his. The kiss was at once all heat and passion, tongues moving, bodies
rubbing, hands searching. When his hand covered her breast, she let her head fall back and closed her eyes. She felt the softness
of his lips, the heat of his breath on her skin, as he moved down her throat and back up again.
“What makes me want you so badly?” he breathed against her ear. “Is it that I know I cannot have you?”
But he could have her.
She had no will to stop him. Nay, she would not let him stop. When she ran her tongue across his bottom lip and slipped her
hands under his shirt, he understood the invitation. He leaned her back onto the floor. She loved the feel of his hands in
her hair, the urgency of his kisses.
She raked her fingers down his back, reveling in the feel of tight muscles beneath the cloth. When she reached his buttocks,
he groaned and pressed his hips hard against her. He held her face and covered her with kisses: her mouth, her cheeks, her
forehead, her eyelids, her temples.
All she wanted was for him to keep on kissing her, touching her. She deserved this. She needed this. They rolled and kissed
beneath the curtain of her hair. And then rolled again. His tongue was in her ear. The unexpected sensation drove away the
last bit of guilt nagging at the edge of her mind.
Her every muscle tensed as he made his way, sucking and kissing, down the side of her throat and along the edge of her gown.
She arched her back, wanting without knowing what. When his mouth found her breast through the cloth, she had her answer.
She felt drunk, mindless. When he moved toward her other breast, she jerked her bodice down. A groan came from deep within
him. As he caressed and kissed her bare breasts, sensations ripped through her. She entwined her fingers in his hair and wrapped
her legs around his waist. She cried out as he sucked on her breast, pulling sensations all the way from her toes.
Then his mouth was on hers in deep, frantic kisses. She held on as he moved against her, her arms and legs wrapped around
him like a vise.
Abruptly, he pulled away. He hovered over her on his hands and knees, looking down at her with eyes dark and wild. He was
breathing as hard as she was.
“I am sorry,” he said. “We cannot do this.”
She clung to him even as he pulled her to her feet. Of their own accord, her arms went round his waist. She moaned at the
feel of the rough cloth of his shirt against her sensitive breasts.
Dropping her hands to the tight muscles of his buttocks, she pulled his hips against her. She felt the hardness of his member.
His ragged breathing told her he could not hold out against her.
Suddenly, his mouth was on hers again, hot, hungry, demanding. Her knees grew weak under the assault of sensations pounding
through her. His hands were on her breasts, her hips, her thighs. Squeezing, stroking, kneading.
When her feet left the ground, she wrapped her legs around him. Without lifting his mouth from hers, he carried her backward
until she felt the wall against her back. Deep, deep kisses. She was dizzy with them, drunk with them. And still she wanted
more.
As he ran his hands under her skirts, along the bare skin of her thighs, an aching need grew inside her. She felt his desperation
rise with hers as they moved their hands frantically over each other.
He reached between them and touched her center. The jolt of sensation made her cry out. Even through the cloth, the place
he rubbed was so sensitive it was almost more than she could stand.
And yet she was pleading, “Please, please, please.”
His breathing was harsh against her ear. “I must be inside you.”
His raw need for her caused a responsive spasm deep inside her. He was tugging at her skirts.
Please, Stephen. Please. Please!
She grabbed a fistful of cloth caught between them and jerked at it, trying to help him. In frustration, she bit his shoulder.
She opened her eyes as the door to the storeroom flew open
rubbing, hands searching. When his hand covered her breast, she let her head fall back and closed her eyes. She felt the softness
of his lips, the heat of his breath on her skin, as he moved down her throat and back up again.
“What makes me want you so badly?” he breathed against her ear. “Is it that I know I cannot have you?”
But he could have her.
She had no will to stop him. Nay, she would not let him stop. When she ran her tongue across his bottom lip and slipped her
hands under his shirt, he understood the invitation. He leaned her back onto the floor. She loved the feel of his hands in
her hair, the urgency of his kisses.
She raked her fingers down his back, reveling in the feel of tight muscles beneath the cloth. When she reached his buttocks,
he groaned and pressed his hips hard against her. He held her face and covered her with kisses: her mouth, her cheeks, her
forehead, her eyelids, her temples.
All she wanted was for him to keep on kissing her, touching her. She deserved this. She needed this. They rolled and kissed
beneath the curtain of her hair. And then rolled again. His tongue was in her ear. The unexpected sensation drove away the
last bit of guilt nagging at the edge of her mind.
Her every muscle tensed as he made his way, sucking and kissing, down the side of her throat and along the edge of her gown.
She arched her back, wanting without knowing what. When his mouth found her breast through the cloth, she had her answer.
She felt drunk, mindless. When he moved toward her other breast, she jerked her bodice down. A groan came from deep within
him. As he caressed and kissed her bare breasts, sensations ripped through her. She entwined her fingers in his hair and wrapped
her legs around his waist. She cried out as he sucked on her breast, pulling sensations all the way from her toes.
Then his mouth was on hers in deep, frantic kisses. She held on as he moved against her, her arms and legs wrapped around
him like a vise.
Abruptly, he pulled away. He hovered over her on his hands and knees, looking down at her with eyes dark and wild. He was
breathing as hard as she was.
“I am sorry,” he said. “We cannot do this.”
She clung to him even as he pulled her to her feet. Of their own accord, her arms went round his waist. She moaned at the
feel of the rough cloth of his shirt against her sensitive breasts.
Dropping her hands to the tight muscles of his buttocks, she pulled his hips against her. She felt the hardness of his member.
His ragged breathing told her he could not hold out against her.
Suddenly, his mouth was on hers again, hot, hungry, demanding. Her knees grew weak under the assault of sensations pounding
through her. His hands were on her breasts, her hips, her thighs. Squeezing, stroking, kneading.
When her feet left the ground, she wrapped her legs around him. Without lifting his mouth from hers, he carried her backward
until she felt the wall against her back. Deep, deep kisses. She was dizzy with them, drunk with them. And still she wanted
more.
As he ran his hands under her skirts, along the bare skin of her thighs, an aching need grew inside her. She felt his desperation
rise with hers as they moved their hands frantically over each other.
He reached between them and touched her center. The jolt of sensation made her cry out. Even through the cloth, the place
he rubbed was so sensitive it was almost more than she could stand.
And yet she was pleading, “Please, please, please.”
His breathing was harsh against her ear. “I must be inside you.”
His raw need for her caused a responsive spasm deep inside her. He was tugging at her skirts.
Please, Stephen. Please. Please!
She grabbed a fistful of cloth caught between them and jerked at it, trying to help him. In frustration, she bit his shoulder.
She opened her eyes as the door to the storeroom flew open
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