Page 67 of Bedroom Therapy

She felt his shock and his resistance. And she wanted to pull back and say, “What’s wrong? Can’t you make love unless it was your idea?”

She knew those words sprang to her mind in self-defense. They came from the rawness of her own nerves.

At this moment in time, in this bedroom, he could hurt her. Not physically. She knew he would never do that. But he could deliver a crushing blow to her self-esteem. She had handed him that power.

There was a charged moment when she waited for him to pull back, open the door and walk away. But he didn’t move. And she heard his breathing accelerate.

Because he was turned on?

Without giving herself time to consider the wisdom of her actions, she brushed her lips against his again. It was only the smallest part of what she wanted with him, but she felt her body heat—felt the heat coming off of him as well.

Slowly, as though they had never kissed before, she experimented with the sensations the mouth to mouth contact created. Stroking him with her tongue, nibbling on his lower lip, pressing her mouth to his as she slowly increased the pressure of her flesh against his.

“Zach?” she asked, drawing back only enough to ask the question.

He didn’t answer with words, only with a sound that seemed to well up from deep in his throat as his mouth took command of her and his arms gathered her to him.

The kiss flared from hot to white hot in the space of heartbeats. With a low growl, he angled his head, his mouth rapacious and demanding so that she needed to anchor her hands against his shoulders, press her body to his to keep from swaying on her feet.

It was like being caught in a whirlwind that spun her up and around to dizzying heights. And with her last shreds of coherence, she thought that the only hope of survival lay in clinging to Zachary Grant.

Somewhere in her disordered mind she knew that everything that had come before was only preparation for this sharp, rich moment in time. This moment and all the ones that would come after.

When he silently asked her to open her lips, she did his bidding—then shivered as his tongue took possession of her mouth like an ancient warlord sweeping in to steal booty.

She gave him permission to plunder. Permission to ride away with her most intimate possession—her heart. Deep inside herself, she knew that this encounter wasn’t just about sex. It was about all the tender feelings for this man that had gathered inside her.

There was not space between his body and hers, yet she inched closer, overwhelmed by the feel of his chest and hips pressed to hers. And by the erection wedged against her middle. The knowledge that she had done that to him was exhilarating.

But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.

“Zach,” she murmured, nibbling her lips against his jaw as she spoke. “I love the feel of your cock. It’s so nice and hard and sexy.” To emphasize her words, she moved against him, pleased by the sound of his indrawn breath. “But it’s kind of wasted against my stomach. Lean your hips back against the door and splay your feet out. That way I’ll feel you where I need you.”

For a charged moment he looked down into her eyes. Then he did as she asked, leaning back, equalizing their heights to nestle his erection at the top of her legs.

She moved against him, hearing her own deep sigh of satisfaction. She could come like this, she knew. Just from the friction and the sensuality.

But she didn’t want it to happen yet. She wanted Zach inside her when she exploded with pleasure. When she eased a few inches back, his wordless protest gave her a kind of secret reassurance.

He’d changed when he’d gone to his room. He was wearing only a dark tee shirt, jeans and athletic socks.

Reaching out, she grabbed the hem of his tee shirt and began to roll it up, keeping her hot gaze on his as she slowly, slowly got the thin fabric out of the way—teasing them both with the languorous pace of her movements.

When she had rolled the shirt as far as she could go, she stopped to admire his chest, then leaned forward and caressed him with her face, enjoying the thick mat of his chest hair against her cheek.

Raising her hands, she found his flat nipples with her fingers. She smiled as she felt their hardness, their tightness. With her thumbs and fingers, she pulled on them, twisted them slightly, suspecting from what he’d asked her to do that he would like that.

His little exclamation told her that he did.

He had been standing with his hands at his sides. In a rush of movement, he brought them up now, capturing her hips, bringing them back against the hard shaft that strained at the front of his jeans.

She allowed him a few moments of contact before she whispered, against his ear, “Maybe it’s time to get out of those pants. Aren’t they feeling too tight right about now?”

He answered with an inarticulate sound.

Smiling, she put a few inches of distance between them again, then steadied her hand on his shoulder while she pulled off her white sandals and tossed them to the side.

A sharp sound pierced her consciousness. The phone. Out in the living room the phone was ringing.

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