Her Passionate Need

by Vonna Harper

  That was happening to her now. It didn't matter that he hadn't so much as touched her breasts or between her legs; she remembered what it felt like when he'd done that before. The thought alone was enough to harden her nipples and swell her clit.

  Was that what she wanted? Sex with Devin?

  The question was too hard to answer and made her temple throb. Barely able to keep from shaking her head, she struggled to decide what to do. The safe thing, of course, would be to turn her back on him, but it was too cold to sleep without him next to her.

  Besides, she wasn't interested in sleep.

  Dreams waited there. Dreams and memories, regrets and questions.

  Beside Devin, him inside her, meant she didn't have to think.

  Still not sure how to proceed, she rotated her wrist to let him know she wanted him to release her. He held on a little longer, then the pressure let up. Being free didn't help, at least it wouldn't if she took the time to debate and consider, but if she simply acted—

  Enough!

  She didn't want him to know what she planned to do because he might stop her. Besides, she needed time in which to build up her courage. When she moistened her forefinger and trailed it over his belly, he sucked in his breath and held it so long she thought he might become lightheaded. Intrigued by what she was doing, she fumbled one-handed with his shirt buttons and pulled the fabric back from his chest before placing her fingers and thumb in her mouth and washing them. She had no difficulty finding his chest in the dark, and although her fingers soon dried, resulting in friction between her flesh and his, he didn't seem to mind. She certainly didn't.

  Feeling a tug on her shirt, she belatedly came to the not so brilliant conclusion that he'd done some unbuttoning of his own. Her bra had gotten so dirty from being on the ground and she hadn't been able to talk herself into putting it back on after their first mating. As a consequence, nothing now stood between his hands and her breasts.

  She thought for sure he'd immediately claim them, but although she felt the warmth from his hands, that's all it was—his warmth. She sensed herself straining toward him. Then, just as her nipple made contact with a fingernail, she pulled back.

  "Tell me what you're thinking," he said.

  "I—I don't know."

  "I think you do."

  Not sure he was right, she nevertheless waded through the morass of her mind. In there she found confusion and disbelief, sorrow because John wasn't here to defend himself, relief that she didn't have to choose between the words of two men.

  "I don't know what the truth is," she told Devin. "Maybe I never will. You either, unless you've already convicted my husband."

  "Your husband." He bit out the words. "Is that what it's going to be? He's here tonight?"

  Suddenly angry, she tried to put distance between them, but her body didn't want to move. "Is that what you want? For me to pretend he never existed?"

  "No. Damn it, Ana, I'm not that stupid or that selfish. But either this is between you and me—" He lightly touched her nipple, causing it to harden even more. "Just you and me. Or it isn't going to happen."

  Where had her anger gone? It had just been here and now. . .and now she was crying. She didn't think she'd made a sound, but he placed his hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed. He didn't say anything.

  "I've never felt like this before," she managed through the lump in her throat. "It sounds so cliché, but I feel alive around you. Does that make sense? Alive."

  "Go on."

  Go on? How could she possibly do that when she didn't know her mind? Or did she and was simply afraid to admit it?

  "I feel. . . All the time I was married, it was as if I was only half awake." Her voice sounded small, but she didn't know how to change that. "Only half alive. I thought I was happy, in love. I was and yet. . ." Devin couldn't possibly want to hear any more about John. She didn't either but because he'd been a key part of who and what she'd been, she couldn't dismiss him.

  Or could she? Even now with her thoughts in turmoil, her body was telling her that the only man to bring her to climax was next to her.

  "Devin?"

  "What?"

  "I—I was asleep, barely existing. And then you showed up. That's what I can't comprehend. Not the other stuff, like what I learned from Aaron's messages."

  She'd taken a small step, and yet it wasn't enough. "Touch me, please," she whispered.

  "Are you sure?"

  "For this moment, yes."

  Her so-sensitive nipples tightened in anticipation, but the first brush-stroke of sensation was to the side of her neck. He ran his fingers in light circles from behind her ear to where neck and shoulder connected. She'd always been ticklish, and yet what she now felt didn't make her squirm and want to retreat. Quite the opposite, she found herself emotionally and physically leaning into him. She lost awareness of any other part of her body and felt, simply felt. There was something terribly sweet and intimate about his rough fingertips igniting the tiny hairs there, sliding over sensitive flesh, finding muscles and tendons.

  Wanting him to understand how much she appreciated his tender caress, she placed her hand against the base of his throat. He swallowed; she found that erotic. Despite the distraction of what he was doing to her, she expanded her search until her fingertips lay over the vein just above his collarbone. Earlier today—or had it been yesterday?—someone had tried to kill him. That monster had failed, thank God. As if celebrating that fact, she felt his heart pump strong and sure.

  His fingers were on the move again. They still felt like feathers on her skin, and she marveled at his ability to go from hard physical labor to this. . .this sweet gift. She wanted to continue to do for him what he was doing for her, but the need to understand the full texture of his present to her was too strong. She stopped movement so she could concentrate—so she could comprehend how fingers on her neck could resonate throughout her body.

  She couldn't. The sensation was too large, too everything.

