was no use fighting the inevitable.
He pressed his lips to hers again, and the embrace was so sweet and so touching that they both sighed with pleasure. He deepened the kiss, his hands roaming over her body, massaging her arms and back.
Her hair had been pulled into a tidy chignon, but during her nap, the pins and combs had fallen out. The sight of those auburn tresses rattled him. Blood surged to his phallus.
An old wives’ tale—about redheaded women being more passionate—flew into his mind, and oh, how he hoped it turned out to be true.
He shifted onto his back so he was on the bottom and she was on the top. She was on her knees, straddling his lap, their loins crushed together.
He drew her nearer, his tongue in her mouth, his fingers at her breasts. He stroked and molded them, making her hiss and squirm as he pinched the nipples through the fabric of her dress.
His ardor was increasing at an alarming rate, which was very peculiar. Lust never ruled him. He never lost control or rushed to the end but she titillated him as no other female ever had.
He was working her skirt up her legs, and they were at a dangerous point. Another inch or two, he would learn how tight and wet she was, but he had enough sense remaining that he remembered he shouldn’t go that far.
Reluctantly, he halted his exploration, lifting her so she could stretch out next to him on the mattress. He tugged down her hem, then laid on his side so they were facing each other.
She’d participated with such skill and composure that he wondered if she was a virgin. The fact that she might not be, that she could engage in an affair with no chastity to surrender, brought a new wave of arousal.
What if they could have a full-on affair? What if she was amenable?
"That wasn’t as awful as I thought it would be," she said, reverting to their typical sarcastic banter.
He reached over and swatted her bottom.
"You’re deadly for my poor male ego."
"Yes, but then, it’s much too inflated. It could stand a bit of puncturing."
"You’ve never been married, have you?"
"No, never."
"I can certainly see why. Your harsh critiques would slay an unsuspecting fellow."
"Good thing you’re not unsuspecting then."
"Yes, a very good thing."
They quieted and calmed, and he linked their fingers as if they were adolescent sweethearts.
"Do you ever feel that we’ve met before?" she inquired.
He felt that way constantly, but would never admit it.
"Why would you ask that?"
"You just seem so…" She chuckled and stopped. "Don’t mind me. It’s late, and I’m growing maudlin."
He was dying to know how she might have finished her sentence. He seemed so… what? But he didn’t delve into her remark. He yawned, the liquor and wee hour taking their toll.
"You’ve exhausted me," he told her.
"I have not. You’ve simply had too much to drink, and it’s past our bedtimes. I had a nap while you spent the interval misbehaving."
"I don’t consider brandy to be misbehavior."
"You wouldn’t."
He cradled her to his chest. She made a feeble attempt to pull away, but they’d proved that—in the physical realm—they were extremely compatible. Intimate contact was pleasing. There was no reason for her not to snuggle with him.
"You’re nicer than I imagined you were," she confessed.
"So are you."
"Are you thinking we’re about to embark on a torrid affair?"
"Yes."
"It’s not occurring, so get it out of your head."
"Why not indulge ourselves?"
"Just because you’re nicer than I thought doesn’t mean I’ve lost my mind. I would never involve myself with you."
"You already have."
"Temporary insanity."
"If I’m lucky, maybe it will afflict you again in the near future."
"I wouldn’t count on it." She sighed and nestled closer. "What will happen between us? How are we to carry on tomorrow?"
"I have no idea."
"I was afraid you’d say that."
He yawned again. "I’m about to
He pressed his lips to hers again, and the embrace was so sweet and so touching that they both sighed with pleasure. He deepened the kiss, his hands roaming over her body, massaging her arms and back.
Her hair had been pulled into a tidy chignon, but during her nap, the pins and combs had fallen out. The sight of those auburn tresses rattled him. Blood surged to his phallus.
An old wives’ tale—about redheaded women being more passionate—flew into his mind, and oh, how he hoped it turned out to be true.
He shifted onto his back so he was on the bottom and she was on the top. She was on her knees, straddling his lap, their loins crushed together.
He drew her nearer, his tongue in her mouth, his fingers at her breasts. He stroked and molded them, making her hiss and squirm as he pinched the nipples through the fabric of her dress.
His ardor was increasing at an alarming rate, which was very peculiar. Lust never ruled him. He never lost control or rushed to the end but she titillated him as no other female ever had.
He was working her skirt up her legs, and they were at a dangerous point. Another inch or two, he would learn how tight and wet she was, but he had enough sense remaining that he remembered he shouldn’t go that far.
Reluctantly, he halted his exploration, lifting her so she could stretch out next to him on the mattress. He tugged down her hem, then laid on his side so they were facing each other.
She’d participated with such skill and composure that he wondered if she was a virgin. The fact that she might not be, that she could engage in an affair with no chastity to surrender, brought a new wave of arousal.
What if they could have a full-on affair? What if she was amenable?
"That wasn’t as awful as I thought it would be," she said, reverting to their typical sarcastic banter.
He reached over and swatted her bottom.
"You’re deadly for my poor male ego."
"Yes, but then, it’s much too inflated. It could stand a bit of puncturing."
"You’ve never been married, have you?"
"No, never."
"I can certainly see why. Your harsh critiques would slay an unsuspecting fellow."
"Good thing you’re not unsuspecting then."
"Yes, a very good thing."
They quieted and calmed, and he linked their fingers as if they were adolescent sweethearts.
"Do you ever feel that we’ve met before?" she inquired.
He felt that way constantly, but would never admit it.
"Why would you ask that?"
"You just seem so…" She chuckled and stopped. "Don’t mind me. It’s late, and I’m growing maudlin."
He was dying to know how she might have finished her sentence. He seemed so… what? But he didn’t delve into her remark. He yawned, the liquor and wee hour taking their toll.
"You’ve exhausted me," he told her.
"I have not. You’ve simply had too much to drink, and it’s past our bedtimes. I had a nap while you spent the interval misbehaving."
"I don’t consider brandy to be misbehavior."
"You wouldn’t."
He cradled her to his chest. She made a feeble attempt to pull away, but they’d proved that—in the physical realm—they were extremely compatible. Intimate contact was pleasing. There was no reason for her not to snuggle with him.
"You’re nicer than I imagined you were," she confessed.
"So are you."
"Are you thinking we’re about to embark on a torrid affair?"
"Yes."
"It’s not occurring, so get it out of your head."
"Why not indulge ourselves?"
"Just because you’re nicer than I thought doesn’t mean I’ve lost my mind. I would never involve myself with you."
"You already have."
"Temporary insanity."
"If I’m lucky, maybe it will afflict you again in the near future."
"I wouldn’t count on it." She sighed and nestled closer. "What will happen between us? How are we to carry on tomorrow?"
"I have no idea."
"I was afraid you’d say that."
He yawned again. "I’m about to
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