She responded with as much urgency as was in him, and somehow their clothes were gone and they were lying with each other, skin against skin, all barriers gone. Quint tasted her neck and shoulders, then found her breasts and when he felt her nipples tighten under his touch, there was no patience in him. He wanted her. He wanted her over and over and over again. And he knew that one life would never be enough to satisfy that hunger.
As if she read his mind, she touched his stomach, then trailed her hand down until she found the evidence of his desire for her. When she circled his heat, he felt sensations explode in him, and before he could shift over her, she moved. She straddled him and slowly eased herself down until he filled her.
She was still, and he looked up at her, her coppery curls falling forward, and he spanned her waist with his hands. "Oh, Annie, thank you for being here, for being my wife. When I think of Trevor and—"
"Shh," she said softly. "We're married just a few hours, and the last thing I want to talk about is Trevor."
She started to rock slowly, and the friction engulfed him in shards of sensations that blotted out everything except here and now. "Amen," he whispered and began to move.
He'd always thought dreams were a form of escape from a prison of one sort or another. Then they were over, and he was still in the prison, either the cell or a life that was empty and senseless. But not now.
Annie moved with him, her soft moans mixed with his, filling the spaces around him. And when they climaxed together, when they both cried out, then held on to each other, he knew nothing was over.
His dream was real and it was just beginning. And he was free. Really free for the first time in his life.
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THE BRIDE WORE BLUE JEANS Page 20
