Perfect Strangers (The Scots)

His attention traveled slowly up the soft, lush, naked length of her body.

Her attention started downward.

Their gazes met and held for one throbbing heartbeat.

"Wh-what are you doin—?"

His head dipped, and suddenly Gabrielle had no breath with which to finish the question.

The first stroke of his tongue was intimate and quick; the contact surged through her like a bolt of lightning. Her hands were on his shoulders; they lifted, her fingers curling around handfuls of his thick black hair. She'd thought the feel of his breath arousing as it wafted over her naked belly, yet the sensation was nothing compared to the feel of where his breath caressed her now.

She moaned, low and deep. Her hips came up off the ground.

Seizing the advantage, Connor slipped his hands beneath her, his palms cupping her bottom, his strong fingers kneading her pliant softness as he levered her up.

The strokes of his tongue became longer, fast, bolder.

"Dear God," Gabrielle rasped, her lower body moving in time to the rhythm his devouring mouth set.

It was happening too fast. Gabrielle longed somehow to slow down the frenzied pace of their lovemaking, to prolong and to enjoy to its sweet fullness each fiery sensation. Yet the exquisite things Connor was doing to her with his mouth and hands prevented that. His darting tongue was persistent, driving her insane, pushing her closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Like a fragilely built dam threatened by a tumultuous flood, weakened and ready to explode, the now familiar feelings quickened in Gabrielle's loins, hot and insistent, demanding a natural, breathless culmination. She tried to resist, tried to hold back, tried to make the moment last, but it was no use. She might as well try to make her heart stop pounding, she'd have equally as much luck. In mere seconds, the tidal wave was upon her.

"Connor!" Gabrielle cried out as the pleasure overtook her, spasmodic surges of release washing all through her body, tightening her muscles in pulsating tides that carried her under and away on the deep, blissful undertow of raw sensation.

Connor gritted his teeth. With effort he trapped a rough groan in his throat. Her knees were bent, and the inside of her thighs cupped his ears, blotting out the sounds of the night blotting out everything except the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.

The oh so sweet smell of her, the potently unique taste of her, the moist feminine heat of her surrounded him, engulfed him, threatened to drown him. His resilience was tested in a nerve-shattering way it had never been tested before. His scalp burned from the way she tightly fisted his hair, holding his mouth to her as though afraid he would divert his attention elsewhere. The sensation served to heighten his desire. It was all he could do not to surrender to the urge to cover her body with his, to thrust himself inside her, possess her.

And then, over the din of his heartbeat echoing in his ears, he heard her call out his name and his mouth and tongue felt her body convulse with the first spasms of release... and he knew he could not hold back a second longer.

Lowering her writhing hips to the ground, he eased his body on top of hers. The tip of his hard, throbbing shaft did not have to search long before finding its mark.

As one, their hips pushed forward simultaneously. A shudder rippled through Connor when he felt himself gloved by her gloriously tight, wet heat.

He stilled instantly, suddenly afraid to move. He wanted the moment to last for an eternity, yet if he moved now, it would be to plunge into that abyss of fulfillment. Dear God, nay, not yet!

Again, one palm slipped under her bottom, only this time it was to hold her to him as his other hand cradled the small of her back. He shifted, rolled, until it was he whose back was cradled against the leaf-strewn forest floor.

Her legs straddled his hips. Her full, ripe breasts were plastered to his chest; he was aware of every voluptuous curve of her. How could he not be? His fingers trembled as one of his hands slipped downward, the other up. Cradling the sides of her hips, he used his thumbs to lever her up until she sat atop him.

As he watched, her lips parted in an unspoken "Oh!" Her lashes flickered upward, her green eyes narrow and dazed with passion as her gaze met and held his.

Slowly, slowly, he guided her hips forward and back, lifted her gently, then pulled her down on top of him with a wee bit more force. She was an apt pupil; she learned the rhythm well and quickly put it to use by increasing the speed and variance to a dizzying pitch.

Connor swallowed hard. Had he really thought this position would delay his own release? More the fool he; he should have known better. Not only did it increase his own pleasure, but rekindled hers as well. Gabrielle had soon set a pace that had him gritting his teeth against the flood of sensations that rushed through him.

A fine sweat beaded on his brow and upper lip. More moistened the thatch of hair pelting his chest. His hips rose when hers came down, and he buried himself inside her as deeply as he could go.

Again.

And again.

And again.

One of them groaned, the sound deep and feral. Connor thought the sound came from himself, but truth to tell he had no time to analyze its whereabouts.

His skin tingled as her hands swept over his chest, down his arms. Her fingers opened, entwining with his as she moved frantically atop him.