Change of Heart (Edilean 9)
Frank was beside her instantly, just sitting there, not touching her, but at the next flash of lightning she flung herself into his arms.
She had almost forgotten how good a man could feel. His big, strong body enveloped hers, and before she could breathe, he pulled her head back and kissed her.
It wasn’t a kiss like the first one. There was no sweetness to it. It was a kiss of raging passion, of desire as strong as any she’d ever imagined. The sensation was new to her, but at the same time it was as old as time.
He moved down to kiss her neck. The cabin was lit with lightning and the roar of the thunder seemed to echo within her.
“Yes,” she whispered as his hand went to her breast. “Yes, please.”
He took her face in his hands, his eyes searching hers. “I have no protection with me.”
For a moment she held her breath. She felt sure he didn’t have a communicable disease. All that mattered was here and now and this man.
“Yes” was all she said, then he was on her.
He was as hot in bed as he was cold out of it. He’d made a few jokes, but she’d never seen him leering at her. And yet he seemed to have noticed all of her body and to want her very much. Her shirt and underpants were off in seconds. His hands were everywhere, caressing her, touching her.
Miranda had never felt the way he made her feel. He seemed to know what she liked, seemed to find places she didn’t know she wanted him to touch.
By the time he entered her, she was nearly screaming with desire. She held him inside her for a moment, loving how he filled her. When he began the velvet strokes in and out, she thought she might die with the pleasure.
He seemed to know when she was ready to peak, then he thrust into her until she thought she might faint. Waves went through her body. Afterward, still shaking, she snuggled in his arms, feeling safe and secure and at home. She could feel herself dozing off. “That was lovely,” she whispered.
“Not for me,” he said.
Her eyes opened and she saw in the firelight that he wasn’t anywhere near sleep. “There’s more?”
He smiled in a wicked way. “We haven’t begun.”
“Really?” she said with such enthusiasm that he laughed.
They made love all night. Frank seemed to be
insatiable—but then, so was she. For her, there’d been a lifetime of suppression, of reading about, but never experiencing, uncontrollable passion.
He never said so, but he seemed to be shocked that she didn’t know about positions and what to do with your mouth besides kissing. “I’ve read about these things but haven’t done them,” she said.
“Your husband—?” Frank began but stopped.
“He thought wives should be good girls.”
“Me too,” Frank said as he moved down her body.
Sometime during the night she thought she heard him say, “I love you,” but she wasn’t sure.
Miranda slowly woke up, and she was smiling before she got her eyes open. She could feel that the old cabin was empty. She even remembered Frank getting up and going out. Right now all she wanted to do was lie still and think about last night, to remember every second of it.
She’d never thought she could be so . . . well, so abandoned. Her legs around his neck, his hands cupping her behind, was an especially vivid memory.
The door opened and Frank came in carrying a load of firewood.
“Good morning,” he said. “Sleep well?”
“Like a rock,” she said. “I did have some odd dreams, but nothing significant.”
Frank smiled as he put the wood down. “I was going to stop at the little French café and get us some croissants, but they’re closed. How about cold corn bread and bacon?”
“It sounds divine.”