone.”
    That just tickled the hell right out of him, so he shifted over to give her a kiss. His grin faded as he looked in those eyes. A man who’d grown up with a mother and two sisters knew when female tears were just below the surface.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing. The sex was excellent. Thank you.”
    “Jesus Christ, Abigail.”
    “I’m thirsty,” she said quickly. “Do you want some water?”
    He laid a hand on her arm as she began to roll out of bed. “Abigail.”
    “I need a moment, and some water.”
    She walked out without putting a stitch on. That surprised him, ashe’d pegged her as the shy type in that area. Then again, the woman was a puzzle through and through.
    “You know the secrets,” he said to Bert. “Too bad you can’t talk.”
    Though she had water stored on the second floor, she walked down to the kitchen. She did need that moment.
    She understood that sex and the