Page 57 of Tempting as Sin
“Just kiss me,” she said. “Just…touch me. Please.”
She could feel his smile against her neck. And when he sat up again, she moaned. “I’m going to kiss you,” he promised. “But right now…” He was watching again, sending his hand down to trail along the edge of her neckline. Back again, and his fingers had slipped under the fabric.
The top of her dress slid straight down.
He didn’t grab. He touched. His fingers circling her nipple, and then his hand holding her there for him as he bent his head and tasted her.
Oh. Yes.One of his hands was behind her neck, and he was lowering her down, resting her against the arm of the swing. The other hand was working at her thigh. Unbuttoning, she realized dimly through the concentric circles of pleasure that were his lips at her breast. One button, then another. His hand was at her upper thigh, and then at her waist. Not going anywhere else. Not yet.
“We should go, uh, inside,” she managed to say. “Rafe.”
He didn’t answer. He’d sat up, and now, he was using two hands. One button. Two. Three. Four. More. And her dress fell open.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Oh, hell, yeah.” Both hands were at her breasts, teasing out sensation, making her back arch again, making her suck in a breath. “That’s pretty.”
“Uh,” she said. “Inside.” If he waited any longer, she wasn’t going to be able to move. She was liquid.
“Mm.” He was supporting her to sit, and she started to stand, but he pushed her gently back down with a hand on her chest. “You know,” he said, “I don’t think so. I think…” His hand stroked slowly down her body, all the way to her thigh, then back up it again. On the inside this time.
“That’s pretty,” he said again. Another long, slow trip down her thigh and back up.
She should touch him. She knew it. Unfortunately, it was all she could do to breathe. Everything in her was focused on that one spot. The spot hewasn’ttouching.
A hand tracing the edges of her thong, and again. Running slowly over the top edge, then slipping inside. Stroking just inside the silky fabric, until she had to shift. Until she had to move. Except that she couldn’t, because his other hand was at her waist, holding her still. And then, finally, he was dropping to his knees, right onto the porch.
Oh. My. God. He was going to do this. Right here. She made a noise. She was very much afraid that it was a whimper. He hooked a finger under each side of her thong and said, his voice gone husky, “Raise up for me, baby. Come on. Let me see you.”
She did it. She was looking out over the valley. Over theroad.Out in the open, with the sky turning pink. And right here on this porch, Rafe stroked a lazy finger over her, then did it again. He swirled it, and she moaned.
Strong hands pulling her to the edge of the seat and holding her there, easing her thighs apart. And then, at last, his tongue. His mouth. Hisskill.
She was panting, and then she was moaning. Her head flung back, her hands going down to clutch his hair, trying to hold on, and settling for wrapping around his head. The swing moving just enough, bringing her into him and letting her go again.
Suction. Heat. Back and forth with the swing. A finger edging its stealthy way inside her, and then another. Those beautiful, talented, agile hands pressing. Stroking. Moving faster, then slower, as his mouth worked her over. As it burned her down.
It was so good, and it wasn’t enough. She was climbing higher, falling back, then higher still. And falling back again. Panting out her arousal, and her frustration.
He lifted his head at last. “Lily. What?”
“I can’t…I can’t,” she gasped. “Too…public.”
“Oh.” He blinked, nearly slow motion, black lashes over blue eyes that shone in the twilight. “Huh.” Then he stood up and held out a hand again. Like a gentleman. “Wait,” he said. “Forget that.” He brushed the remaining strap off her shoulder so her dress was all the way gone, then bent down, picked her up in his arms, pulled her against his chest, and said, “Come on, Chuck. We’re going inside. Lily needs a bed.”
Lily didn’t want to think about what was right and what was wrong. She was here, and that was all.
Rafe striding through the dim house, the open windows bringing in a welcome breeze, the wind chimes on the back porch offering up a frantic melody. Rafe carrying her up the stairs, her arm wrapped around his neck.
For once, he wasn’t cool, and he wasn’t talking.
When he deposited her on the bed, she scrambled to her knees, and he stood there, his chest rising and falling with effort and emotion, she definitely didn’t want to think about anything else. And she did anyway. She said, “Chuck. Also—food. We can’t leave it outside. Grizzlies. And I don’t know if Chuck’s scared of thunderstorms. Oh—my windows are open down there.”
Rafe said, “I’ve got him. And his bed. And the food. And the windows. Stay there.” One last hard look in the dim light, and he was gone.
She should have thought about tomorrow, but she was tired of thinking about tomorrow. Tired of thinking about risk and return, about emotional investment and the certainty of heartbreak. She was a body, too, and her body needed his.
Candles,she thought, and scrambled off the bed to find them. She was coming out of the bathroom holding a pale-green pillar and box of matches when she heard Rafe’s light footfall on the stairs.
He came through the door like wind and rain, like the god of thunder, and she stopped in the act of setting the candle on the bedside table.
