buttocks, squeezing and releasing. His mouth was busy tasting her, his tongue rough against
her skin.
He was driving her to the brink of madness. She felt the pleasure, the release, hovering at
the edges of her consciousness. "You, Rock. I want you. Inside me! Now! "
"My pleasure, darlin'," he said, lifting her slightly, so that he fit between her legs. A
momentary pressure, as she adjusted to the size of him, then he was filling her. "Oh, God," he
groaned, his hands pulling her firmly to him. "Don't move. Don't even breathe."
She wrapped her arms more tightly around his shoulders, her legs more securely around his
hips, waiting while he took four, then five, deep shuddering breaths. But the wave was threatening
to break within her, and finally she moved against him.
That was all it took. He pulled back, then drove into her. Again and again. And she gave as
good as she got, for Genny had never felt a tempest such as this. The waves of pleasure built, until
her whole body was one burning, tingling thing , out of control, bent only on achieving total
satiation.
Time ceased while they lost themselves in each other, while they found themselves in a
universe of their own creation. Minutes? Hours? Eons? Later Genny lifted her weary head from his
shoulder and kissed him at the corner of his eye. "I don't think I'll ever move again."
"Me neither." His arms tightened.
All passion spent, Genny clung to mind-boggling memories of how he'd thrust himself
into her, over and over. Of how her body had responded in a way she'd never imagined possible. Good grief, much more of that and I'd become his sex slave for life. That possibility was greatly
dangerous, but right now, she couldn't figure out why.
She felt him slip from her body, spent but not entirely flaccid. Her knees were none too
steady when her feet touched the ground. She clung to him for a few seconds before sinking onto
the bench. Its splintery surface prickled tender skin, a small pain that somehow reminded her of his
hard, callused hands on her thighs.
Looking up at him, she watched his expression change. It went from gentle satiation to
grim determination.
"Rock? What's wrong?"
"Nothin', little lady. Nothin' atall."
But she knew he was lying. There was something very wrong.
Chapter Seven
He held her, but without the relaxed, tender closeness that Genny needed. Although the
old wood bench was splintery, they were soft splinters, the kind that cushioned rather than pricked.
She almost wished for the prickly kind. They would hurt her less than his withdrawal did.
"Rock?" she finally said. "Rock, I wish you would tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing. I told you nothing's wrong." He dipped his head and kissed her, a rough kiss, as
lacking in tenderness as his embrace. "It was good, okay?" His fingers tightened at her shoulder,
until Genny knew she could add one more bruise to her growing total for the afternoon. "We'd
better get dressed."
Abruptly he stood, a magnificent male animal, arrogant and proud. He picked up both
pairs of jeans, tossed hers to her. Without the smallest trace of self-consciousness, he dressed,
unhurriedly, gracefully.
Genny felt all elbows and knees. Despite a short, tempestuous affair in college, she retained
her fair share of body modesty. Group nudity--even a group of two--made her uncomfortable. She
wasn't shy about being naked during love-making, but before and afterward were a different story.
Her only other lover had told her she was a prude, and she had a feeling he'd been right.
She turned her back on Rock while she slipped into her clothes.
"Better hurry. I hear somebody comin'." He sat on the bench to pull on socks and
boots.
Genny's fingers stumbled at buttons, fumbled with shirttails that refused to tuck. "Don't let
them come in, Rock. I'm not dressed."
He went to stand at the door of the gazebo. She wasn't sure how much screening the
lattice walls gave, but they were better than her dressing in front of half of Jordan Valley.
her skin.
He was driving her to the brink of madness. She felt the pleasure, the release, hovering at
the edges of her consciousness. "You, Rock. I want you. Inside me! Now! "
"My pleasure, darlin'," he said, lifting her slightly, so that he fit between her legs. A
momentary pressure, as she adjusted to the size of him, then he was filling her. "Oh, God," he
groaned, his hands pulling her firmly to him. "Don't move. Don't even breathe."
She wrapped her arms more tightly around his shoulders, her legs more securely around his
hips, waiting while he took four, then five, deep shuddering breaths. But the wave was threatening
to break within her, and finally she moved against him.
That was all it took. He pulled back, then drove into her. Again and again. And she gave as
good as she got, for Genny had never felt a tempest such as this. The waves of pleasure built, until
her whole body was one burning, tingling thing , out of control, bent only on achieving total
satiation.
Time ceased while they lost themselves in each other, while they found themselves in a
universe of their own creation. Minutes? Hours? Eons? Later Genny lifted her weary head from his
shoulder and kissed him at the corner of his eye. "I don't think I'll ever move again."
"Me neither." His arms tightened.
All passion spent, Genny clung to mind-boggling memories of how he'd thrust himself
into her, over and over. Of how her body had responded in a way she'd never imagined possible. Good grief, much more of that and I'd become his sex slave for life. That possibility was greatly
dangerous, but right now, she couldn't figure out why.
She felt him slip from her body, spent but not entirely flaccid. Her knees were none too
steady when her feet touched the ground. She clung to him for a few seconds before sinking onto
the bench. Its splintery surface prickled tender skin, a small pain that somehow reminded her of his
hard, callused hands on her thighs.
Looking up at him, she watched his expression change. It went from gentle satiation to
grim determination.
"Rock? What's wrong?"
"Nothin', little lady. Nothin' atall."
But she knew he was lying. There was something very wrong.
Chapter Seven
He held her, but without the relaxed, tender closeness that Genny needed. Although the
old wood bench was splintery, they were soft splinters, the kind that cushioned rather than pricked.
She almost wished for the prickly kind. They would hurt her less than his withdrawal did.
"Rock?" she finally said. "Rock, I wish you would tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing. I told you nothing's wrong." He dipped his head and kissed her, a rough kiss, as
lacking in tenderness as his embrace. "It was good, okay?" His fingers tightened at her shoulder,
until Genny knew she could add one more bruise to her growing total for the afternoon. "We'd
better get dressed."
Abruptly he stood, a magnificent male animal, arrogant and proud. He picked up both
pairs of jeans, tossed hers to her. Without the smallest trace of self-consciousness, he dressed,
unhurriedly, gracefully.
Genny felt all elbows and knees. Despite a short, tempestuous affair in college, she retained
her fair share of body modesty. Group nudity--even a group of two--made her uncomfortable. She
wasn't shy about being naked during love-making, but before and afterward were a different story.
Her only other lover had told her she was a prude, and she had a feeling he'd been right.
She turned her back on Rock while she slipped into her clothes.
"Better hurry. I hear somebody comin'." He sat on the bench to pull on socks and
boots.
Genny's fingers stumbled at buttons, fumbled with shirttails that refused to tuck. "Don't let
them come in, Rock. I'm not dressed."
He went to stand at the door of the gazebo. She wasn't sure how much screening the
lattice walls gave, but they were better than her dressing in front of half of Jordan Valley.
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