Forever Spring

by Joan Hohl

  Circling her hips with one arm, Paul pulled her into intimate contact with his body. His right hand captured one breast, fingers teasing the crest into tight, aching arousal. Karen shuddered in reaction to the pleasure splintering throughout her body. Her mind whirled. Her senses exploded. Her empty body throbbed a demand for fulfillment. A low moan of protest burst from her throat when he deserted her mouth to seek her ear with his lips.

  “Come to bed with me.” Paul’s voice was harsh with strain, his breath hot, his body rigid.

  It was sheer madness, and Karen eagerly divorced sanity. Arching her body into his, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back, exposing the vulnerable cords in her neck to his voracious mouth.

  “Karen. Karen.” Paul wrenched a moan from her as he drew the moist tip of his tongue down her throat to her fluttering pulse. “Come to bed with me.” The touch of his tongue whipped her pulse beat into thunder. The noise created by nature outside paled by comparison.

  Consumed by an intensity of passion she had never before experienced, Karen was oblivious to any and all outside influences. The force of the worsening storm battering the house went unheard by her, as did the spit and crackle of the dying fire in the grate. She herself was a living flame contained within a raging storm; the blaze was beautiful.

  “Karen?” Paul brought his hands up to grasp her head, making her look at him as he stared at her with eyes lit from within by the desire running rampant through his body. “We need each other tonight.” His raw voice revealed the fine edge he was teetering on. “Say yes.”

  “Yes.”

  Paul went absolutely still for an instant, not even seeming to breathe. Then a fine tremor rippled through his body. His voice was little more than an aching whisper.

  “Where?”

  The time for hesitation was long past. Having accepted the idea of going to bed with him, Karen moved swiftly to consummate her commitment.

  “My room,” she said, grasping his hand as she whirled away, heading for the stairs.

  They ran. Hands clasped, they dashed up the stairs, along the hall and into Karen’s bedroom. The door stood wide open behind them; in their haste, neither Karen nor Paul noticed.

  Between quick, hard kisses and brief, eager touches, they literally tore the clothes from one another’s backs. Paul dragged Karen into a crushing embrace the instant they were free of the confining material. The mat of hair on his chest scraped her breasts into tingling arousal. Her soft curves yielded to his tightly bunched muscles. His mouth was hot; her lips were parted and ready for his.

  Denied the food of love for such a long time, their bodies were starving, his to fill, hers to be filled. Their hands moved restlessly in unison, stroking, kneading, caressing. Their bodies strained as if to absorb and be absorbed, one into the other.

  “Not enough, it’s not enough,” Paul groaned into her mouth, moving her inexorably toward the bed. “I want more. I want everything.”

  “Yes. Yes.” Karen’s senses swam as he bore her back onto the bed. “Now, please,” she sobbed, grasping his hips as he moved between her thighs.

  He could not hold back, and she didn’t want him to. Communicating her desire by pressing her fingers into his taut buttocks, she raised her hips as he thrust his forward. A cry of exquisite pleasure was torn from her arched throat as his body surged into hers, making them one.

  Karen did not hold back—she could not, not even the small, inhibited portion of herself that she had never been able to allow her husband to Own. Feeling stronger, more vital, more alive than she’d ever felt in her life, Karen abandoned herself to the sensual fury of Paul’s driving possession. He had demanded everything; her body granted his demand.

  “Yes, like that,” he groaned as she curled her legs around him in a lover’s embrace. “Hold me close, tighter, tighter.”

  “Oh, Paul, yes!” she cried, arching her back as he drew her breast into his mouth.

  “Lord! I want more and more,” he gasped, grasping her hips to lift her up and into his cadence. “I can’t get enough of you!”

  “Paul. Paul!” Karen gave a low-pitched scream as his momentum drove her over the edge of reason and into the realm of shattering, pulsating release.

  “Oh, God! Karen!” Paul’s harsh cry of triumph echoed through the silent room a moment later.

  Karen awoke to the chill sound of sleet being flung against the windows by a wind howling in rage and the warm feeling of a broad palm stroking her thigh. Reacting to both sound and sensation, she murmured appreciatively and moved toward the source of the warmth. Paul’s skin was heated, his body aroused.

