by Devine,Carol
So this was what it was to dance.
Sarah sighed and pressed closer, surrendering to the synchrony of two bodies moving as one. He cradled her head with his hand, intensifying her sense of oneness. From deep in her throat she could feel it, like a rising sound, and she began to hum a song she never heard before, a song that matched the grace of the dance.
The moment lasted the length of her breath and sent her spirit soaring. She lifted her head to smile at him. He chuckled when he saw her face."
"Move over, Fred and Ginger," he said.
"Who are Fred and Ginger?"
He laughed and tucked her head once again against his chest. "We're dancing with the stars. Can you see them? Why, they're dancing right next to us. Ginger's got a floor-length dress on. It's kind of styled like your wool dress only it's pink and very frilly. And Fred is wearing a black coat with long tails and a ruffled white shirt and black pants with a shiny stripe down the side."
"A ruffled white shirt?" she asked. "On a man?"
"Oh, yes. He cuts a rather impressive figure in it. Why don't you look for yourself?"
Zach loosened his hold and jerked his head sideways, indicating she should look behind him. His grin sent her tingling all the way to her toes. She obeyed, taking in the rising slope of his bare chest muscles and the fine stretch of tendons underneath, and looked beyond his shoulder. Nothing was there but the blue walls cast in shadowy light and the windows, blank with the darkness of the night.
"Tell me what you see, Sarah," Zach said. "I need to hear you say that you believe in the magic of what's happening here."
His arms moved down to wreath her waist and draw her closer. The swaying of their bodies began again and became more intimate, more concentrated at the place where she could feel the full heat and hardness of him. It added to her sense of confusion, her sense of total, irretrievable doom.
Dear Lord, she thought. How am I supposed to resist him now? Gazing at him deepened her sense of standing at the edge of a great precipice. His eyes were heavy-lidded with desire and his jaw was clenched with the effort it took to control it, to hold her this way and dance without rushing. With a sense of great shock she realized the Lord was not going to rescue her from this predicament. Zach would not be saved. And neither would she.
She felt dizzy. She inwardly said a prayer to clear it but the only reality was Zach, waiting for a sign. From Him or from her? she wondered, panicky. What had she expected? A burning bush outside her window? An angel charging in on a white horse? Such naiveté seemed ridiculous in the clarity of this moment, and she wanted to laugh. Laugh, for God's sake.
Her body shook with hysterical relief. Relief that the struggle was over, that the devil in her had won. She could be herself now. Not a saint, she thought. Nor a sinner, either. Not with this man, this man she loved. She wouldn't be a woman alone.
She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Zach must have sensed something significant was going on, however, for he stopped and loosened his hold. "Sarah, I can't make you do this. You're shaking all over. I should have known this would happen but I'm so bullheaded. I wanted you too much." He buried his face in her neck. "Forgive me."
She wreathed her arms around him and rubbed her cheek in the hollow of his chest. "It's alright."
"No, it's not," he said roughly. "It's wrong. You said so yourself. Wrong for you."
"How could it be wrong, this magic thing we're doing?" She could feel his resistance and pressed a kiss at the base of his throat. "I want to be with you in this way, I truly do."
He went still. "I don't deserve this, Sarah," he whispered. "I was ready to take you to bed tonight even though I knew it went against everything you believe in. How could you want to give such a gift to a man like me?"
"How could I not?" she answered, letting her tongue touch his chest. Whenever he did that to her, she always wanted to shiver.
He said her name on a sigh. "Sarah…"
She touched her tongue to him again and lingered there, tasting him fully this time while she slipped off her blouse. Salt warm, he smelled of the good earth, rich and fervent. His hand came up to catch her hair. She could feel him winding it around his hand and he tugged as though to test the strength of the bond.
"I need to know why you're doing this," he said, forcing her to look up at him by pulling her head back. But there was an unsteadiness to it that told her she was winning and she answered by rocking her chin in a negative motion against his chest.
