Balancing Act by Fern Michaels Page B

against hers demanded her willing response. His hands heated her flesh, finding each womanly curve and claiming them for his own. Her abandoned movements against him provoked deep sounds of delight that left him breathless. He found the roundness of her breasts and she trembled as he sought them with his mouth, kissing and teasing.
    Reaching down to take him in her hand, she stroked him, her fingers wandering to the secrets between his legs and the rough surrounding hair that so enticed her fingers. She felt the waves of bliss that emanated from him as he surrendered himself to her caress. Propping herself on an elbow, she raised herself up, tasting the freshness of his skin, nuzzling in the golden furring of his chest, trailing her lips lower, lower, until buried in the thicket surrounding his sex.
    Laying back, he yielded to her, his hands never leaving her body, availing himself of the nearness of her hips, the roundness of her bottom. She captured him with her hand, drawing him to her, her mouth finding him, and she took her reward from the sound of his indrawn breath and the sudden arching of his hips.
    He slid her lower body toward him, stroking the line of her back and following it over the curve of her haunches to the shadow between her thighs, parting them to avail himself of the center of her. His lips and tongue teased the sensitive flesh, his hands held her hips firmly, driving her closer to him. His mouth tasted her, devoured her, arousing echoing paroxysms in her caresses to his own body, doubling their excitement in one another, multiplying their desires.
    Drawing her up beside him, he covered her mouth with his own, allowing her to taste herself on his lips, tasting himself on hers. Rita’s body undulated beneath his touch as his hands strayed along her breasts, her back, between her legs. There was not an inch of her left untouched, unloved. He tantalized her, teased her, bringing her so close to the gates of her release only to deny her entrance. A fire burned in her belly and her need for him to take her grew into a hunger all-consuming. Her world was filled with him, her needs were for him alone. Only he could bring her the triumphant joy she could know as a woman.
    Greedily, she took his rigid, throbbing maleness into her hand, frantically bringing it against her, rubbing it against the wetness of her yearning body. “Please, have me,” she whispered, pleading, imploring, “have me now!”
    He rose over her, taking her into his arms, covering her mouth with his own, his silken-tipped tongue coming in to touch and devour hers. She opened herself to him, demanding he come into her and fill this pulsing emptiness he had created within her.
    He watched her face, exhilarated by the rampant lust he saw there, by the need for fulfillment she had allowed him to create within her. Lovely, so lovely. Lips parted to reveal the tip of her velvet-lined tongue; head thrown back and eyes closed with the weight of her passion. He entered her, feeling her warm, satiny sheath close and ripple around him. He wanted to bury himself in her, become a part of her, know her as he had never known another woman. Soft, kittenish sounds of pleasure fell on his ears as he moved within her, thrusting gently, becoming more insistent as his own restraint began to fail. He plunged into her, becoming one with that honeyed flesh, feeling her meet each thrust with a lift of her hips, holding fast to him with her arms, her legs, taking him deeper, wanting him deeper.
    At the point of no return, Rita’s eyes flew open, staring up at him, a smile lifting the corners of her kiss-bruised mouth. He felt himself falling into those clear blue depths, turning over and over, down and down, rushing toward that magical and mysterious melding of their souls that made the mating of the flesh an insignificant interlude compared to the full and total joy of loving and being loved.
     
     
    Rita nestled her head against Twigg’s