  “I want you again,” he whispered, brushing his lips along her jawline to her ear, then over her cheek to the corner of her mouth.

  “I know.” Turning her head, Karen returned the caress by gliding her lips over the taut skin on his face.

  “For purely scientific reasons, you understand.” Amusement underlined his serious tone.

  “Indeed?” Karen’s lips quirked into a smile. “Name one.”

  “Well, there’s the obvious, of course.”

  “And that is?” Her smile deepened.

  “Sweet lady, I’m over fifty, remember?” Paul’s tone held a suspicious hint of self-satisfaction. “It’ll be worth the experiment just to find out if I can.”

  As she could feel the strength pressing against her thigh that assured her he could, Karen laughed softly. “Name another,” she insisted, catching his lower lip carefully between her teeth.

  “I have a scientist’s curiosity to find out if you’re really as good as I thought you were or if I was just that anxious.”

  Amused and challenged at the same time, Karen pulled away from him and sat up. “You thought I was good?” Reaching across the bed, she switched on the small lamp on the nightstand, wanting to see his expression when he answered. He quickly hid a twitching smile when she turned back to him.

  “Well, yes, as 1 said, I thought you were good.” Paul’s tone was suspiciously bland. “But, as I also admitted, I was anxious and therefore not very objective.”

  “I see.” Actually, Karen saw more than was good for her equilibrium. Paul was lying flat on his back, his torso bathed by the soft golden lamplight. Silver glinted in the dark hair at his temples and in the curly mat on his chest. Fascinated by the silver strands, Karen wondered if they grew in the line of darkness that ran from his chest across his midriff and under the sheet draping his concave abdomen.

  “What do you... see?” Paul’s tone tightened perceptibly as he watched her eyes widen slightly as her gaze settled on the sheet.

  “Uh...um...what?” Karen jerked around to look at him. The sudden movement set her bare breasts swaying, making her aware of her nudity for the first time since she’d sat up. Dismayed by her impulse to cross her arms over her chest, she straightened her spine and looked at him with hard-won composure.

  Her effort was wasted on Paul; he was too engrossed in staring at her breasts to notice. Warmth suffused Karen’s body as he slowly lifted his hand from the bed to gently, tentatively touch one quivering tip with one finget.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered, lightly stroking the crest to aching attention.

  “Is, uh...” Karen was finding it extremely difficult to sit still. “Is this part of the experiment?” she asked, swallowing to ease the sudden dryness in her throat. Paul smiled as his stroking finger wrenched an involuntary gasp from her lips.

  “This is the experiment,” he said, raising his shadowed eyes to hers. “Although I readily admit to being overanxious,” he murmured, transferring his finger to give equal consideration to her other breast. “I’ve reached the conclusion you are an exceptionally good bed partner.”

  A sexist remark if Karen had ever heard one, yet instead of feeling insulted or annoyed by it, she felt ridiculously complimented and pleased. She also felt an urge to lean forward to grasp his hand and bring it to her. Her breasts hurt and felt heavy. She silently willed him to cradle their we
ight in his palms. The pad of his finger continued its maddening stroke.

  “Paul?” His name barely whispered from her tight throat.

  “Yes?” His voice was low and raw. His finger flicked, igniting a blast of sensation that Karen felt in the depths of her femininity.

  “You’re driving me crazy!” she gasped, shuddering.

  “What are you gonna do about it?”

  Karen gazed at him in astonishment. Taunting challenge gleamed in his dark eyes. Indecision held her motionless for a long moment. Claiming exclusive rights to the role of conqueror, Karen’s former husband had never allowed her to play the aggressor. Paul was not allowing it, either; he was demanding it. An unfurling flame of excitement consumed her last lingering shred of inhibition. Accepting his challenge, she coiled her fingers around his wrists and drew his palms to her breasts. A satisfied smile tilted the corners of Paul’s lips. Moving slowly, she pressed her body against his hands as she lowered her head to his chest. Paul’s smile fled, and he inhaled sharply as she curled her tongue around one tight bud nestled in the silver-and-black mat on his chest.