"No," she said. "You need to kiss me. Right here," she said, demonstrating on his chest where she wanted to be kissed. "And here," she said, edging her teeth around the flat disk of his nipple.
He inhaled sharply. His fingers, wound so thoroughly in her hair, gripped the back of her head. She did it again, using both her tongue and her teeth. He groaned and dragged his hand around to cradle her face.
"You'll regret this," he said huskily.
"No, I won't," she promised. He looked down at her and the back of his hand grazed the curve of her cheek. "I won't," she repeated. She turned her head and kissed his fingers, too, and the top part of his chest as he loosened her hair, sending it in a wild cascade down her back. "I won't ever regret this."
He lifted her bodily, high enough that her face was above his, and looked up at her, his expression fierce. "Oh, yes, you will. I'm going to do exactly what you did to me. If it feel half as good, it'll be torture and you'll be begging me to stop."
He set her on top of the tall bureau, knocking aside a vase of flowers. They tumbled into her lap, spilling cold water across the front of her jeans. She gasped and he swore, putting his hands on the splotches soaking her thighs. The pressure was sudden, taking away the surprise and her face must have showed the difference because he treated her to a wicked grin. "That was no accident. I wanted you wet."
His thumbs stroked her inner thighs, pushing her legs apart so he could move between them. He leaned against the front of the dresser. His eyes were level with her chin and he kissed her there, then lower, making trails down her neck. She shivered. He took a mouthful of her open bra between his teeth and tugged it away from her breast, exposing her nipple to the warmth of his mouth.
His tongue followed, licking her openly, lovingly. She gasped in astonishment at the powerful sensations coursing through her and gripped his shoulders.
Zach breathed against her, imagining her gripping other parts of his body. Her nipples responded to the hot breath of air, knotting into two pink points. Loving how she felt, how she tasted, he used his lips to nuzzle the underside of one breast while his hand came up to cup the other.
She whimpered and he grew more gentle, needing to know if what he was doing felt good to her. He got his answer. She arched her back, giving him more of her breast. He suckled her deeply then, going from one rosy crest to the other. He pushed her bra from her shoulders and down her arms. When her remaining clothes finally fell to the floor, she buried her hands in his hair. All she had on was her pink thong panties.
His arms went around her. The skin above her snug waistband felt like hot satin. The wooden barrier of the bureau against the lower half of his body was painful but he leaned into it all the same and rubbed his chest against her bare breasts. She angled closer and under the fingers he was using to stroke her spine, she became drawn like a bow, trembling with anticipation and the severity of her need. He flattened his hand, giving her support. Meanwhile, the moisture left on her nipples burned its way through his skin. He became like flame, recalling the rhythm they had discovered in the silence of the dance.
He drew back enough to unsnap his jeans and pull the zipper down. He was so rigid it hurt and he was suddenly afraid he would frighten her so he didn't free himself. Instead he lifted her from the top of the wooden bureau, holding the generous curves of her buttocks in the broadness of his hands.
She curled her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and he carried her that way to the bed, his mouth on hers, kissing her in
the way he had kissed her breasts with the patience of a man who wanted to make sure his woman was good and ready for him.
While walking, his jeans eased past his hips. He laid her down with her head on the pillow, extracted a small foil package from his pocket, drew his jeans and his underwear off in the same motion and levered his body to rest beside her. Her eyes widened when she saw the extent of his arousal. But when he would have turned to hide it, she faced him and pressed her entire body flush against his.
It felt so good, he groaned and would have slid himself inside her right there and then, unable to help himself if not for the silken panties between her legs. Instead he kept kissing her, only this time, he wasn't very gentle. Invoking the rhythm of the dance, he plumbed her mouth to the beat. She responded with a fierceness that shook his soul.
Her panties were made of slick nylon. He traced the narrow band of material that covered her hip, knowing he had to go slow now. It was torture to pull back, but his reward was the look of her supple body in candlelight, completely nude except for the bit of nylon now beneath his hand.
