Beatrice and Douglas by Kelly Lucille Page A

and ran his bristly
cheek down her soft one to the neck where he nuzzled.  “Your skin is the
softest thing I’ve ever felt, and you smell like sunshine.”
    Beatrice smiled, her fingers working the buttons open at his
neck until she could get her hand all the way down the back of his shirt. 
She wrapped her legs around his waist and put her lips against his ear. 
“You smell like wood chips and flannel.”  She licked his ear.  “And
warm solid man.”  She bit him gently right below his ear, and kept
whispering.  “Even when you got on my last nerve, I loved the way you
smelled.  Always.”
    She pulled back until she could look in his eyes
again.  They had heated to molten green and his face had hardened with
desire.  His jaw was practically granite under her hand.  “I wanted
you even when I also wanted to run you over with my car.”  She moved her
lips to his cheek and then rubbed them from there to his lips and spoke,
hovering right above them.  “Kiss me, Douglas, The Bruce.  King of
all things obnoxious.”
    He pushed her harder up against the door and pressed her
there with his hips so that his hands could go to either side of her face and
hold her where he wanted her.  “I think I can do better than that,” he
growled, right before he took her mouth with lips and tongue.  
    Douglas lost himself in her soft lips and the feel of her
body under his hands.  Being able to touch her like this was both heaven
and hell.  No matter how much he had of her, he wanted more, and where it
should be letting up, waning, winding down, instead with her it was becoming
more each time he had her.  He wanted to touch her all the time. 
Needed the taste of her on his lips the second she faded from his tongue.
    He shoved her higher on the door so that he had to look up
to see her dazed eyes and reddened lips.  Her hair was mussed and falling
out of her ponytail.  She was still in her work flannel and Carhartt jeans. 
He had just had her that morning and most of the night before; yet, all he
could think about was that if he didn’t have her soon he was going to combust.
    “I lied.”  He growled again, then turned her, tossed
her onto the bed, and proceeded to strip out of his clothes as fast as he
could. 
    Beatrice blinked her dazed eyes and watched his sprint to
undress.  Before she could think to respond, he was naked and working hard
to get her that way. 
    “I’m not working up to shit,” he finally muttered by way of explanation,
just as the last of her clothes went flying and he was coming down on top of
her.
    Beatrice was trying to adjust to the sudden turn of mood,
but having all the warm naked heat that was Douglas Bruce come down on her had
every nerve in her body humming and purring.  Then he pulled her knees to
either side of his hips and thrust home.  She became a being of friction
and need.
    She could feel the scratchy lace of the bedspread beneath
her and the heat of hard male above and inside her.  She felt the hands he
used to push her wrists above her head and hold her there.  Nothing else
existed.
    She strained against him, trying to get closer, trying to
get her hands back so she could clutch at him.  He just growled and held
tighter, almost bruising her wrists.  Dear Lord, it felt good.  If
she was able to form a thought, she would have wondered which she wanted more,
to touch all of him, or to be bound to him.
    Since she couldn’t use her hands, she wrapped her legs
around his pistoning hips and squeezed in an effort to get him closer. 
Not that it was actually possible, but she was compelled to try.
    All the while Douglas watched her with eyes that spat
fire.  He didn’t say a word – his eyes, the shackles of his hands, his
grinding hips said it for him, and she felt completely and utterly claimed.
    When she thought she could feel no more, the climax
hit.  Her body seized, her head thrashed, and she came. 
    Douglas thrust and watched and held her shuddering