Page 65 of Wyoming Heart

“You’re...inside me,” she whispered shakily.

“Deep inside,” he managed, shivering.

His big hands framed her face, on either side of her head, and he bent to her mouth, resting his weight on his forearms. He moved slowly. “Do whatever you want to do,” he whispered. “Anything goes.”

Her eyes searched his. “Anything?”

He smiled, tenderly. “Anything.” His hand moved between them, and he touched her where they were intimately joined. He stroked her, watched her eyes dilate, felt her body jump under his. He laughed softly. “You burn me up inside. I think I dreamed you.”

Her hands were on his chest. Fascinated, she moved them to his waist and looked up, hesitating, into his eyes.

“Touch me,” he whispered. “Come on. Touch me.”

She slid her hands down until her fingers encountered him, where he was touching her.

He shivered and laughed out loud. “Oh yes. Like that, baby. Just like that!”

“You like it?” she whispered.

“I love it. Do whatever you want to do.”

She was fascinated. She’d never encountered anything like this in her reading, or even her own writing. She traced him and felt his body quiver, heard him laugh as he encouraged her to be adventurous. And all the while, he touched and traced and whispered erotic, shocking things to her.

The heat rose quickly in both of them. His hips began to lift and fall, and she shivered with every slow, deep thrust, her eyes looking up into his.

“I thought I knew it all,” he managed, his voice choked as pleasure began to rise in him. “I knew nothing!”

She moaned, lifting up as he moved down, her eyes holding his. Her fingers were digging into his arms.

“Don’t close your eyes when you come,” he whispered huskily. “I want to see you when you feel this for the first time. I want to watch you.”

The frank request should have shocked and embarrassed her, but she was still reeling from the effects of the alcohol, enjoying the first true physical pleasure of her entire life. She was beyond embarrassment, for the moment. She wanted to ask if he was accustomed to watching women when they reached a pinnacle, but he moved suddenly, unexpectedly, and she cried out.

There had been all the time in the world. Now there was none. He drove into her, his eyes holding hers the whole time while she gasped and clung to him and begged him not to stop.

He shifted his hips and his legs, moving hers even farther apart as the pleasure climbed and climbed. He came down on her with his knees beside her rib cage, her own beside his as he built the pressure and the pleasure whisper by whisper, moan by moan.

He shifted again and felt her shudder. “Are you ready?” he whispered huskily, and he moved down into her with quick, hungry, almost violent thrusts.

She couldn’t even speak. Her mouth was open as she endured such a rush of pleasure that she thought she wouldn’t survive it. She cried out, sobbing, her eyes dilating, her body convulsing.

“Yes,” he ground out. “Oh... God...!”

His teeth clenched as he arched down into her and shuddered over and over and over again, until he thought his spine would snap. He actually sobbed with the force of a pleasure he’d never experienced in his life, with any of his lovers.

An eternity later he collapsed on her damp body, still shuddering.

“Are you all right?” he asked at her ear, his voice husky and urgent. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she breathed. “Oh no. No.”

He caught his breath and was about to tell her how glad he was when he felt the tears on his cheek.

He lifted his head and winced at the expression on her face. The alcohol had finally worn off, far too soon. She looked as if she’d committed a cardinal sin. And in her own mind, he thought grimly, she probably had.

“Oh...please...” she whispered, pushing gently at his chest. “I’m going to be sick...!”

He withdrew at once and watched her vault off the bed and into the bathroom. He could hear her dinner coming back up.

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