Flying High by Gwynne Forster

he nipped and suckled her until she felt the moisture flow from her. He moved back from her, but not quickly enough. She didn’t care; she wanted him to feel what she felt, to want her as badly as she wanted him.
    “Nelson, honey, I can’t stand this. It’s...it’s too soon for what we need right now.”
    He set her feet on the floor, put both arms around her, and locked her to him. “I suppose you’re right. Recently, I’ve known we’d be like this together. I’ve also known that with you and me, it will be all or nothing. And that makes it look kind of bleak.”
    He stroked her hair and her cheek and then rubbed her back, as if substituting those gestures for what he wanted and needed. “But, baby, you move me like no woman I ever knew!”
    With her hand in his, she walked down the steps to the living room. “Let’s sit in here. Why were you so angry with me?”
    “I don’t think I was ever really angry, although I certainly reacted as if I were. Emotions can play tricks on us. I acceded to your request that we not see each other. If I’m honest, I’ll tell you that anger was an excuse to see you and to get to you any way I could.”
    “But you still don’t want a relationship with me, and I’m not willing to risk one with you or any other man.”
    He took her hand, turned it over and looked at her palm. “You know, when I was at the Naval Academy, I was the hit of every party because I read palms and predicted great things for my friends.” He pressed her palm flat. “What I see in here...” He folded her palm. “Either we stay away from each other, or we give in to it and accept the consequences. This is nothing to play with.”
    “Do you believe in palmistry?”
    His right eyelid lowered in a half-wink. “Did I tell you I read that in your palm? I didn’t have to look into your hand to know that.”
    He continued holding her hand, his face softened with a smile so sweet and loving that her heart seemed to turn cartwheels in her chest. When he squeezed her fingers, rivulets of heat cascaded through her body, and as quickly as the speed of sound, desire gripped her, nearly strangling her. She wanted to lower her lashes to protect from him what she could not hide from herself—the overwhelming, rampaging need to have him deep inside her, loving her.
    But she couldn’t stop looking at him; his gaze bore into her, reading her and possessing her until, with a hoarse groan, he capitulated and a second later she felt his tongue in her mouth, this time possessively, claiming, demanding, knocking her senses out of order, destroying her willpower. Her nipples begged for his attention, and, as if he understood her need, he pinched and caressed them until she grabbed his hand and pressed it to her breast. She didn’t care if he thought her brazen, wanton; she arched her back and, with her hand at the back of his head, led his lips to her breast.
    The male heat in him jumped out at her as he suckled her until she wanted to stop thinking, stop breathing. Stop everything but the feeling of what he was doing to her. Then his fingers stroked her beaded breast, while his marauding tongue slipped in and out of her mouth. Like a well drill seeking an underground spring, he laid waste to her inhibitions and fears. She thought she would die with her need of him, and her legs spread of their own will as moans streamed from her throat.
    Shock waves snaked through her when suddenly he was not touching her. Her eyelids flew open to read the question on his face. What had she done?
    “Nelson, I...”
    His head moved from side to side. “It’s all right. But you believe me now when I say it’s nothing to play with. The next time, we’ll make love. You understand what I’m saying?”
    “I do. I should have stopped before it went so far.”
    “It wasn’t your responsibility alone. It was ours. I wanted to stop, but if you needed something as badly and as long as I’ve needed to make love with you, you’d