At the Edge of the Sun (Maggie Bennett 3)

Calmly, with only slightly unsteady hands, she continued to undo his tie, then moved to the shell buttons on his shirt, unfastening them one by one, exposing the pale, golden flesh of his chest and stomach. She pulled the shirt from his pants and pushed it from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Still he watched her, making no move.

She reached for his thin leather belt. Her hands were shaking now, with a panicky sort of desire that she wouldn’t back away from. Randall would let her go, would probably be more than happy to have another fight, to precipitate another battle that would end with her beneath him on that soft bed. But not this time.

The belt buckle finally gave, and she remembered that his damned trousers had buttons instead of a zipper. She drew a deep, unsteady breath and then sank to her knees in front of him. She pressed her face against him, against the swell of desire that couldn’t be hidden despite Randall’s distance. She kissed him through the thin wool, revelling in his involuntary start, and then her long fingers were blessedly adept, unfastening one stubborn button after another.

“Maggie,” he said, his voice harsh and pleading.

She released him from the wool trousers and the silk shorts, and he was hot and pulsing in her cool hands. She looked up at him, shaken at her own arousal, and managed a shy smile. “You wanted me to love you, Randall,” she said softly. “I will,” she said. “I do.”

As she put her mouth on him, she could feel the tension radiate through his body, the shudder that swept over him, and his hands reached out to cup her head. She half expected him to draw her away, but instead he held her there, his hands gentle on her thick hair, as she gave him back some of what he’d given to her.

The light beside the bed flickered and went out, plunging the room into darkness. Maggie didn’t flinch. Moonlight surrounded them, illuminating the snow outside, and there was just the two of them, her hungry mouth and his uncontrollable desire, tension and desire sweeping over her as she brought him closer and closer to release. She was trembling as he was, shaking with love and desire and need, and he was almost there …

His hands moved from her head, where he’d been holding her against him, moving down to her shoulders, and he pulled her away.

“No,” she cried, fighting him, but he was stronger than she was. He pulled her up, into his arms, holding her there as she struggled. “No,” she whimpered again. “I wanted to—”

“I didn’t.” His voice was low and tight and yearning. “I don’t want you servicing me like a whore. I want to give to you when you give to me. I want to be inside you when I come, I want—”

She’d slid her hand down between their bodies to capture him. He groaned, pressing against her hand, and she tried to kneel again. But once more he stopped her, and his hands were hard and perversely arousing on her arms. “Maggie,” he whispered. “I want all of you. Not just your mouth, all of you.”

Together they moved toward the bed and they sank down together onto the soft mattress they’d shared so platonically the night before.

It took her a few moments to struggle out of her designer jumpsuit, and she spared one of her last conscious thoughts to curse Holly’s taste in clothing. Then Randall’s mouth was everywhere, tasting, demanding, moving from her own soft lips, down her slender neck to the taut firmness of her breasts. She arched against him, overwhelmed by the response that was raging through her, and for a moment all she could do was lie there and quiver. His deft hands were holding her still, and then trailing across her flat stomach and between her thighs. She gasped when he touched her, so exquisitely aroused that she almost couldn’t bear it.

She tried to push his hand away, but he was inexorable. With slow, delicious strokes he continued his sensual assault, and she began to shudder. His hand left her, his mouth released her aching breast, and before she knew what he intended he’d moved down and placed his mouth on her—a hot, hungry demand that she could no longer fight. She reached down and cradled his head, as he’d cradled hers only minutes before, and gave herself up to the unimaginable pleasure he was giving her.

Within moments she was lost, shivering and gasping, her body melting in waves against his hot mouth. He waited until it passed, and then he moved up, over her, thrusting deeply into her, filling her, impaling her, controlling and destroying her last ounce of sanity.

Suddenly it changed. He rolled onto his back, taking her with him, and then it was up to her. She was the instigator, she was the taker. She knelt there astride him, revelling in the feel of him, deeply a part of her, as she captured and surrounded him. She tightened around him, slowly, deliciously, and was rewarded with the glazed look of unspeakable pleasure that darkened his eyes. She rested her hands on his shoulders, pressing them back against the cool white sheets, and began to rock, slowly at first, deliberately, moving back and forth, capturing and then almost releasing him.

It was delicious, it was overwhelmingly heady, this sense of control that was rapidly being wrested from both of them. His strong hands reached up to cradle her hips, not to push her, only to caress her, and when she sank down again he arched, filling her even more fully. Randall’s shoulders were slippery with sweat, his body taut and trembling, and Maggie felt her heart and soul contract.

“I love you,” she heard herself say in a rough, almost desperate voice. “I love you, Randall. I always have.”

Everything exploded into blackness pierced by glittering shards of light. He thrust against her once, twice, and then was lost, spilling his love into her. Maggie had only a moment to savor his release, when suddenly her body dissolved beneath her, and she was flung out into the darkness with him.

She opened her mouth to scream, but met his instead, as her body convulsed in a series of shattering spasms that were unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. All she could do was cling to Randall’s sweat-slick body.

It seemed forever before sense and reality returned. First the trembling stilled, then the darkness began to recede. Her mind returned, slowly at first.

She was lying on her side, locked in Randall’s embrace, still clinging to him with hands and arms that were cramping with tension. He was still inside her, pressed deep, and his heart was thudding as heavily as hers. Her face was drenched in tears she never knew she’d shed.

Randall’s hands came up to smooth her short tangled hair away from her tear-swollen face. She ducked her head in unexpected shyness, but he caught her chin and lifted her face to meet his gaze.

It was a revelation to her. As his searching eyes swept over her no-doubt bedraggled appearance, it was Randall who was the surprise. There was no mockery, no reserve, no wariness in his face at all. It had been washed clean of bitterness and years of cynicism. He looked like a young man, a boy. A boy in love.

Again Maggie’s heart turned over inside her. She smiled at him then, a loving, tear-filled smile and with complete trust she put her head against his shoulder and fell instantly, prosaically asleep.

It was morning, and the bed was cold. Maggie opened her eyes and reached for Randall. He was gone.

The room was empty. No sign of a note, and his clothes were neatly folded on the dresser. He wouldn’t have gone far, she told herself, settling back against the headboard of the bed that was too big for one person.

The snow had almost stopped. She looked out the leaded casement windows to the drifting flakes that were still sauntering down with a lazy air. The narrow cobbled path along the side canal was covered with it. Maybe they could go for a long walk later, hand in hand, like normal lovers on Christmas day. Maybe they could be normal lovers, with no more hatred or distrust coming between them.

She heard the door open behind her. It could only be Randall, and she held herself very still, willing him to come over and wake her in the best possible way.

She waited in vain. He barely made a sound, moving around the room. And then she heard the muffled scrape of the one upholstered chair in the room, the telltale squeak of aging springs.