She moaned and grabbed his head again with both hands, holding him there. His hips still rotated against hers, and he pulled one of her knees up and tucked it against his waist so he could rub harder against her.
Then he changed arms and breast, and his right hand drifted down to her other leg and slid around the back of her thigh. He pulled that leg high around his hips, and he moaned something low and earthy about what he would do to her, where, and for how long.
Somewhere in the back recesses of her conscious mind, she hoped he kept those promises. And she told him so.
He growled low in his throat and jerked her dress off so fast she was chilled from the air. He tore off his coat and dropped it in the sand. He pulled off the rest of her clothing, then ripped off his shirt and undid his belt and pants.
He pulled her against him, then swung her up into his arms again and knelt, laying her in the silver sand.
She stared up at him kneeling beside her, cast in a sliver of moonlight that sliced through a lonely cloud. He was long, lean, hard, tanned, and as rugged as his manner. There was something elemental about him, an earthiness that sparked a side of her she hadn’t known existed.
He moved then to kneel at her feet, and he slowly massaged them, moving upward to her ankles. He slowly spread her legs.
“God, these legs...” he rasped in a throaty whisper. His hands moved up her ankles, calves, rubbing them and stroking them, only inches at a time. It took forever for him to get to her knees, where he lowered his head and kissed the insides, then dragged his tongue down her calves and sucked on her ankles, only to move up and do the same thing all over again.
He kissed her legs for long eternal minutes, driving her mad with his fingertips, nails, lips, and tongue. Then he lifted her knees, settling her feet flat on the sand. He slowly moved down the inside of one thigh with his tongue, licking, only to stop before he hit the juncture of her legs.
Then he moved the other side and did the very same thing, only more slowly and more thoroughly, until her hips lifted up and she was calling his name over and over.
“Open your eyes, sweetheart. Look at me.” He knelt back on his heels.
She opened her eyes, seeing at first only a mist of his silhouette.
He reached out with one finger and drew it over her there, where she craved his touch. He did it slowly. Then he stopped, and she moaned.
“Watch me,” he said.
He tasted his finger and then did the same thing again. Over and over until she finally grabbed his hand and pressed it to her because she couldn’t take it anymore.
He pressed a thick, rugged finger into her and slowly moved it in and out, his knuckle doing things that made her forget everything but the center of her body. He added another finger, stretching her wider and putting pressure so deep within her that she stopped breathing for an instant.
He spent long minutes thrusting his fingers in and out of her, and her hips rose higher and her knees began to shake uncontrollably. He stopped and slid his hands under her bottom, moving her knees over his wide shoulders, and he lifted her to his mouth.
The world disappeared, just faded into nothing but the hot touch of his mouth. He didn’t kiss her there with the same hungry motions as he kissed her mouth. He traced her lightly with his tongue, then rubbed his lips against the core of her before he moved up and drew a small, sensitive point into his mouth and sucked.
And she throbbed hard over and over. He didn’t stop.
“Again,” he said against her. “Again, sweetheart. Do it again.” And he buried his tongue so deeply inside of her that she did do it again.
She was crying when her body quieted. He lay her back down and rested his cheek on her belly. When her breath returned and her heart stopped pounding in her head and ears, he lifted his head, his look so hot her breath caught.
And he started licking her again. Everywhere.
Everything all over again. Only just before she would fall over the edge, just before her knees shook too hard, he would stop suddenly, calming her with his hands on her legs, soothing her until it passed. Then he built it again, only higher. Each time, he brought her close to that point again, but then he stopped.
And he talked to her, telling her he was teaching her the power of her body, showing her how men and women mated—Hank didn’t use that word.
He crawled between her legs and lifted them and wrapped them around his hips. He pressed against her with his length, then tilted his hips and slowly inched inside, pushing her wider than his fingers could or had, filling her more deeply than he could with his tongue.
“Oh, baby. This is heaven. Hang on. Hang on tight, sweetheart.”
Then he covered her mouth with his and thrust home. Pain shot through her belly and down her legs. She stiffened and moaned at its sharpness. She dug her nails into his bottom.
He swore crudely, then buried his head on her neck. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Just lay still. Don’t move.” He gripped her bottom and refused to let her back away. “Easy. Just lay still for a minute.”
She did. And the burning slowly faded.
He gave her time, then said, “Look at me, Smitty.” And she opened her eyes.