Her skin glowed with the sheen of an exotic pearl. The dewy color was like something from a dream, cast in gold tones, creating shadows that took on the texture of velvet. In profile, her nipples stood out like the tiniest rosebuds, tipped by lingering light, while the valley between her breasts plunged into mystery, a mystery he had only begun to unravel.
He drank in the sight of her, aware of the fine thrumming of his body everywhere, especially the part that throbbed against her thigh. "You're so beautiful," he said.
"As are you."
She laid her hand on his hip and mimicked what his finger was doing along the elastic of her last undergarment, her panties, even though his skin was bare there. He swallowed, trying to hide his surprised she would touch him so freely, and she lifted her hand and placed a finger at his Adam's apple where he'd swallowed. "Did that hurt you?" she whispered. "It feels good when you touch me there but maybe it's different for a man."
"It's no different," he said hoarsely. "I just wasn't expecting it."
"Why not?"
"Because you're new at this, Sarah. I thought, maybe, you'd be too shy."
"It's a little late for shyness, Zach. You have touched me everywhere. I want to do the same to you."
She stroked down the middle of his chest and his heart thumped faster the lower she went. He tightened his grip on her panties. "I haven't touched you everywhere yet, Sarah."
Her eyebrows drew together in understanding and her gaze went to his face. He slipped one finger beneath the elastic edging her panties and drew them down just a little, just enough to give her a clue as to what he meant.
Her hand on his hip slowed, drifting over his stomach. Realization lit her features and she left off completely in amazement. Or so he thought.
"You mean…" she said on a husk. "You mean, I may touch you here as well?"
Her finger stroked the most intimate part of him, sliding along the length. He took a sharp breath, pulse leaping, skin jumping. She pulled back as though stung, a sudden sheen of guilt in her eyes.
"I hurt you!"
"No, no, you didn't," he managed, catching her hand, squeezing in reassurance. He pressed it to his stomach, holding her still until she relaxed a little and he could use his vocal cords properly. "There is one major similarity between men and women that you should know about."
"What's that?"
He stroked the lines of her inner thighs and dipped inside the rim of her panties, fingering the tightly curled hair he found there. "There are certain body parts which are very sensitive."
She pursued her lips, thinking. He soothed her with a kiss, letting his hand creep over the soft triangle of cloth between her legs. Even kissing, her mouth showed surprise and he took advantage of it, suckling her with lips, tongue and teeth until she copied every move he made. Her hips moved, too, towards him, nudging his hand at the apex at her thighs as if instinct was telling her something was missing.
He cupped her through the cloth. When it grew moist he drew it down and she lifted her hips. Her fingers walked down his belly, edging into the springy hair, much like her own at the same place between her hips. He copied her caress and smiled a dare. She grew bolder, sliding her hand over his smooth pulsing length. He played with her curliest hairs and brushed her softest flesh, probing it lightly especially when she rolled on her back and moaned in discovery. Her breath quickened and her legs closed, clenching around his hand. He could feel how tight her most secret place was. He opened her very slowly with one finger, watching her face, letting her get used to him. Her face flushed with color and her glazed eyes took on a feverish cast.
"Zach?" she whispered.
"Trust me, Sarah. Don't be afraid. Let it happen."
The heel of his hand rocked against her softness and he bent his head to her breast. Just grazing it was enough. She cried out and her release came suddenly, raining against his palm. Seeing her shudder caused a flash of heat to course through his body. He closed his eyes, feeling the edges of his own control slip away. He took a deep breath and told himself he had to hold out for her. She deserved better than a rushed and desperate man.
He gathered her close. Tiny trembles shimmied down her arms. He chased them with his hands, rubbing her warm and ready for the final act of lovemaking. She lifted her head and hugged him, the pressure of her body fierce. She rolled onto her back and he went with her, his flesh already finding the right place, seeking more. She spread her legs open, begging him with her liquid doe eyes, black in the guttering candlelight.
