Second Chances: A Romance Writers of America Collection (Stark World 2.50)

It was a future she still wanted, too. "You." She touched his cheek, brushing her fingers across his sweat-damped skin. "I want you."

He growled as he closed the distance. His mouth came down on hers. His lips were soft, but demanding. He kissed her. Kissed her gently and with reverence. A brushing of lips with a tenderness that was her undoing. She opened her mouth to him. Deepened the contact. Welcomed him inside her.

She gasped as his mouth left hers, trailing soft and moist kisses across her face. He pressed his mouth to her closed eyelids. Stroked his lips across her cheek to the tender skin below her ear, swirled his tongue along her flesh.

Mika leaned her head against the tree, her curls tangling on the bark, her eyes drifting closed. Her heart raced, heat danced across her body, desire pooled low in her belly. She trembled.

He nipped her earlobe with his teeth, then soothed the sting with his tongue.

"Rye," she whispered, shivering.

"Yeah, baby?" He returned his lips to her mouth, nudging them apart with his tongue and gulping down any reply she meant to make. He nipped at her bottom lip, then pressed into her depths.

He tasted of sweat, of sunshine, of damp river air, of male, and oh so familiar. Her knees shook. Her inner thighs ached. She rejoiced as his mouth devoured hers, and she welcomed him inside. His tongue stroked against hers, explored and teased.

Slowly, he ended the kiss. "Say it again. Tell me what you want," he murmured against her lips.

"You," she replied.

He pushed away from her, his stare stormy and penetrating. "So we don't need these?" he asked, lifting the divorce papers.

She shook her head. "No."

He grinned and flung the papers toward the river. They caught on the breeze and scattered, flashing in the fading light like sparks against the flaming sunset. Hues of fire hugged the horizon, the sun dripping low in the western sky.

"We don't need those," Mika said, reaching for her husband. She grabbed his sweatshirt and tugged him forward. "But we need this."

Hell yeah, he needed this--her--like he

needed to breathe. He closed the distance between them, needing to kiss her again. Needing to touch her, to drink in her sweet sighs and breathy moans, to claim her as his own. To make up for lost time. He touched her shoulder, shoving the sweater down her arm, exposing the creaminess of her lush skin. He kissed her there, filling his free hand with the fullness of her breast.

His body ached, his dick throbbing in the same demanding tempo as the pulse thundering behind his ears. The years slipped away, the tears gone, the hurt soothed; the past was yesterday. They were all that mattered. It was only the two of them under the burning sky.

Rye pushed the thin knit from her arm, his mouth following, his lips kissing and sampling her honeyed skin. She moaned, arching her back from the tree, filling his hand with the full swell of her body. He rolled her pebbled nipple between his thumb and finger until it hardened further. He pulled her dress away, exposing her dark nipple to the descending night and then covered it with his lips. He tugged it between his teeth and swirled his tongue around it until his wife was panting sweet breaths that had his body on fire.

She knew. She reached for him, pulling at the waistband of his basketball shorts, yanking the drawstring free, shoving them down his hips. Her playful fingers eased beneath his boxers and wrapped around his rocked up length. He damn near came into the palm of her soft hand.

"I need you," he mumbled, his voice low and husky. His mouth left her nipple and settled against her lips. She nodded and welcomed him, nibbling at his lower lip, sucking it into her mouth as she worked her fingers down his dick, then slowly back to the tip. She was a tease. A vixen. She knew exactly what he wanted. Exactly how to give it to him.

He pressed her against the tree. His hands were on her, smoothing down along her back, his fingers finding the edge of her dress. He pushed the cloth up, his hand settling on the curve of her ass. He moved his hand lower to her thigh, then lifted her leg into the air. Rye stepped into her, adjusting her so her foot wrapped around his waist. Her hand was trapped between them, but he didn't care. He thrust his hips forward, her hand working his length, her fingers smoothing down his sensitive ridge, then cupping his balls in her hand. He damn near exploded.

Reaching behind her, he moved his hand under her thigh and stroked her. Her lips were soaking. He pushed two fingers inside her tight body. "You're wet," he muttered against her mouth.

She moaned, her hips rotating into his hand as she rode down on his fingers. His dick bucked. He needed inside her. She must have known. She shoved his shorts down. Pushed his boxers away, freeing his hard-on.

"Please." Her leg tightened around him, pulling him closer.

He growled, fighting for control. Losing.

Pulling his fingers from her body, he grabbed his dick and touched his swollen head to her plump lips. She dripped arousal as she arched into him, rolling her hips. "Easy, baby." Her lips were gripping him, pulling him in. She was tight around him, honeyed velvet heat.

"Damn," he said through gritted teeth as he slammed into her, so deep her arousal seeped onto his balls. Her body quivered as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She held him close, releasing short raspy pants, her head rolled back. Her hair tangled on edges of tree bark.

He began to move. He had to. Long, slow strokes into her welcoming flesh. Rotating his hips, he eased out of her body until just his head remained between her slick, swollen lips. A deep thrust, all the way back in, until her mouth fell open and she cried out. Cried out his name.

He moved faster, thrusting into her even though he heard her sweater snagging against the rough edges of the bark. His wife moaned and moved with him, using her foot to pull him into her when he'd retreat. In and out, the tempo changing from fast, quick thrust to long and slow and languid and savoring. He kissed her neck. Stroked his tongue along her pulse point. Along her collarbone. Sucked the tender skin on her shoulder, leaving nips and marks.

The air cooled. The sun faded into purples as dusk overtook daytime. But he was hot, his body on fire, his skin burning.