by Kylie Brant
Desire. Hot and naked, it was snaking through her veins, leaving a conflagration in its wake. It singed her from her toes to her fingertips, and suddenly kisses weren’t enough. She wanted more. That vee of bare flesh was a taunting sample of the tightly muscled planes lying beneath his shirt. Her palms itched, and she fisted her hands as if to guard against the temptation.
Drawing her lip between her teeth, she stared hard at the next button. So easy, really. It would be so easy to slip that one small button open to expose another inch or two of flesh. Her fingers acted before her brain gave them conscious permission, and she couldn’t help being pleased with her work. Brown chest hair covered the portion she’d revealed, and her lips went to explore the newest territory. It was surprisingly soft, not unlike the strands she’d recently had her fingers tangled in. No doubt it matched the rest of his chest, still hidden from her view.
Her fingers danced down his shirtfront, and her lips followed in their trail, welcoming each new inch of flesh revealed. When she finally finished, she pushed the shirt apart impatiently, her breath knotting in her throat. His chest was massive and solid with muscle. His heavy shoulders were almost as wide as the half of the couch he was propped against. His large form radiated power and strength, yet he remained still, only the muscles quivering beneath the smooth skin of his stomach giving mute testament to the effort it cost him.
She smoothed her hands up and down his torso, gasping as his heat transferred from his skin to her palms. Her fingers walked up his ribs and combed through the triangular mat of hair on his chest. Leaning forward, she sealed his mouth with hers again, reveling in the eager twisting of his lips beneath hers. She kneaded his chest, his shoulders before trailing her hands down to clutch at his massive biceps.
Michael shrugged out of his shirt and wrapped his arms around her waist, urging her closer. Kate complied, her mouth still moving on his, her hips intimately pressed against the thick ridge beneath his jeans. Hunger built as he pulled her T-shirt from her jeans and his hands swept inside, roaming over her back and waist restlessly. She squirmed against him, unable to get close enough.
Her hips rocked against him, and their moans mingled at the contact. That solid length of manhood assuaged the ache that had settled between her thighs, even as it fueled it. Her breasts were full and heavy, her nipples unbearably sensitive within their lacy confines. His hands flamed a path on her skin, leaving her wanting more. She waited, breath indrawn, for him to take the next step, to touch her as intimately as she touched him. Her movements became a little more frantic, a little more frustrated, and she nipped at his full lower lip before soothing it with the tip of her tongue.
“For God’s sake, Kate,” he rasped, his voice strangled. His fingers delved into her hair, cupping her head and holding her close for another deep, wet kiss that had them both shaking but still wasn’t enough.
“Michael,” she whispered, her tone rife with frustration, her kiss more so.
He tore his mouth away to murmur, “Take your shirt off, honey.”
She dispensed with her T-shirt and undid the back clasp of her bra. The straps drooped on her shoulders, the lacy cups clung to her breasts. A measure of modesty filtered through her haze of desire, and her fingers faltered. She sucked at her lower lip, trying to garner flagging courage.
The harsh angles of his features were covered with a light sheen of perspiration. Desire had flushed his rock-hewn cheekbones. His hazel eyes were glittering slits, focused on the lacy garment. His fingers were clenched hard on her hips, his body otherwise still. She leaned forward and shrugged her shoulders. The fragile garment slipped down her arms.
His arm came hard around her and their bared torsos met, surprising a whimper from her. Her nipples were drawn in tight, sensitized knots, and the first contact sent twin arrows of pleasure shooting to her womb. His mouth caught hers, their hunger spiraling at the intimate contact.
“Michael,” she whimpered into his mouth. “Please.”
It was all the invitation he needed. His large hands swept up to cup her breasts. The long-awaited contact was at first a relief and then quickly torched their desire. She arched her back and he leaned forward to take one tight nipple into his mouth.
A broken cry emanated from Kate’s throat. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her breast, where his lips worked their incredible magic. When he grazed her nipple with his teeth her hands grew more frantic. All her senses were centered on the exquisite sensations that he was sending like rapid fire through her body.
