A heartbeat later, the flashlight clicked off.
Phoebe blinked in the darkness. “Zane?”
“We’re gonna have to do this by feel. Otherwise we’ll be putting on a show.”
She thought about how flashlights in the tents created detailed shadows and blushed at the thought of entertaining the others.
Before she could figure out some kind of response, she both felt and heard movement. Instinctively, she pulled the sleeping bag up over her chest.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Taking off my jacket. It’s soaked.”
“Oh.”
There was a bit more rustling, then a warm hand settled on her shoulder.
“You okay with this?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, nearly meaning it. Sure, she wanted to be with him in the most intimate way possible, but wanting it and talking about it were two different things.
He chuckled. “Second thoughts?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what, exactly?”
But she never got to say. Apparently he’d been moving closer as they spoke, and before she could form a word, his mouth settled on hers.
The man had great aim, she thought as firm, tender lips claimed her own. Her body melted in anticipation, which made it difficult to stay upright. Rather than puddle into the sleeping bag, she simply leaned against him.
Even as he moved back and forth on her mouth, he brought his strong arms around her. She felt the soft, well-washed cotton of his shirt and the strength of his muscles. She always felt at home in his arms, so it was only natural to release her death grip on the sleeping bag and wrap her arms around his neck. Which meant her bare chest was pressed against his material-covered one, but once he stroked her lower lip with his tongue, none of that seemed to matter.
She’d always had the best time in Zane’s arms, she thought hazily as she parted her mouth and waited for him to sweep inside. He kissed like someone who had invented the activity. If kissing was a sport, then Zane was an Olympic-class athlete.
He teased her by nipping on her lower lip before he brushed his tongue against hers. She sighed in a delicious combination of passion and anticipation.
Heat flared, chasing away the last of the chill. His hands rubbed against her bare back, one going lower, one going higher. She ran her fingers through his hair, then squeezed the muscles in his shoulders. Wanting grew until it was uncontrollable. Fortunately he read her mind.
He broke the kiss. He was still close enough that she could feel his warm breath on her neck, which was all the warning she had before he pressed his mouth against the underside of her jaw. Shivers rippled through her. She arched back her head, even as she wanted to get closer.
As he kissed and nibbled his way to her ear, he lowered her onto the sleeping bag. There was more movement. She wasn’t sure what he was doing because he never stopped kissing her.
When he took her earlobe into his mouth and sucked, she had to bite her lower lip to keep from crying out. When she felt the weight of him as he stretched out next to her, it was all she could do to stop her legs from falling open in a shameless invitation. It didn’t matter that she was still wearing panties, or that he was fully dressed. She wanted him...all of him...on top, inside, pleasuring them both into madness.
Thoughts of what they would do later faded when his kisses moved lower and lower. Her breath caught as he neared her breasts, then came out in a hiss as his lips closed over her tight, sensitive nipple.
She was drowning in pleasure, she thought, clutching his head and holding him in place. It was good—too good.
“More,” she breathed.
He sucked and licked and teased her nipple with his mouth and tongue, then shifted to her other breast and repeated the erotic torture.
She could feel herself swelling for him. Between her legs there was heat and dampness. Her panties were too much of a barrier, and the sleeping bag was a straitjacket. She fought to find the zipper, then tugged it lower.
When she was able to kick free of the covering, she reached for his shirt. He continued to pleasure her breasts, which meant after a couple of halfhearted attempts with his buttons, she had to let her hands fall back to her sides while she reveled in what he could do to her.
“This can’t be legal,” she whispered.
He raised his head. “Why not?”
“It feels too good.”
He chuckled. She heard the sound, felt the soft exhalation of cool air on her bare, damp breasts, but she couldn’t see anything. Not him, not herself. It was strange, but in a good way. The darkness gave her courage.
“Take your clothes off,” she said, knowing that she would never have managed the words in the light.
“Yes, ma’am.”
There was rustling, then nothing, then the distinctive sound of a zipper being pulled down.
Her heart thundered in her chest. She tried to imagine him naked. What would he look like? Thinking about him naked made her imagine him standing in front of her—erect. And thinking about that made her think about him pushing inside of her. Filling her. Making her—
“Condom,” she gasped.
A movement stopped.
“What?”
Phoebe felt the earth open up in preparation of swallowing her. How could she have not mentioned this before?
“I’m not on anything right now,” she whispered. “Birth control. I’m not on the Pill.” She gestured helplessly.
“Shit, fuck, damn.”
Disappointment tied her in knots. “I was really only interested in that middle part,” she joked.