Don't Tempt Me by Barbara Delinsky Page B

sharply sucked-in breath, to the dual swells of muscle which spanned his chest, then up and over the firmness of his well-padded shoulders. She moved in closer against him, reveling in the feel of her breasts, her nipples alive and taut, against the warm texture of him.
    Again he spoke. “Wait here, sweetheart.” She felt robbed of life when he moved away to crouch down on the floor and deftly spread the sleeping bags one on top of the other. “Our mattress.” He smiled up at her, then held his hand out for her to take it.
    In a moment of intruding reality, Justine realized the extent of what was about to take place. Her insides began to tremble, her limbs to quiver weakly. But she wanted Sloane. She needed him. His appeal to her feminine drive crushed all thought of future torment. There was fear and uncertainty—but only that she might not please him.
Above all there was excitement and anticipation, the awareness that she was on the threshold of something new and wonderful. Her eyes held his, then dropped to the strong hand that reached for hers. Irrevocably she took it.
    â€œSloane,” she whispered, sinking down onto her knees before him, “I’ve never … I haven’t done this … I’m …” The words seemed all wrong and out of place, totally irrelevant amid the torrent of emotion which surrounded them. But she needed to tell him. Her green eyes were open and beseeching, her voice barely audible. “I’ve never been … with a man before … .”
    Her pulse faltered, then raced ahead. It had been said. Would he laugh? Scowl? Think any less of her? He had no way of knowing why she had lived as chaste a life. He couldn’t know of the hurt she’d suffered as a child and her resultant fear of an involvement to which sex was a potential stepping-stone. Now all that seemed secondary. But would he understand?
    As she watched intently, his face took on a softer set than she had ever seen. His eyes, dark with desire, glowed with pleasure as well. He stared at her, seemingly unable to believe what she’d told him. When she shook her head slowly to reinforce the confession, he reached up and wound his fingers through her amber waves. Fierceness was tempered by wonder as he spoke low and husky. “Then I’m the first … to …?”
    She nodded silently, reasoning in part to herself. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything but … I thought you should know … .”
    â€œMy God, Justine! You’re damned right I should know! It’s not every day that a woman gives her virginity to a man.” He paused, his thumbs caressing the corners of her quivering lips. “Are you sure, absolutely sure, that you want this?”
    Her nod was slow and deliberate. “I want you, Sloane. Is it totally wanton of me to say that? I’ve never wanted
anything as badly before. But I want you … I need you now.” With growing confidence, she slid her hands across the flesh of his middle and around to his back, pulling herself closer to him. “Please, Sloane,” she whispered softly, as a surge of intense desire seared her insides, “please make love to me.”
    He lowered his arms to imprison her in rapture, pressing against the small of her back such that she knew his desire was as great as hers. But he was slow and unhurried in his move to undress her, masterfully building her need, and his own, to a frenzied crescendo before finally laying her back and tugging off first hers, then his own jeans. His hand rubbed over the silken fabric of her panties, caressing her thighs, her stomach, all the searing hot contours between. Step by step, he led her, round and round the spiral of desire, ever higher, ever higher. When at last they lay, side by side, flesh against flesh, she felt aflame and about to burst. “Now … now, Sloane,” she begged him shamelessly.
    With a soft moan, he moved to