She felt the carpet beneath her shoulders and blinked dazedly. Michael’s hand went to the fastening of her jeans, and then he dragged them down her legs. One hand smoothed over her stomach, the large palm almost spanning the expanse. He kneaded the skin soothingly as he returned his attention to her breasts.
Brilliant colors fragmented behind her eyelids and she moved helplessly under his touch. Every muscle, every nerve in her body was drawn tight and poised on the brink of unfamiliar discovery. Her hands roamed over his shoulders restlessly, unable to concentrate on anything other than the pleasurable torment of his touch.
He stroked down her body, fingers dipping teasingly below the waistband of her panties. Kate writhed beneath him, barely conscious of anything other than the gnawing craving he created within her. When his hand slipped inside and tucked into the vee between her thighs, her body jerked and her eyes flew open. One of her hands went to his wrist as if to stop his ministrations, and for a moment their gazes melded, his heated, knowing and hungry.
“Do you want me to stop?” His husky question seemed to rumble up from the depths of him. Her mouth trembled, and she made an effort to still it. Both of them were aware of the slippery heat beneath his hand, the dampness that was even now dewing his fingers. Slowly, without taking her gaze from his, she shook her head.
“No,” she whispered.
He relaxed imperceptibly, and she realized for the first time how rigidly he’d been holding himself. If her answer had been different, he would have withdrawn from her immediately, despite the cost to himself. She didn’t question how she knew that or where the measure of her trust had come from.
“Then relax.” His voice vibrated in her ear before he placed a warm kiss below the lobe. “Put your arms around me. I like your hands on me.”
Slowly, she released his wrist and did as he requested, her hands sliding up his bulging muscles, stopping to squeeze them testingly. Her thighs quivered beneath his touch; she couldn’t control the movement.
His mouth moved to her throat and trailed moist kisses across her collarbone. He gently stroked her with his fingers, using her body’s dampness to ease his way. Involuntarily her thighs tightened around his hand and then slowly, gradually relaxed, giving him silent permission to continue.
One long finger eased inside her and she arched beneath him, a cry rising in her throat, her sensitized inner muscles tensing and contracting at his touch. Michael shuddered against her, his breathing ragged. Slowly, gently, he pushed another finger inside and Kate’s whole body shook at the intimate invasion.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she struggled for control. The sensations he roused in her were wrenchingly intimate, and the slow thrust of his fingers stoked her inner fire until she was twisting helplessly beneath him. Then his rough thumb found the taut bundle of nerves hidden in her soft folds and pressed against it. Liquid flames licked through her veins, exploding her tenuous attempt at control. Her body was pure reaction, responding to every movement of his fingers with eager, helpless pleasure.
The sensations raced through her and the pleasure built to unbearable heights. His thumb circled and rubbed, his fingers moved in rhythm to her body’s unconscious arching. Her nerves were coiling, her senses spiraling to the brink of some unfamiliar precipice. “Michael!” Her voice was anguished.
“Let go, sweetheart,” he said hoarsely. “Just let it happen.” His mouth covered hers then, his kiss hard, desperate. His tongue swep
t into her mouth, repeating the invasive movements of his fingers, the pressure hard and urgent. Her body welcomed both, embraced his passion even as it fueled her own.
The tension built quickly. Her body drew tighter and tighter until it was too much. The explosion shook her body in uncontrollable spasms that went on and on while he held her close, sheltering her in the tempest.
Her body went limp, little aftershocks quaking through her, limbs still trembling. Gradually, her senses quieted, became attuned once again. She was aware of his hard arms around her, aware of his tensed muscles, his ragged breathing. Tenderly she cupped his hard jaw in her hand.
He quivered under her touch, then pulled away with an abruptness that almost had her crying out. Her eyelids opened, and her voice stilled the protest she would have made. He stood above her, the hands that had so recently brought her pleasure dispensing with the button of his jeans. He eased the zipper down more carefully, grimacing as he worked it over the bulge beneath his fly. Then in one violent stroke, he pushed jeans and briefs down his legs and kicked them away.
