years;
she couldn't blame him for it, because she'd needed that blanket. But that time was past. Fate
had pitched her headlong into life, ripped her out of her protective cocoon, and like a butterfly,
she couldn't draw the silken threads back around her. All she could do was reach out for the
unknown.
She slipped her hands under the waistband of the swim trunks and began working them,
and his pants, down his hips. He levered his pelvis off the ground to aid her. "Don't take
them all the way off," he murmured, still keeping his eyes closed and his hands resting
beside his head. "I can handle things if I get caught with my pants down, but if they're
completely off, it would slow me down some."
Despite her nervousness, Barrie smiled at that supreme self-confidence, the wry
humor. If he wasn't so controlled, he could be described as cocky. He had no doubt
whatsoever about his fighting ability.
Her hands stroked down his buttocks as she slipped her hands inside his garments. An
unexpected frisson of pleasure rippled through her at the feel of his butt, cool and smooth,
hard with muscle, lush connoisseurs would envy her the moment, and she wished she had
the nerve to linger, to fully appreciate this male perfection. Instead she tugged at his clothes,
pulling them down to the middle of his thighs. He relaxed, letting his hips settle on the blanket
again, and Barrie studied the startling reality of a naked man. She'd read books that described
sexual arousal, but seeing it firsthand, and at close range, was far more impressive and wondrous.
Blindly she reached out, her hand drawn as if by a magnet. She touched him, stroking
one fingertip down the length of his swollen sex. It pulsed and jerked upward, as if following
the caress. He inhaled sharply. His reaction wanned her, and the tightness in her chest, her
body, clenched once more, then began to loosen with that rush of warmth. Bolder now, she
folded her fingers around him, gently sighing with pleasure as she felt the heat beneath the
coolness, iron beneath silk, the urgent throbbing.
And she felt her own desire, rushing like a heated river through her flesh, turning angry
determination into love-making. This is how it should be, she thought with relief; they should
come together in pleasure, not in anger. And she didn't want to wait, didn't want to give
herself time to reconsider, or she would lose her nerve.
Swiftly she straddled him, mounted him. No longer in anger at other men, no longer in
desperation. Pleasure, warm and sweet. With her knees clasping his hips, acting on instinct,
she held the thick shaft in position and slowly sank down on him, guiding their bodies
together.
The first brush of his flesh against hers was hot, startling, and she instinctively jerked
herself upright, away from the alien touch. Zane quivered, the barest ripple of reaction, then
once more lay motionless between her legs, his eyes still closed, letting her proceed at her own
pace.
Her chest was so constricted she could barely breathe; she sucked in air in quick little
gasps. That contact, brief as it had been, had touched off an insistent throbbing between her
legs, as if her body, after its initial startled rejection, had paused in instinctive recognition of
female for male. Her breasts felt tight and feverish beneath the black fabric of his shirt. Alien,
yes... but infinitely exciting. Desire wound through her, the river rising.
She told herself that she was prepared for the sudden acute sense of vulnerability, for her
body's panic at the threat of penetration, even though desire was urging her on to that very
conclusion. More gingerly, she settled onto him again, holding herself steady as she placed him
against the entrance to her body and let her weight begin to impale her on the throbbing
column of flesh.
The discomfort began immediately and was worse than she'd expected. She halted her
movement, gulping as she tried to control her instinctive
she couldn't blame him for it, because she'd needed that blanket. But that time was past. Fate
had pitched her headlong into life, ripped her out of her protective cocoon, and like a butterfly,
she couldn't draw the silken threads back around her. All she could do was reach out for the
unknown.
She slipped her hands under the waistband of the swim trunks and began working them,
and his pants, down his hips. He levered his pelvis off the ground to aid her. "Don't take
them all the way off," he murmured, still keeping his eyes closed and his hands resting
beside his head. "I can handle things if I get caught with my pants down, but if they're
completely off, it would slow me down some."
Despite her nervousness, Barrie smiled at that supreme self-confidence, the wry
humor. If he wasn't so controlled, he could be described as cocky. He had no doubt
whatsoever about his fighting ability.
Her hands stroked down his buttocks as she slipped her hands inside his garments. An
unexpected frisson of pleasure rippled through her at the feel of his butt, cool and smooth,
hard with muscle, lush connoisseurs would envy her the moment, and she wished she had
the nerve to linger, to fully appreciate this male perfection. Instead she tugged at his clothes,
pulling them down to the middle of his thighs. He relaxed, letting his hips settle on the blanket
again, and Barrie studied the startling reality of a naked man. She'd read books that described
sexual arousal, but seeing it firsthand, and at close range, was far more impressive and wondrous.
Blindly she reached out, her hand drawn as if by a magnet. She touched him, stroking
one fingertip down the length of his swollen sex. It pulsed and jerked upward, as if following
the caress. He inhaled sharply. His reaction wanned her, and the tightness in her chest, her
body, clenched once more, then began to loosen with that rush of warmth. Bolder now, she
folded her fingers around him, gently sighing with pleasure as she felt the heat beneath the
coolness, iron beneath silk, the urgent throbbing.
And she felt her own desire, rushing like a heated river through her flesh, turning angry
determination into love-making. This is how it should be, she thought with relief; they should
come together in pleasure, not in anger. And she didn't want to wait, didn't want to give
herself time to reconsider, or she would lose her nerve.
Swiftly she straddled him, mounted him. No longer in anger at other men, no longer in
desperation. Pleasure, warm and sweet. With her knees clasping his hips, acting on instinct,
she held the thick shaft in position and slowly sank down on him, guiding their bodies
together.
The first brush of his flesh against hers was hot, startling, and she instinctively jerked
herself upright, away from the alien touch. Zane quivered, the barest ripple of reaction, then
once more lay motionless between her legs, his eyes still closed, letting her proceed at her own
pace.
Her chest was so constricted she could barely breathe; she sucked in air in quick little
gasps. That contact, brief as it had been, had touched off an insistent throbbing between her
legs, as if her body, after its initial startled rejection, had paused in instinctive recognition of
female for male. Her breasts felt tight and feverish beneath the black fabric of his shirt. Alien,
yes... but infinitely exciting. Desire wound through her, the river rising.
She told herself that she was prepared for the sudden acute sense of vulnerability, for her
body's panic at the threat of penetration, even though desire was urging her on to that very
conclusion. More gingerly, she settled onto him again, holding herself steady as she placed him
against the entrance to her body and let her weight begin to impale her on the throbbing
column of flesh.
The discomfort began immediately and was worse than she'd expected. She halted her
movement, gulping as she tried to control her instinctive
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