What A Girl Wants

“I’m totally serious—maybe crazy, too, but totally serious.”

He took a step closer to Jane, and her panties got wet. He took another step and their bodies were nearly touching. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Maybe you should wait until you’re not feeling so emotional before you decide to sleep with me.”

They were so close Jane had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. But he was staring at her mouth as though he meant to kiss her any second now. His actions were contradicting his words, so she decided what he needed was a little more encouragement in the right direction.

So what if she was acting rashly? Emotionally. Like a woman who desperately needed a little distraction, a little companionship. That’s exactly what she was. To hell with the repercussions. Right now she just wanted to forget everything.

Jane slid her hand around Luke’s neck and pressed her lips to his, pressed her body against him. She coaxed him into a hot, frenzied kiss that did indeed wipe away her every last worry. What, exactly, had she been worried about, anyway?

He danced his tongue around hers, slid his hands over her backside and gripped her, pressed her pelvis into his erection. Jane clung to him, tasted him, let her mind and body pretend that he was someone who cared for her, someone like Bradley, with whom she could spend a lifetime and not just a night.

When he lifted her up and carried her into the bedroom, then tossed her onto the bed and climbed on top of her like a wild predator, Jane forgot even the name that had been living on her lips for years… Bradley who?

Sunlight poured in the window, creating a warm haze in the room that seemed perfect for Sunday-morning sex. She closed her eyes and reveled in her own uncontrollable desire as Luke stripped her of her jeans, pushed her sweater up above her breasts and over her head, then rid her of her underwear and bra.

She heard herself emitting little gasps of pleasure when he found her breasts with his mouth and sucked first gently, then hungrily. He pushed them together and teased each nipple with his tongue, massaging her flesh with his hands, making her feel full, ripe, completely, utterly female.

Then one of his hands was between her legs, coaxing her from damp to dripping wet in a few expert strokes. He slipped one finger inside her, then two, then three, and Jane cried out at the sweet burning of her flesh stretching to accommodate him. He found some insanely sensitive spot inside her and coaxed her into a wave of pleasure so sudden and strong that she couldn’t begin to slow its approach.

Kneeling between her legs, he found her clit with his other hand while his fingers still worked their magic inside her, and he watched her melt in his hands. His eyes heavily lidded, his gaze remained fixed on Jane’s until the freight train of her orgasm came roaring through. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and arched her back as waves and waves of pleasure rocked her.

She heard herself crying out like a wild woman and wondered if the voice was really hers. Jane, who had quiet, respectable sex with sensitive, respectable guys, didn’t scream and buck when she made love. She purred, she murmured, she sighed, but she didn’t do what she was helpless to stop at that moment.

The waves passed finally, and Jane slumped into a mass of quivering flesh on the bed. She was barely aware of Luke’s fingers slipping out of her, of his damp fingertips gliding up her belly, over her rib cage, around her torso. He lay on top of her and pressed his body against her, then nuzzled his face into her neck.

“You liked that?”

“I want you inside me,” was all she could think to say. “Now.”

He raised up on his elbows and pinned her with his dark gaze. “No games, right? You really want this?”

“Yes,” she breathed as she pushed his shirt up and explored the hot, smooth landscape of his chest.

Forgetting her every inhibition, she was up and undressing him. She was taking the condom he withdrew from his wallet and ripping it open with her teeth. She was climbing on top of him, enjoying the view of him uninterrupted by clothing. She was sliding the condom on as if she’d done it a thousand times, not just observed the practice from across the bed.

Then, without ceremony, she mounted him and cried a wild animal cry at the feel of his erection as she took the full length of it into her body. Not even his three large fingers had prepared her for the feel of his size, stretching her and showing her body its sexual limits. Now she understood, in a flash of coherence—size did matter, after all. There were things a hammer could do far more effectively than a Q-tip.

She began to move, and little aftershocks of her earlier orgasm shook her, sent her into a fast rocking rhythm that felt more right than anything else she could imagine.