The breath was driven from her body. She’d recognized the power in his wide, padded shoulders and subtly layered torso. But she hadn’t been prepared for the sight of his nude splendor. He was magnificent. Her gaze shyly skated over the lean, taut hips, muscled thighs and calves, and then up again. He was huge. All over. She swallowed. Her mental faculties began to function sluggishly, enough for trepidation to make a belated appearance. He knelt between her legs and reached for his jeans again. As he withdrew something from his pocket and moved to protect her, her inner muscles twitched. Despite her apprehension, her body responded to the sight of his. Moments ago she had been awash in sensations that he had caused, drowning in the pleasure that he had brought her. Still her body called for him. She was fulfilled in a way she’d never imagined, yet ached for him. Satisfied but empty.
He crawled over her, his weight heavy and comforting, the feel of his body against hers exciting. She could feel the urgency of his sex throbbing against the apex of her thighs. His muscled legs were an enticing contrast to her smooth ones, and she moved beneath him, everything feminine inside her reveling in his primally masculine form.
He braced himself on one elbow, and his other hand reached between them to guide his entrance as he pushed slowly into her. Kate abruptly stilled, senses scattering. His way was eased by the damp heat he’d caused within her, but he was bigger than his fingers had been, much bigger. Her delicate tissues were exquisitely sensitized after his attentions, and her breath became trapped in her throat. The sensations were flooding back, torrents that threatened to sweep her over the brink again. He eased farther in, stretching her, making a place for himself, then pausing as her muscles tightened convulsively.
Her hands went to his hips as if to still his movements, and he waited rigidly for a tense moment. Her fingers were sidetracked by the taut muscles beneath them, and she kneaded them reflexively. A shaky groan rumbled from Michael’s chest, and with a smooth thrust of his hips, he drove himself deeply into her.
Kate gasped. She could feel his powerful body buried within her. The throbbing of his sex kept rhythm with the pulsing of her own inner nerve endings. He’d stretched her to the point of discomfort, but her body was given time to adjust, and she could feel the delicate convulsions as she accommodated him.
Then he started to move, and thought was no longer possible. She heard herself whimper, and he caught the sound in his mouth. Her knees came up and clenched his thighs. Her fingers dug into his hips, silently urging him on.
Her response must have sent his own flagging control up in smoke, for he lunged into her with heavy power, and his hands went below her hips to lift her closer. A rough sound burst from his throat and his movements became deeper, more powerful. She clung to him as his hips hammered against hers, his harsh breathing mingling with her helpless moans.
She’d wanted this, and she’d wanted him. Later she might be embarrassed at the way she’d fallen to pieces in his hands. But now, faced with his need, she reveled in their passion. The physical aspect of being wanted by this man was satisfying; the emotional aspect impossible to resist. She clung to him, helpless to do more as his hunger grew more savage, his movements harsher. His frantic pace ignited the lingering embers within her.
He pushed her legs higher and she clasped them above his hips. Her body shook with the force of his desire, and he took a deep, gasping breath. She felt him tense and grow even bigger within her. And then with one last, heavy surge of his hips, he crested abruptly, groaning harshly against her mouth.
She stroked his back as he shuddered convulsively against her, tears pricking her eyes. She’d thought she understood everything there was to understand about need, at least emotionally. But physical need was something she’d known nothing about until Michael had shown her. She never would have believed that she could experience it, or that someone could feel it for her so urgently. The fierceness of their desire had shattered what little she had known about sex, and her senses were still reeling.
His weight was growing heavy as his limbs relaxed, but she didn’t care. The aftermath of their mating was as shattering as the act itself had been, and if she had her way, they would stay like that forever.
Forever lasted only a few more moments. Michael stirred, then eased away, moving to lie beside her. His arm was a heavy anchor across her waist, and his fingers tangled in her hair, pushing the mass away from her forehead tenderly. Their lips brushed, hesitated, then lingered.