  Slow, putting her mind off anything else, he touched and tasted and claimed every inch of flesh from throat to breast. She felt, not the hard sexual arousal he'd ignited in her before, but a gradual silken coming to life. His nails slid soft-as-mist over her breasts, then between them. He rested there briefly, his hand nestled between her loose mounds. She could do this forever, being born by exquisite degrees, the journey going on and on and on. . .without end.

  Awareness of the heated cave between her legs became more than just humming energy. She felt herself grow wet, full and swollen. Still she could wait, experience.

  Only when he took her wrist and drew her hand off his throat did she remember her earlier desire to do for him what he was doing for her. Before she could renew her commitment to gift him, he placed her hand on her own breast and helped her flatten it.

  "It's your body, Ana. Something to celebrate."

  She could tell him that she'd always seen her body as a tool, a means of earning a living, but that wasn't what he wanted to hear. . .or what she wanted to say.

  "I'm learning that," she admitted.

  "But you aren't all the way there yet because you had so far to go."

  That was profound, wasn't it? "And you know the way?" she asked.

  "Only you can tell me that."

  Under his guidance she moved her hand in a small, strong circle. Her breast seemed to be filling with blood, heating from some unknown source. He spread her fingers with his own so both their hands were engaged in teasing and testing her there. Once again she lost touch with the rest of herself as she concentrated on exploring the difference between her fingers and his.

  They found a rhythm. In sync they moved to the right, then the left, pressed down firmly and let up, so her breasts—not just the one being manipulated—were in a constant state of excitement. If it wasn't for the sometimes uncomfortable drag of rough fingertips over loose and pliable flesh, she could have done this forever.

  "Do you masturbate?" he asked.

 
; No one had ever asked her that. Yes, her mother had stammered out a question about where she touched herself followed by admonitions that nice girls didn't put their fingers in certain places, but this was hardly the same thing.

  "Yes. Sometimes."

  "And it satisfies you?"

  Her breath caught; her cheeks flamed. "Devin."

  Does it?"

  "Not. . .the way you have."

  "How do you feel about it?"

  How could he possibly expect her to carry on a conversation given what he—she—was doing to her? "All right, I guess."

  "In other words, it could be better."

  "Devin, please. I don't want to talk about—"

  "That's what I thought you'd say."

  Because I'm so damn sexually repressed, at least I was before you stormed into my life. "You think you know me, don't you? That's what you're trying to say." Damn him. He was pressing down on her nipple as if trying to push it into her rib cage. Yet it didn't hurt.

  "No, Ana, I don't know you," he whispered.

  His admission settled around her and killed what small anger had started to take form. No longer interested in talking, she gave up trying to keep her eyes open. The breast they were manipulating had gone from savoring the attention to all but flinching from what now felt like an abrasive attack. What she felt in her cunt mirrored that, at least a little.

  "Enough?" he asked.

  "Enough?"

  His hand, and as a consequence hers stilled. "You're getting sore there, aren't you?"

  "A little." Please, let there be more to us tonight than this.

  "What do you want now?"

  No man had asked her that; she'd never asked it of herself.

  "Ana?" He drew her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. "What feels good to you?"

  "Ev-erything."

  She was afraid he'd laugh at her, but he didn't. "I'm not going to ask what you and your husband did because I don't want to know. But you must have fantasies. Things you think about when you're masturbating."

  "I'd. . ."

  "What? Ana, tonight is about us. We don't know what tomorrow's going to bring."

  He was right, so right! "I'd love to be pampered."

  "In what way?"

  "A spa. Sauna. A massage."

  "That's it?"

  That was as far as she could go. "You sound surprised."

  "More like a failure. Unfortunately, I didn't pack my sauna."

  It felt so good to laugh! Lighthearted in a way she'd all but forgotten was possible, she guided his hand to her mouth and kissed his palm to mirror what he'd done for her. "It's all right. I forgot my swim suit."

  "You wouldn't be wearing one. Neither would I."

  Just like that, amusement gave way to yet another layer of awareness of him. "It's a wonderful fantasy," she admitted. "But cold as it is—"

  "Then we'll have to improvise."

  Wondering what he had in mind made her even more lightheaded. He guided his fingers past her lips, and she opened her mouth slightly, then a little more, inviting him in. He willingly entered, and she rewarded him by wrapping her wet tongue around him and caressing his fingers. Even when her jaw started to ache, she shrugged off awareness.

  It was slightly awkward, but she managed to stretch her arm enough to reach his waist. Going by feel, by instinct, by what she'd learned about him in the short time they'd been together, she finger-walked around his jeans' waistband from just above his belly button to as far back as she could stretch.

  At the same time, somehow, she continued to tongue-kiss his fingers.

  Her head was buzzing and even with her eyes closed, she swore her vision had become blurry. She wanted to unzip his jeans but knew better than to attempt anything so complicated. The arm under her had gone to sleep, but the rest of her was awake in spades.

  "Wait a minute."

  Slow to realize he'd spoken, she could only comply as he rolled her onto her back and unfastened her jeans. She opened her eyes so she could watch, or at least believe she was watching. He pulled the denim away from her belly but didn't try to remove the garment. Once he'd exposed her as much as he could that way, he rose onto hands and knees and leaned over her. Vibrating, she waited.