  Paul’s fingers flexed in reaction to her caress. “More, please,” he groaned, gently kneading her soft flesh. “I love the feel of your mouth and hands on my body.” To reinforce his claim, he moved one hand to the back of her head and speared his fingers through her hair.

  As she nuzzled into the salt-and-pepper curls, Karen’s senses were assailed by the heady scent of soap and musk. Her tongue tingled with the slightly salty taste of his skin. Feeling free, unfettered, she explored his chest leisurely before gliding her lips down the slight incline from his rib cage to his navel. Paul’s fingers gripped her hair spasmodically as she dipped her tongue into the shallow indentation. His body jerked when her moist lips continued to follow the dark, downy trail.

  “Karen!” Paul grasped her shoulders, halting her lips mere inches from their destination. “I can’t take any more. I want to be inside you.”

  Karen gave him a dry look.

  “I appreciate the thought, and I’ll probably beg you for it some other time.” His smile was rakish with promise as he pulled her on top of him.

  Karen gasped; the unique position held appeal, exciting appeal. Straightening, she stared into his eyes, thrilling to the taut expectancy that flashed in their depths as she carefully straddled his hard thighs. His hands grasped her hips. Their gazes dropped to watch as she lowered her body, sheathing him deep inside her silken warmth.

  “That’s good,” he groaned, arching up into her. “So good.”

  “Yes,” Karen sighed, quivering as his hands sought her breasts. “I never knew anything could feel this good.” Her breath lodged in her throat as he thrust upward again. She began to move responsively.

  “Slowly, slowly,” Paul crooned in a hoarse tone. “I want to savor every minute of it.”

  Releasing her breasts, Paul reached up to cup her face with his palms and draw her mouth to his. While she rocked against him, his tongue reflected the slow thrust-and-retreat motion of his body. His hands slid down her neck to her shoulders. Stroking, caressing, he glided his palms down her body to where their separate beings were joined into one.

  Karen’s breathing was shallow and then deep by turns. Inside she felt like a time bomb about to run out of seconds. She was trying to maintain the slow pace Paul wanted, but it was becoming more and more difficult to hold herself in check. White lightning zigzagged through her when she felt him work his fingers between their fused bodies.

  “Now, Karen,” he cried, suddenly increasing his thrusting cadence. “Now!”

  She was moving wildly, gasping his name, when the last second ticked and her inner bomb exploded, flinging her into a whirlpool of ecstatic exhaustion.

  Chapter Four

  A persistent rapping sound finally succeeded in piercing to the depths of the most restful slumber Karen had enjoyed in years. Prying her eyes to half-mast, she lay listening to the regular beat, eyebrows meeting in a frown as she tried to identify the cause and location of the disturbance. The noise ceased and her expression eased, only to tighten again when the rapping resumed.

  “What the—” muttering, Karen tossed back the tangled covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed to sit up. A twinge of complaint in her thighs brought memories of the night before rushing into her mind. Blinking once, she scooted around to stare at the empty bed. Heat flooded her face as vivid images of the nocturnal activity played out upon the rumpled sheets flashed through her suddenly cleared brain.

  Where was Paul?

  Thinking his name brought his image to her mind and a deeper flush to her cheeks. Had she really caressed him, kissed him and then— Moaning softly, Karen fell back onto the mattress, at once embarrassed by her actions and hopeful of an opportunity to repeat them.

  Heat suffusing her body, Karen curled into a tight ball. Her throat felt thick and clogged. Her body felt heavy and overly warm. Her emotions felt battered and her mind was sluggish. Separate threads, one of shame, the other of anticipation, tangled inside her, tying her entire nervous system into knots.

  Like pulsating impulses, individual and distinct scenes flashed in her memory, making her hot and cold by turns. Moaning softly, Karen buried her face in the pillow. A half sigh, half sob rose to choke her as she inhaled the scent that her mind would forever connect exclusively with Paul.

  As her mind formed his name, her throat expelled the choking sob.

