Page 51 of Open Season

She had almost convinced herself she’d imagined how good he tasted, until he kissed her again. She made a little humming sound and twined her arms around his neck, going up on tiptoe to press against him and meet his demanding mouth with demands of her own.

The peculiar melting sensation spread through her again, weakening her knees so that she had to lean against him, let him support all of her weight, and that made the melting spread even faster. Oh, God, he felt good. Her entire body throbbed from the contact. The incredible hardness of his muscles, the heat that practically glowed from him, wrapped her in a cocoon of physical delight that also robbed her of strength and left her totally pliable to his touch.

His arms tightened, and he pulled her even closer, fitting her soft curves to all the hard angles of his body, tilting her so that her pelvis cradled the hard bulge of his erection. She made another little sound, and he deepened the kiss until her breath was no longer her own, until it didn’t matter if she breathed or not.

This was desire. This. The heat and need, the deep throb of emptiness, the tension and lassitude and sharp tingles. This.

She moaned, her head falling weakly back. He took the opportunity offered, his hot mouth trailing down her throat to close on the exquisitely sensitive juncture between neck and shoulder, scraping the tendon with his teeth, sucking her skin. Her entire body jolted at the wild, uncontained pleasure; her knees gave out completely, but it didn’t matter, because he had her safe in his grasp.

His hands moved over her with slow, maddening purpose, stroking her breasts, unzipping her dress and pulling it down and off her arms, then unsnapping her bra and disposing of it. The dress bunched around her waist, unable to drop because there wasn’t even a breath of space between their hips. At last his hands were on naked flesh, and he rubbed her nipples into hard, aching points, then tilted her back over his arm and bent his head to suck them. He wasn’t gentle, but he didn’t have to be. She clasped her hands around his head and held him there, gasping out cries of pleasure as the pressure of his mouth catapulted her to an even higher level of sensation.

She was desperate to feel his skin, and she jerked at his shirt, trying to get it off over his head without unbuttoning it. He raised his head long enough to help her, using only one hand because he didn’t release her. They both fought the garment, and a couple of buttons fell to the rug; then it was off and both arms were around her again, her breasts crushed against the crisp hair that rasped her nipples almost as deliciously as his thumbs. She ached all over, the most heated, wonderful ache she’d ever felt in her life. She felt as if her entire body pulsed with need and excitement and desire, even between her legs.

“I thought they were lying,” she gasped, barely aware that she was even speaking.

“Who?” he asked against her throat.

“Women. About this.”

“This?” He didn’t sound very interested. He found that sensitive place on her neck again, and held it with his teeth.

“The way it feels. This.”

“How does it feel?” he whispered.

“I. . . throb.” She could barely get the words out. “Between my legs.”

A rough sound burst out of his throat and a shudder ran through him, his erection pulsing against her. “I’ll make it stop,” he said, his tone so low and rough the words were barely intelligible.

He slid his hands up her legs, tugging the close-fitting dress up as he went until the fabric was bunched over his forearms and his hands were inside her panties, his hot palms cupping her bottom for a moment, just a moment; then he moved them down, down, his fingers delving into her closed cleft and finding her opening. Daisy gasped, the sound strangling in her throat as her whole body seemed to seize, waiting, frozen in anticipation. Then he pushed two big fingers up into her and all her nerve endings rioted, arching her against him in a mindless search for more. Oh, God. She was stretched, penetrated—and it wasn’t enough.

Her hips began to move, surging like the tide. “More,” she managed to say, begging, whimpering the word. “More.”

She couldn’t seem to do anything except cling to him as he stripped her panties down and off, retrieved a condom from his pocket, then kicked off his shoes and fought his way out of the rest of his clothing. Naked, holding her to him, he stumbled back to sit on the couch and pull her over him, arranging her legs so that she straddled his lap. He put on the condom with quick, jerky movements, then grasped her hips and guided her into position.

Abruptly, time slowed. She gripped his shoulders at the feel of his penis probing between her legs, not inside her but nudging, as if enticing her to open and admit him.

Her breath came in quick little gasps; his bellowed out of his lungs. His jaw was set, his neck corded with strain, and yet he remained still and let her set the pace. The wonder of it suffused her. She moved back and forth in a subtle motion, caressing herself with the hard length, lifting and moving and—ah. He slipped into her, just a little, but enough to make him clench his teeth on another rough sound. His fingers bit into her buttocks, then relaxed.

Entranced, the expression in her eyes distant as she concentrated on the sensation of heat and stretching and fullness, Daisy lifted herself once more, settled, and took the broad head fully inside her. Jack groaned, his face twisted as if he were in pain. He shifted so his hips were on the edge of the cushion, stretching out his legs so she could take him at a deeper angle. She rose and fell, her eyes closing, savoring the slow, slow impalement as she squirmed and adjusted and finally, finally, he was completely inside her.

Magic.

That’s what it felt like, her body not her own any-more but moving with a will of its own, twisting, seeking. She reveled in his size and nakedness, in the way she felt him deep inside where she had never been touched before. She loved the harsh sounds he made, loved the growing desperation of his grip, loved the increasing tension and heat of her own body as sensation wound tighter and tighter, and she leaned forward to kiss him, as everything suddenly reached critical mass and her senses exploded. The world dimmed around her. She heard herself shrieking and sobbing, felt her hips frantically surging against him; then abruptly she was on her back and he was pounding into her and she climaxed again just moments before he stiffened and heaved in his own orgasm.

In the aftermath she lay limply under his heavy body, comfortable on the overstuffed cabbage rose cushions. The cool air fanned against her sides, while perspiration glued their fronts together. She nuzzled her face against his throat, inhaling his heady, musky scent. He pressed a kiss to her temple.

“You had a condom in your pocket in church,” she managed to say weakly, suddenly bemused by the thought.

“Yeah. I kept waiting for lightning to strike.” His voice sounded hoarse, as if he could barely speak.

She smoothed her hand down his muscled back, over the coolness of his buttocks. “Did you just have one?” she whispered.

He lifted his head and smiled down at her, his eyes heavy-lidded, his hair dark with sweat. “You still have the PartyPak, don’t you?”

---