what she wanted. To tease. To please. While she could see the world had weathered him, she was curious, as well, to know how many women he had.
A man this good-looking probably didn’t lack for attention ... and from an early age, she had no doubt. But attention and experience varied.
Samantha became bold. Maybe it was thinking of all those women—how many, how beautiful—she could only imagine. Or perhaps, it was from the possessiveness.
Whichever or both, she wanted to erase the mark of any other woman. She wanted to be the only one who mattered, who ever would or could.
She wanted to ruin him. To do that, she would need to brave unfamiliar territory. Well, unfamiliar in action, but knowledgeable enough in theory. A tiny voice told her to behave, that sex was just a way to avoid what was real. Samantha ignored it.
Every women’s magazine article and each midnight, three-too-many martini conversations with Charles and all his exploits, collected in her mind.
She began with her hand.
Samantha traced a path from Jesse’s chest down his belly and crept her fingers under the coverlet and sheet. While her breath grew bated, his breathing maintained an even rhythm. Her thighs tingled with anticipation. Beneath the sheet, she drew closer, passing the area of eroticism.
Down to his inner thighs, she wisped her fingers over the relaxed muscles and came up the other leg, teasing him as he had her. She wanted to touch him where it counted, to grip his hardness and stroke it, but was determined not to do so until she knew he was awake.
She wondered if he dreamed of her hands, if he incorporated his physical sensations into his resting imaginings. As she got near his groin, his body twitched. The covers moved, tented by his erection, growing steadily.
He was real to her. Alive and breathing. Real.
A slow, lazy grin spread over his mouth. He stretched out his legs and hugged her shoulders.
“Don’t stop,” he mumbled, his voice thick.
She wasn’t about to. Her body responded to his voice, to her accomplishment, by wetting with a little throb of want. She raised a leg across his, pressed her need against his hip, so he could feel her arousal.
He groaned. “What are you doing to me, Samantha?” He kept his eyes closed, but he rolled her way.
“I’m teasing you.”
“Teasing? You’re making me crazy.”
Pride swelled inside her. This kind of crazy was good. He’d done more than that to her. She slowly raised her hand up his body and gently slid it over his stiff flesh.
He groaned again, opened his eyes, and cupped her face. His eyes shone pale green and glassy, a tenderness reflected in them. A pang twinged in her chest. Samantha swallowed.
Jesse’s hand left her cheek and found her hip. He rolled toward her, her hand the only thing separating his desire from her own. His eyes locked with hers. She watched, fascinated, as pleasure washed through them. His lids became heavy, the green darkened, but his gaze remained on hers.
Her wet arousal turned urgent. Suddenly, all designs of impressing him with skill and innovation vanished. She could think only of feeling him inside her while he caressed her with his gaze.
She moved her hand away, letting the smooth tip of his erection skin her palm and fingertips. She raised her leg and shifted her hips. He brought his hips to hers. Samantha wasn’t sure she could take being driven crazy again. Her need had grown so rapidly she wasn’t sure she could take his prolonging it—enflaming it any more than it already was.
She blinked, wanting to close her eyes and feel him with all her other senses. But his gaze held hers rapt. As he slipped his proud attraction into the mouth of her sex, she watched. God, she was so wet. He felt so solid. Satisfying in such a basic, primal way.
Like he belonged there.
*
Jesse felt it, too, and didn’t speak. He focused on controlling his body, but found it difficult when every nuance of pleasure painted her face so
A man this good-looking probably didn’t lack for attention ... and from an early age, she had no doubt. But attention and experience varied.
Samantha became bold. Maybe it was thinking of all those women—how many, how beautiful—she could only imagine. Or perhaps, it was from the possessiveness.
Whichever or both, she wanted to erase the mark of any other woman. She wanted to be the only one who mattered, who ever would or could.
She wanted to ruin him. To do that, she would need to brave unfamiliar territory. Well, unfamiliar in action, but knowledgeable enough in theory. A tiny voice told her to behave, that sex was just a way to avoid what was real. Samantha ignored it.
Every women’s magazine article and each midnight, three-too-many martini conversations with Charles and all his exploits, collected in her mind.
She began with her hand.
Samantha traced a path from Jesse’s chest down his belly and crept her fingers under the coverlet and sheet. While her breath grew bated, his breathing maintained an even rhythm. Her thighs tingled with anticipation. Beneath the sheet, she drew closer, passing the area of eroticism.
Down to his inner thighs, she wisped her fingers over the relaxed muscles and came up the other leg, teasing him as he had her. She wanted to touch him where it counted, to grip his hardness and stroke it, but was determined not to do so until she knew he was awake.
She wondered if he dreamed of her hands, if he incorporated his physical sensations into his resting imaginings. As she got near his groin, his body twitched. The covers moved, tented by his erection, growing steadily.
He was real to her. Alive and breathing. Real.
A slow, lazy grin spread over his mouth. He stretched out his legs and hugged her shoulders.
“Don’t stop,” he mumbled, his voice thick.
She wasn’t about to. Her body responded to his voice, to her accomplishment, by wetting with a little throb of want. She raised a leg across his, pressed her need against his hip, so he could feel her arousal.
He groaned. “What are you doing to me, Samantha?” He kept his eyes closed, but he rolled her way.
“I’m teasing you.”
“Teasing? You’re making me crazy.”
Pride swelled inside her. This kind of crazy was good. He’d done more than that to her. She slowly raised her hand up his body and gently slid it over his stiff flesh.
He groaned again, opened his eyes, and cupped her face. His eyes shone pale green and glassy, a tenderness reflected in them. A pang twinged in her chest. Samantha swallowed.
Jesse’s hand left her cheek and found her hip. He rolled toward her, her hand the only thing separating his desire from her own. His eyes locked with hers. She watched, fascinated, as pleasure washed through them. His lids became heavy, the green darkened, but his gaze remained on hers.
Her wet arousal turned urgent. Suddenly, all designs of impressing him with skill and innovation vanished. She could think only of feeling him inside her while he caressed her with his gaze.
She moved her hand away, letting the smooth tip of his erection skin her palm and fingertips. She raised her leg and shifted her hips. He brought his hips to hers. Samantha wasn’t sure she could take being driven crazy again. Her need had grown so rapidly she wasn’t sure she could take his prolonging it—enflaming it any more than it already was.
She blinked, wanting to close her eyes and feel him with all her other senses. But his gaze held hers rapt. As he slipped his proud attraction into the mouth of her sex, she watched. God, she was so wet. He felt so solid. Satisfying in such a basic, primal way.
Like he belonged there.
*
Jesse felt it, too, and didn’t speak. He focused on controlling his body, but found it difficult when every nuance of pleasure painted her face so
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