Anything You Can Do by Sally Berneathy

for air, then moved to touch and release and touch again, until the touching seemed more important than breathing.
    His lips were soft and firm, giving and demanding.
    She tasted salty sweat, from him, from herself, opened herself to him as his tongue pushed into her mouth, pulled her into him.
    A voice somewhere inside screamed that she shouldn't be kissing Austin, but another voice denied that this was a kiss. It was a continuation of the race, the ultimate high, a total envelopment in sensation.
    His damp T-shirt wrinkled maddeningly beneath her exploring hands. She reached impatiently under it to feel the solid width of his back, to touch his skin with her own, to press him closer to her. He returned the pressure, pushed against her, and she moaned into his mouth, exulting in his hardness, in the reactions she had caused in him.
    She sucked in a deep, ragged breath, inhaling his musky scent, straining closer, wanting all of him touching her, surrounding her, filling her.
    He wedged one hand between them, under her athletic bra, and cupped her damp breast, teasing the nipple, sending a bolt of lightning zigzagging through her.
    A car whooshed past on the street, and Bailey jumped back, briefly registering that the real world e xisted only a few feet away. For an instant she wondered just what they were doing, but then Austin's gaze burned into hers. He took her hand, leading her farther inside Gordon's yard, along the thick hedge to the far side of the goldfish pond, behind a large rock formation that completed their retreat from the world of cars and rock concerts.
    And the question of what they were doing no longer mattered, she decided, as his hands grasped her hips to bring her back to him. What they were doing didn't matter, only that they continue to do it. Not that she seemed to have much choice; her body would doubtless have run on without her had she tried to stop.
    As they sank to the grass, his corded arms wrapped around her, lifted off her shirt and bra. The night air touching her bare skin was cool, but immediately his mouth was there, leaving streaks of fire everywhere he touched —down her neck, around her breasts as he circled and returned to envelop the turgid tip.
    She grasped his shoulders, holding on to him, holding him to her. Her heart rate was increasing too fast. Time to slow down, but she couldn't slow down in the middle of the race.
    He tugged at the waistband of her shorts, and she leaned back, her hips seeming to rise of their own volition, assisting him to remove the fabric, the barrier that separated his flesh from hers. As he pulled his own shirt off and tossed it aside, she sat up, reached for her shoes, untied the knots, and kicked them off, then turned back to him.
    Thick, black hair sprang from the taut muscles of his chest. She moved to him, tangled her fingers in the dark mat. Against her palm she felt his heart pounding surely as fast as her own. Trailing her fingers over his ridged stomach, she stopped at the elastic of his shorts and, holdin g her breath, daringly slid the waistband downward. He groaned. His hands caught in her hair, kneaded as he whispered her name. She gasped when she guided the fabric down his hard thighs and saw his readiness, the irrefutable evidence that his fervor ran apace with hers.
    She couldn't tell if he lowered her to the grass or she pulled him, but she felt its coolness on her back and the heat of his body over her. His mouth came down on hers again as she opened her thighs to him, moved to meet him, surrounded him as he entered her.
    Then they were racing together, and she needed him, wanted him with her all the way. This was no contest, this was the prize they both won. Together their pace accelerated until they burst into flames and exploded together.
    Exhausted, replete, she held on to him, soaking in the feelings, luxuriating in the incredible array of sensations.
    Austin held Bailey's slick, sweaty body against his own, kissed her smooth skin,