  What had come over her? Karen asked herself, her thoughts scattering as her mind sought reasons—or excuses—for her uncharacteristic behavior. Never, not even with the man she had married and believed herself deeply in love with, had she so abandoned herself while in the throes of lovemaking. It simply wasn’t like her. And since her divorce she had not experienced the slightest desire for a man, any man. Yet she had responded wildly to Paul.

  What must he be thinking about her now, in the light of morning? Karen wondered, blanching at the thought. If upon awakening Paul had labeled her a wanton woman, she had given him ample reason to do so. She had behaved wantonly!

  But then, Paul had behaved like the male equivalent of a wanton, whatever that might be.

  The realization that she and Paul had in fact been perfectly matched in bed resolved the emotional upheaval. The sense of shame subsided, overcome by a sense of anticipation. Uncurling slowly, Karen raised her arms and stretched languorously.

  There was a stirring deep inside Karen’s body, a tingling response to her memories and thoughts of Paul. She wanted him again; it was as simple and basic as that. With realization came resolution. She had never allowed herself personal indulgence. Raised to work hard and apply herself conscientiously, she had always done the “right” thing. She had been a virgin when she married; she had known no other man but her husband. She was no longer an idealistic, wide-eyed young girl; she no longer expected the world or her own niche in it to be perfect. She was getting uncomfortably close to forty and lately had begun to feel vaguely that life was slipping through her fingers, not unlike the sands in an hourglass. Surely every individual was to be allowed one step off the straight and narrow? Karen asked herself. Her lips twisted in bitter remembrance.

  Her former husband had spent more time dancing off the straight and narrow than walking on it. He had not paid the price of loneliness and uncertainty about encroaching middle age! Why then should she? Karen demanded silently. She was her own person, a free adult, fully capable of making her own decisions. Should she feel shame and remorse because her senses had rejoiced in the act of giving her body in sweetly satisfying abandonment?

  No! The cry of denial rang inside Karen’s head. Paul had not taken her, nor had he used her. Rather, Paul had shared with her the beauty of exquisite pleasure given and received. And, though she and Paul were strangers, they were also lovers. Karen had no idea how long her lover would stay with her. But then, did anyone ever know what the future held? The question darkened Karen’s eyes with remembered
pain. In the final analysis, she had been forced to acknowledge that the man she had loved, married and created children with was a stranger to her. And she had given that man everything of herself. She had only given her body to Paul. As the mist of pain cleared from her eyes, Karen decided she could live with the knowledge of her gift to him.

  She had behaved wantonly—and she had loved every second of it! A slow smile curving her lips, Karen stretched again, sinuously. She felt wonderful—no, she felt much, much more than merely wonderful. She felt beautiful, and she had never before felt beautiful. She felt bone-deep satisfaction, and she had never before experienced that feeling, either. But most of all she felt as though she had not been expertly loved but exquisitely cherished, and that feeling warmed her inside and out. And the perpetrator of every one of her delicious feelings was not only a man she barely knew but a fantastic, excitingly virile man who, in his own words, would never see fifty again!

  Where was Paul, anyway? Frowning again, Karen absently smoothed her hands over the spot where he had lain and sank into the memory of Paul’s fiercely gentle possession. She felt quite certain she could happily laze the day away in dreamy expectation of the coming night—if it weren’t for that annoying rapping noise, which had resumed after a long pause of blessed quiet.

  The sound intruded, breaking the spell. Sighing, Karen left the bed, deciding she might as well get dressed and investigate. If she had any luck at all, the racket was being caused by Gil Rawlins, the handyman she’d called to prepare the house for winter.

  Some twenty-odd minutes later, showered and dressed in her usual workday attire of faded jeans and a sweatshirt, Karen was stripping the sheets from the bed when the hammering, which had ceased once more while she was in the bathroom, commenced outside her bedroom window. Tossing the linens to the floor, she walked to the window and opened it. A welcoming smile on her lips, she stuck her head through the opening to call a greeting to Gil.

  The man poised on the ladder, busily hammering nails into the shutter hinges, in no way resembled the short, stocky Gil Rawlins. This man was lean and muscular, and the physical work he was engaged in was at odds with his elegant appearance.