fingers.
Blindly, Diana raised her face and felt Lane’s lips again, this time answering, tenderly moving against her lips, parting softly. Diana moved into her arms, seeking her, Lane’s arms enclosing her as their kiss deepened.
Leaning on her elbows, Lane unfastened Diana’s pajama top and opened it; and her hands held Diana’s bare shoulders. Hair falling over her forehead, face in shadow, she looked at Diana’s breasts for a long moment, and then laid her face on them, and Diana held Lane’s face to her, stroking her hair.
Lane kissed the hollows of her shoulders; and then her slim fingers circled Diana’s breasts. She brushed her hair across them, caressed them slowly with her face, touched and explored them with gentle, sensuous fingers. Diana’s hands were in her hair as Lane’s mouth came to her breasts and kissed in warm, slow circles until with a murmur of pleasure that blended with Diana’s soft Oh, she took a nipple into her mouth. Diana’s throat tightened, ached from the sweetness of Lane’s mouth. When Lane at last took her mouth away she unbuttoned the top of her own pajamas and laid her breasts on Diana’s, softness on softness.
Diana cupped Lane’s breasts in her hands, and she put her face in them, between them, holding the softness against her; her lips moved over their smooth richness. A searing thought passed through her: no wonder men love us so. She touched a nipple with her tongue, slowly tasted it, felt it become swollen tautness from light swirls of her tongue as Lane made a murmuring sound and her body stirred, her hands in Diana’s hair holding her mouth to her.
Lane kissed Diana’s breasts again. Once she murmured, “Am I doing this too much,” and Diana said from out of her pleasure, “No, it’s wonderful.” Lane kissed her face, her throat, her shoulders; gentle hands moved slowly on Diana’s body, caressing down her hips; warm hands creating excitement, desire; warm hands caressing, stroking her thighs. Lane’s mouth came to Diana’s breasts again and again, and pleasure swept Diana from every touch of her mouth, her nipples electric under Lane’s tongue, her body filled with pleasure like sweet, slow-moving honey.
She gasped from fingers touching lightly, gently inside her thighs, and pleasure and desire came together and focused intensely, powerfully. Her body surged against Lane, her breath coming quickly, her body trembling as Lane’s hands began to pull down her pajamas.
“No,” Diana said, her voice choked. Struggling, shaking with desire, her body like a flame, she pulled away from Lane and lay on her stomach, breathing with effort, her heart pounding. She said haltingly, “I can’t… I don’t… I’m not…”
“Don’t explain, Diana.”
“Lane—”
“Don’t explain.”
She felt Lane get out of bed, moments later heard the door to the other room roll back. She lay quietly, hurting with every breath she drew. The want in her body gradually became a vague ache that never fully disappeared, but she finally fell asleep, exhausted.
Chapter 9
Diana awoke to Lane’s voice saying her name. Lane sat tensely on the side of the bed, wearing her ski clothes. “I wanted to let you sleep as long as you could,” she said quietly. “Breakfast is almost ready. Liz will be insulted if you don’t show the proper degree of enthusiasm for her food.” She smiled tiredly.
Diana was penetrated by a desire to hold her, caress and soothe her, a desire so urgent that she clenched her hands. She said tightly, “I won’t be back tonight.”
“Don’t do this,” Lane said, closing her eyes.
“I have to. I can’t even… be around you. I can’t—”
“Don’t say any more.” Lane got up and went to the ladder and climbed down without looking up.
Diana picked at her breakfast, forcing herself to eat. She and Lane were both silent, but the other women, chattering among themselves, appeared not to notice.
“By the way, Liz,” Diana
Laline Paull
Julia Gabriel
Janet Evanovich
William Topek
Zephyr Indigo
Cornell Woolrich
K.M. Golland
Ann Hite
Christine Flynn
Peter Laurent