  Lower and lower he came, his head a shadow. His mouth found her first. Then he opened it and dipped his tongue into her navel. Sobbing, she arched her belly toward him. At the same time, she fisted her hands through his hair and held him there.

  He was a willing prisoner. Either that or she was wrong, and he was the master. It didn't matter. Nothing did beyond his tongue, his breath chasing over hypersensitive flesh. He varied the experience by dampening the edge of her belly button, washing lower, lower until he wetted the top of her muff. She didn't want to hurt him but couldn't put her mind to whether she might be pulling his hair. She must not be because he gave no indication he was in discomfort.

  She couldn't keep still. By turn, she found herself trying to escape by pushing her buttocks against the hard ground, or tightening her pelvic muscles and all but levitating in order to encourage him on. Much as she hated her confining clothes, the denim added to the growing tidal-wave of sensation. When, occasionally, he stopped bathing her flesh, the night air immediately cooled her where he'd deposited his moisture. Much more and she'd start shivering—only not from being cold.

  His tongue, mouth, teeth roamed her belly until she thought she'd scream. If she hadn't known that was dangerous, she would have. What he was doing kept her so focused on that part of her anatomy that almost too late she realized what his exploration was doing to her sex. The juices that oiled her and made her ready for his cock overflowed and dribbled toward her butt crack. She could smell herself.

  He must have too. Either that or he was becoming turned on without any help from her. The tempo of his breathing quickened, and when he briefly lowered his body to hers, she felt his trapped cock glide over her belly. The next time he did that, she was ready. Gentle and yet not overly so, she kneed him in the groin. He laughed, but because he caught his breath at the same time, the sound had a strangled quality.

  "You're a mean woman," he gasped.

  "I was simply checking out a suspicion of mine."

  "And what might that be?"

  "You're erect."

  "Erect?" He'd positioned himself so one arm was on either side of her, his knees between hers. "Lady, I have a hard-on."

  Another first. A man had actually said that in her presence. "Yeah and I. . ."

  "You what?"

  Say it, damn it. "I need a good fucking."

  He stretched himself over and above her. Only a fool needed to have that spelled out, a fact she made abundantly clear by ridding him of his jeans' confines with clumsy fingers. Once she'd peeled the garment down over his buttocks, he took over, eventually tossing it aside before settling his legs back inside hers. She welcomed him with both hands and discovered his penis struggling for freedom. It took a little maneuvering to find the opening to his briefs, but she managed that too, then cradled his newly-exposed cock between her palms.

  "Fuck my hands," she whispered. "I want to feel you that way."

  Calling on his well-honed leg and pelvis muscles, he thrust deep into the enclosure she'd created out of her hands. She was sorry she hadn't moistened her palms first, but in a few seconds, his pre-cum provided the necessary lubrication. Tender and tough, gentle and masterful, she worked him.

  He drew away, then pushed down into her. Over and over again he pumped. His cock seemed to grow larger and larger and was so hard and erect she felt as if she'd taken hold of a tool. . .or maybe a weapon. His breathing deepened. Sweat broke out on him. Determined to share in his impending climax, she pulled him closer to her exposed belly and arched toward him. The tip of his cock kissed her stomach. If she'd known how, she would have snake-walked so his cock could find her pussy. There was too much distance between his sex organ and hers. How—

  Don't think about yourself. Make this your gift to him
! Help him climax!

  "Ana!"

  Was he strangling? She fought free of enough of her sexual excitement to concentrate on him. He'd stopped pumping and was trying to pull his penis out of her grip.

  "What?" The single word was all she was capable of.

  "This has to be for both of us."

  "It is."

  "You're still dressed."

  Just barely, she told him in her mind. But he was right. Her damnable jeans were in the way.

  "It's all right," she told him. "I'm coming anyway."

  He shook his head. Although he was no longer trying to draw his cock out of her grip, neither had he given in. "That's not what I want for you. Let me go."

  "I don't want—"

  "For just a moment."

  She could do that, couldn't she? Her now empty hands felt lost. He scooted back so he was resting on his buttocks, then grasped her waistband and drew her jeans down over her hipbones. They hung up on her butt, forcing her to bend her knees so she could lift her ass off the ground. He tugged, then pressed his palms against her hips, letting her know she could settle down again. She did, and mentally followed along with him as he eased the denim one inch at a time along her thighs. Feeling herself being exposed this way, laid bare to the night and moon and him, caused her clit to twitch.

  He slid one hand behind her right knee and pushed up, causing her to bend it even more. Then, slow and in command, he pulled her leg free of the garment. She waited for him to do the same with her left. Instead, he guided her right foot between his legs. Understanding, she reached out with her toes and touched his balls. She felt them jerk.

  Concentrating, becoming a mix of him and her, she ran her toes under the opening in his briefs before gliding her big toenail over, under, and around the base of his cock. She'd never thought of her feet as being capable of giving and receiving pleasure, but both those things were happening now.

  She became minimally aware that he'd turned his attention to her left leg but what he was doing didn't register until the air kissed her calf.