I Still Do by Christie Ridgway Page B

goodness of it, his palms sliding down to cup her satin-covered behind. She lifted her mouth to his, and he kissed her, softly again, holding back a moment because this was Emily—finally, Emily! But then he remembered he was her danger and he surged his tongue into her mouth, seeking all her wet, slick surfaces.
    She bowed in his arms, her belly pressing against his erection, her perfume rising up to envelop them in a sweet cloud of scented heat. One of his hands speared through her hair to hold her mouth steady for his as his other slid under her panties to palm the globe of her butt.
    She made a needy little sound that he swallowed, savoring it like a treat. His prize for making her passion rise.
    He tore their mouths apart so he could kiss her soft cheek, the heated column of her neck, the rise of her collarbone. His hands built two shelves for her breasts, and he propped them on his palms, edging back to admire the sight of them.
    Held by him.
    Held for his mouth.
    Bending down, he covered one stiff peak with his lips, appreciating her little gasp of pleasure and rewarding it with the wet greeting of his tongue. Her hands cradled his head and he read the sign. Loved the message.
    More.
    Harder.
    He sucked her flesh deeper into his mouth, holding her hard nipple tight against the roof of his mouth with his tongue to distract her as he eased his fingers over her hips. His thumbs caught in the elastic band of her panties and he switched breasts, playing and sucking as he pushed the scrap of fabric down her sleek thighs.
    â€œWill…” he heard Emily whisper, his name a plea he used to fantasize about hearing on her lips.
    It was all so much like a fantasy, like those hot dreams he’d woken up from as a teenager, half-ashamed at how much he wanted his summer girl. But there was no shame in this now, no need for cold showers or thoughts of calculus to smother the need.
    Now he could stoke it. He did stoke it, by slipping his hand between her thighs and toying with the soft folds of her sex, teasing them open until her liquid arousal spilled over his fingers.
    â€œ Will. ”
    It was even easier to play now, with her flesh swollen and slick around his exploring hand. He touched her at the top of her cleft, and she jerked in his arms. He eased up his mouth on her breast, sucking softer, slower, circling her nipple with his tongue in the same rhythm as he circled the bud of her sex with his thumb.
    She was pliant, melting against him everywhere, and his erection pulsed against his belly, poker-stiff and ready to find its way to heaven.
    But Emily was a thinker, she’d already claimed that, and he wanted to take all her worrisome thoughts away before he took her to bed. He wanted her to accept the dangerous edge he could take her to, and then let him push her over, all the while trusting that he’d be there to catch her as well.
    He lifted his head to look at her, almost losing it right then and there. Her eyes were slumberous, her cheeks painted with a passionate pink. Her nipples were wet, reddened by his almost-rough touch, and lower, there was his hand, circling heaven as it delved between her thighs and her tight little brown curls. He could see the glint of moisture on his hand as it moved against her, and the sight was so erotic, so wild, that he had to freeze his movements unless he came right then and embarrassed them both.
    But Emily—the librarian, his thinker—wasn’t for slowing down or taking pity on what was happening to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stepped into his body, squirming in his arms so that her damp nipples rode his pectoral muscles and her soft, hot and petaled sex found what it needed against his fingertips.
    Moaning, she pushed harder against him, and he felt more moisture spill over his hand. He followed its path, smoothing one long finger, then two, into the clasping confines of her body, moaning himself now as her interior muscles gripped him