Reawakened by His Touch

His hands gripped her waist, lifting her slightly. Still fighting for breath, she looked down at him, suppressing a sharp cry of denial as she saw his tongue stroke teasingly against her nipple.

Over and over again he repeated the light caress, first on one breast and then on the other, until she was shivering with a mixture of arousal and anguish. She raised her hands to push herself away from him and instead found that she was curling her fingers into his skin, scarring its surface with her nails as her spine arched in involuntary ecstasy, her breasts swollen and eager for the heat of his mouth.

When he stopped touching her she shivered convulsively, unable to stop herself looking down at her body. Her nipples throbbed deeply pink; her skin was flushed and still faintly moist from his tongue.

‘Say it.’

The words whispered invitingly against her skin, tormenting and tantalising her as she watched the movement of his mouth and then heard herself saying as though she had no will of her own, ‘I want you, Jonas.’

‘And this, you want this. Tell me, Sara.’

His mouth closed over her breast, gentle at first as he caressed her swollen nipple and then more demanding as he felt her shuddering response.

‘God, yes… Yes…’ Barely aware of speaking, Sara arched her back, inviting him to do with her whatever he wished.

His mouth found the valley between her breasts and teased the tiny bead of sweat forming there, his hands sliding to her hips and then her thighs, moving her so that she straddled him. His skin felt hot against her own, burning into her.

‘And this. You want this?’

His voice wasn’t as cool or as steady now, but Sara had all but forgotten what had first precipitated his touch. When his fingers stroked softly against her body, seeking and then finding the intimate feminine core of her, she cried out in pleasure, pressing eagerly against his caress, finding relief from the frantic tension building up inside her by burying her mouth against his shoulder. Her tongue tasted the salt tang of his sweat, and found it enjoyed the maleness of him, her hands eagerly caressing his skin as she tried to stifle her whimpers of pleasure against his throat.

‘Say it. Say that it’s me you want.’

Say it? Didn’t he know? Couldn’t he tell?

‘I want you. I want you, Jonas.’ The words, once said, seemed to pour out of her as though they had previously been dammed, words that had no meaning save that they formed a litany that told him of her pleasure and her desire, his name interspersed with her sharp high cries of need.

The world exploded in a spasm of pleasure that tore his name from her throat; her body was reluctant to lose contact with his as he gently rolled her over on to her back.

As he leaned over her, she reached up and touched his face, her eyes closed, her fingers drifting down his throat. His skin was slick with sweat, like her own. He had given her so much pleasure, but he…

Her hand slid down his body.

‘No!’

The harsh denial in his voice as he captured her fingers shocked her into opening her eyes. His face was flushed, his eyes brilliant with arousal. He wanted her, didn’t he?

She glanced at his body covertly, and felt his fingers tighten around her own.

‘Not yet.’ His voice was thick and unsteady. ‘This time there’s going to be no misunderstanding, Sara. This time there’ll be no room in your mind for anyone but me. You’ve thrown your precious Rick in my face once too often, and I intend to make sure that you won’t be able to spend any more nights bringing him back to life in your imagination. From now on, whenever you try to imagine he’s making love to you, you are going to have the reality of my lovemaking to compete with.’ His voice had become harsh again, and she was sorely tempted to tell him the truth. Instead she said pettishly, ‘Jonas, I’m tired…’ and wished she hadn’t as she saw the glitter in his eyes and heard him say silkily,

‘Oh, no, you’re not, but you will be, I promise you that.’

And then as she closed her eyes against that glittering look she felt his mouth moving delicately against her skin, caressing the slight swell of her stomach.

Shocked by the ripple of sensation coiling through her, she struggled to move away, kicking out at him.

His fingers curled round her ankle, constraining her, and then, like the movements in some perfectly choreographed ballet, his fingertips and mouth moving in perfect synchronisation, they travelled slowly together from opposing directions to the swollen heart of her body where her womanhood awaited the gentle caress of his fingers and the sensual stroke of his tongue against and into her honeyed warmth with eager anticipation even while her mind and her conscience screamed out in shocked rejection of what he was doing to her.

She tried to squirm away from him, to deny the slow-building waves of pleasure gathering inside her, but somewhere her will deserted her and instead she heard herself crying out his name in husky supplication until he gently released her, taking her into his arms and letting her feel how much caressing her had aroused him.

‘You’ve told me how much you want me, Sara,’ he muttered thickly against her mouth. ‘Now show me.’

And as though she had spent all her life in preparation for this very moment, Sara lifted herself against him, stroking her hands down his back, pressing her open lips against his throat and nuzzling his skin until she heard him groan in pleasure.

Beneath her palms his buttocks felt hard and lean. She arched up against him, her hands trembling as they sought his hips. Moving to accommodate her, he shuddered violently the first time she touched him intimately, his res

ponsiveness to her touch unlocking some primitive force within her that wouldn’t let her rest until she had guided and absorbed his body within her own.