Page 128 of The Making of Marnie Jones

“Condoms… I mean in case.”

Was that a blush across his high cheekbones? Best to put him out of his misery, although it surprised her that he was unprepared. “Nightstand, your side.”

His eyebrow arched.

“A girl can hope.” She worked to suppress the grin at the look of surprise on his face.

“Truly?”

“I bought them when I came back from Toronto.” She placed a hand on his arm, stroking across the flexed biceps. He was so strong, and yet capable of unfathomable gentleness. “Don't worry, I only ever intended them for you.”

Apparently mollified, he reached for the box, and it took only a moment to snag a condom.

While he did that, she scooted out of her underwear and tossed them over the side of the bed in plain view. This should unnerve, but somehow the fact he was a little off-balance helped her. This wasn’t a perfect orchestration of passionate sex like she read about in romances, but two real people finding their way around each other.

Laying her head on the pillow, she waited for him to recommence the passionate seduction that’d been halted temporarily to defer to more-practical matters.

And now, since he’d dealt with the condom, he lowered his mouth to hers.

As he thoroughly kissed her, his hand strayed lower. He grazed her cheek with his fingers, moving on to her neck.

Her heart hammered, and she was sure he could count the frenetic beats as he stroked past her pulse point. When he cupped her breast, a strange electricity arced through her. Her nipple pebbled, and he rumbled in what she assumed was approval. Breasts tingling, she bemoaned the loss of contact as he continued to leisurely caress down her body.

He swirled a finger in her navel and wetness pooled between her thighs. She’d imagined it might embarrass her, but it didn’t. This fascinated her—how her body reacted to his ministrations, and when he ran his hand up the seam of her closed thighs, she opened to him involuntarily.

He stroked from knee to hip, gentle pressure, his fingers leaving tingles everywhere they touched. Then, unerringly, he pressed against her.

Her body jolted at the intimate contact, so foreign and yet not unwelcome. He wasn’t going to hurt her, so she just had to let go.

Feel.

Breathe.

As his fingers circled, her body combusted into flames.

He pulled away from the carnal kiss and whispered, “Let go, Marnie. Fly for me.”

And held in his firm embrace, she let the sensations shoot through her. Let warmth seep into her bones. Let herself give in to the pleasure cresting and crashing over her. She pressed her hand against her forehead as the waves receded. She’d never known. Never fathomed such pleasure was possible.

Only when she returned to earth and her breathing evened, did she throw her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

He placed a kiss on her forehead, gathering her close. “Thank you.”

She giggled. “What's that supposed to mean? I'm sure you've done that before.”

“Never like that. It was like the first time.” His blue eyes were fierce in the morning light.

“Well, it was for me.” She suspected he recognized this was a first for her. Hundreds of times she'd been forced to have sex, but she’d never been loved.

“Don't go there.”

“You're right. Nothing else will ever cross my mind. What about you?”

“Me?”

She pulled herself against him. “You haven't gotten anything out of this.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I've gotten everything from this. I'm more than satisfied.”

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