Sarah felt his penetration in tiny increments. He held himself rigid, poised above her, his restraint as awesome as the emotion in his eyes. They became her world and she lost herself in them, dissolving into a pile of loose limbs and supple bones. She never felt a lick of pain.
He filled her completely. A vibration went through her, low and deep, and the song she had made up for their dance came into her mind as he began to move within her.
This time the song didn't end with one lungful of air. This time it rose higher and higher, singing in her blood and the rhythm of two bodies becoming one. In the end, Zach broke the rhythm with the suspension of his final thrust. And when he finally came within her that one last time, the result was a moment of shared ecstasy and perfect flight, together in the arms of his beloved.
Chapter Sixteen
Zach woke with the sunrise. The weak light filtering in through the bedroom curtains made everything in the room look a variant of gray. Except Sarah.
He pulled the sheet down to his waist and propped his head on his hand so could watch her sleep. She looked much younger with her eyes closed. Miniature fans of black lashes lay against cheeks robbed of color, like marble in moonlight. Such contrast.
He picked up a loose tendril of dark honey hair and arranged it on the pillow. He did it again with another loose curl and another, until her hair fanned out like a halo upon the cotton percale pillowcase. An angel, he thought. His angel.
She stiffened, pushing at the coverlet as though she were too warm. He pulled the covers down. Her hands came to rest, one flat against her bare stomach, the other in a loose fist under her chin. Shadows contoured her breasts and the curve of ribs underneath, softening the look of her rosy nipples, barely peaked. Because he could not resist, he lowered his head to kiss her there, gently, using only his lips because the prickle of his unshaven whiskers would wake her.
She tasted fuzzy warm, like the hazy light fanning across the bed, and he thought of the enormity of her sacrifice. Until last night, he hadn't been able to appreciate it because he had been holding so firmly to all the things he wasn't willing to give up. Now his freedom seemed rather a petty thing next to the gift she'd given him.
He wanted to wake her, to say these words out loud that he couldn't say before. Love, he thought. My love. But there was one thing he wanted to give her while she slept and that was to pay off his side of the bargain. H
e would go see the rest of the house.
He slipped out of bed and into his jeans. The floor was cold but he didn't want to take the time to put on his boots and socks. He left the door ajar and trod down the hall, hurrying now that the decision was made, impatient to finish this and return to her.
So little in the room of his childhood had changed. The only thing missing was the masses of posters that used to hang on the walls, now freshly painted in light blue. But his memory was not so easy to erase. He recalled the fights he used to have with Dad about the swimsuit models and Italian sport scars and drugged rock-n-roll stars plastered ceiling to floor. Stupid fights. Punishing fights.
He walked around, touching the narrow bed, the chest of drawers, the spindly desk he swore had mocked him because he never used it. On the peg by the closet was a cowboy hat, black leather band on black brushed felt. "A chip off the old block," his father had said upon giving it to him on his seventeenth birthday.
Zach hadn't been able to disguise his horror. He left the next day. But Dad proclaimed he'd kicked his middle son out, an ingrate to the end.
His hand went to the brim of the hat and his finger skimmed the surface. He had never tried the hat on, never wanted to. The gift had come from his father, accompanied by a cryptic message that told Zach he would always remain in another man's shadow, dancing to another man's tune. Swallowing, he lifted the hat from its peg and let the weight settle between his hands.
He could see his choices now. Sarah had been right to insist on bringing him here. In rebelling against his father, he'd rebelled against everything remotely connected to the Bar M. Rather than stay and sort it all out, he'd chosen the freedom of transiency. It seemed the ultimate in liberation but suddenly he saw how his thirst for adventure was still a thirst, one that hadn't been quenched in the Amazon or the Himalayas or anywhere else. And it wouldn't be, no matter where he went. He'd been so busy searching for the ultimate challenge, he hadn't realized what he already had.