“You taste like roses,” he whispered, smoothing one hand over her hair.
Her lips tilted a little. “What do roses taste like?”
“Soft. Sweet.” His face was unsmiling, his gaze intent. “Like you could drown in the sweetness, and it still wouldn’t be enough.”
Her smile faded, and her gaze searched his. She’d never lain with a man like this, languorous after loving, bodies reluctant to move away. Moments after had been awkward, fumbling times, filled with hasty departures or snore-filled slumber. But Michael didn’t look sleepy, and he didn’t appear to be going anywhere.
He seemed mesmerized with her hair, the natural curls that had been the bane of her existence. He drew a lock over his shoulder, then another, repeating the process until her hair was cascading over both of them. “If you could know,” he murmured distractedly, “how many fantasies I’ve had about your hair.”
His compliment pleased her, even as it made her self-conscious. “I leave it long to drag some of the curl out of it. It’s even more hopeless when it’s short.”
“Long is good. I like long,” he assured her, stroking the thick curls.
Her fingers ran through the length of his. “I can tell,” she teased. “A little more time and your hair will be the same length as mine.”
He gave a quick smile. “I’m not real good about planning appointments with the barber. Or keeping them, actually. How are you at trims?”
“I used to do my brothers’ hair when they were little.”
He gave her a quick, hard kiss. “You’re hired.”
A few minutes later found them in her kitchen, with Michael seated patiently on a chair. He was bare-chested and hadn’t bothered to fasten his jeans after dragging them on. He’d helped her into his shirt, doing up the buttons with great care. Despite her protests that she was rusty and the scissors were not appropriate, he insisted she try.
“It’ll beat me doing it myself,” he explained, and she gave his shaggy head a thoughtful glance. Her skills, limited though they were, had to be better than an impatient, inattentive man hacking away at his own locks.
No reputable barber would put up with him, she found several minutes later. He didn’t stay still long enough for her to cut any of the strands the same length, because he insisted on looking at her while he kept up a steady stream of banter. All illusions of cooperation disappeared when she moved to the front. He drew her between his legs and then proceeded to undo buttons on the shirt
as she worked.
“Stop it,” she said in mock exasperation as he pressed a kiss to the skin he was baring.
“You did it to me,” he reasoned logically.
“Not when you were holding scissors.”
“Good point.” He took the scissors from her hand and laid them on the table, then pulled her down on his lap. Her breasts pressed against him as he tasted her mouth lingeringly.
“You’re a mess,” she said breathlessly when he lifted his lips from hers. “You’re covered with hair.” She brushed the little clippings from his shoulders in vain.
“I know.” He rubbed his chest against hers. “Now you are, too. I guess we’ll have to take a shower.” He got to his feet, still holding her in his arms, and headed for the stairs, inordinately pleased with himself.
“Most of my customers just leave a tip,” Kate said with mock seriousness.
He set her on her feet in the small bathroom and turned on the water. “Honey, this is the tip.”
They were still laughing when they stepped under the spray. Michael was solicitous about soaping her thoroughly, and she enjoyed the opportunity to touch him freely, as well. Hands slick with soap roamed over wet, slippery skin, heating as they cleansed. Minutes later the soap was forgotten and Michael crowded her against the wall of the shower. After preparing himself he lifted her, and she clasped her legs around his hips while he slid into her with a firm, deep stroke.
The water was growing cool by the time their breathing had calmed. He helped her from the shower and toweled her dry, handing her another towel for her hair. He dried off carelessly, then dropped the towel to the floor, modesty not an issue. As if he’d done it countless times before, he walked with her to her bedroom and crawled into the old brass bed with her.
Long after he had fallen asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly with his breathing, she lay awake, her mind refusing to rest. The events of the evening were totally unlike her, and she felt like a giddy stranger. All her life she’d been staid, sensible Kate, the envy of all her mother’s friends. You must be so proud of Kate. She’s such a help with the little ones, isn’t she?
