She grinned. “You’ve got a pretty nice chest, too.”
He crossed to the window and pulled the cord, closing the blinds. Then he walked to the bathroom and turned on the light, closing the door partway so that there was only a dim glow in the bedroom.
When he looked back to her, he saw that she had turned down the covers and was reaching for the button at the top of her pants.
“Let me.”
She went still as he crossed to her, worked the buttpmm, then slowly lowered the zipper so that he could reach his hand inside her pants and panties, combing his fingers through the crinkly hair at the juncture of her legs.
He felt so much. Too much. Sexual arousal, the thoughts leaping toward him–and the pounding in his head that might wipe out everything else.
He strove to put that worry out of his mind. It wouldn’t happen if they did this right.
Which was what, exactly?
As he caressed her, he moved his lips against hers, stroking then nibbling with his teeth. He knew the exact amountof pressure that would bring her pleasure instead of pain because he could follow her reaction to the sensations.
A firestorm of heat threatened to overwhelm him. If he didn’t make love with her. . .
He couldn’t finish the thought because the idea of stopping had become unbearable. Worse than the pounding in his head. He would die if he didn’t make love to Rachel.
And die if he did?
He sensed her fear, and he knew she sensed his in equal measure.
He thought of the tried and true male line about not being able to stop. It was a lie. He could always stop.
Until this moment.
They staggered together to the bed and flopped onto the mattress. He rolled toward her, gathering her close, his body rocking against hers.
When it registered that neither one of them had taken off their pants, he groaned.
Her laughter rang in his head as they rolled away from each other, each shedding the remainder of their clothing.
When they were both naked, he reached for her again, both of them gasping at the sensation of skin against skin.
They were both trembling, coping with more than any individual should have to bear alone. His head throbbed, and he knew that he might stroke out from the intensity.
He heard her gasp. Not just the sound, but in his mind–generated by the same pain he felt.
If he let her go, would it stop? Or would snapping the connection now finish them off?
Maybe that was the key to survival. The courage to see this through–no matter where it led.
The only path is forward.
Together.
We aren’t alone, she answered.
Still it was hard to hold on to that truth in any rational way. Needing to be closer to her, he slid his hand down her body again, dipping into her sex, finding her wet and molten for him. He didn’t have to ask if she was ready to take the final step. He knew.
Yes!
And she didn’t have to use her hand to guide him into her. They simply did it, moving from separate individuals to one being in a smooth, sure motion.
He was inside her. Or was she inside him? He didn’t know anymore where he ended and she began. He only knew that every sense was tuned to her. Every thought. And she to him.
