For what seemed an eternity, he lay over me, but I didn’t mind the weight.It was warm, male, delicious, as was the scent that hovered around us.Eyes closed, I savored that, like an afterdinner drink taken on the tails of a fine red wine.
When he started to move, I clenched my legs tight around him.“Don’t go,” I whispered, suddenly afraid that he’d up and leave.I might have climaxed, but I was far from sated.
Taking me with him, he rolled to his side.I looked up into his face to find his green eyes heavily lidded and warm.“I’m not going anywhere,” he said hoarsely.Levering himself up onan elbow, he closed his hand around my leg, which was under him, and gently pulled it forward.“I don’t want to crush it.”He eased it down next to the other.His expression was almost reverent as he watched his own fingers skim the silk-clad length.
I looked down then to see what he had, but I saw nothing reverent in a pair of legs sheathed in sheer navy, a pure white garter belt and a white teddy whose lacy hem was bunched up under my breasts.
Peter was looking there, too.He ran his fingertips under my breasts.“You are beautiful,” he whispered.
“I think wanton is the word,” I whispered back.Though there was no one to hear us, it was an intimate moment.
He fanned his hand over my stomach.“Wanton matched the way I felt.I don’t know how I made it through your show.”He grunted.“I don’t know how I made it through the past few weeks.”
I sank a hand into his hair and tugged.“You didn’t call me.”
“You didn’t call me.”
“You’re the man.You’re supposed to do it.”
“These are the eighties.You’re an independent woman.”
“Not that independent.”
“How was I to know?You women have us so confused sometimes we don’t know whether we’re coming or going.”
His reference to women in the plural was a generic one, which was the way I took it.I wasn’t about to consider the other women he’d known personally, not at a moment when he was all mine.
But he felt it important.Sobering, he shaped his hand to my jaw and said, “I may have been pretty wild as a kid, but lately there haven’t been a whole lot of different women in my life.”His thumb coasted over my skin.“I’m clean.You won’t catch anything from me, but I haven’t guarded you against pregnancy.You’re not using anything, are you?”
I shook my head.“I bought condoms.”My cheeks went red.“They’re in my purse.”
“That’s good.I wouldn’t want a pregnant purse on my hands.”His thumb moved higher to explore my flushed skin.“Are you embarrassed because you left them in your purse, or because you bought them in the first place?”
“Both.I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“What kind of risk did we take?”
“Not a big one.It’s the wrong time of the month.Besides, I don’t get pregnant easily.”His eyes requested an elaboration that I felt it only fair to give.“I didn’t use anything for three years, and nothing happened.”
“You wanted children then?”
I nodded, but I refused to dwell on what might have been.I refused to dwell on anything that might take away from the moment andPeter.Knowing the perfect diversion, I dropped my gaze to his toes and slowly drew my eyes north.I’d seen his upper half before, but the lower half was new and exciting.His legs were long, lean and scarred, but beautiful nonetheless and spattered with the same dark hair that painted patterns over his chest.His thighs were tightly muscled.His sex, at rest now, lay in a thick nest of hair.
Suddenly he shifted, rising to his knees.
“Where are you going?”I asked in alarm.
“Nowhere.”He took one of my legs, put my foot flat against his belly and ran his hands up the slender length of dark blue silk.When he reached my garter belt, he unfastened its hook, released the stocking from its hold and slowly rolled it down.
I was fascinated.When I’d bought the lingerie, it had been with the wearing in mind.I’d been feeling sexy and wanted to feel even sexier.On some level, I must have wanted Peter to see it and think it as sexy as I did, but through all my fantasies I never pictured him removing it.
Maybe that was why I found it so exciting.Watching him so intent on his task, though his skin barely touched mine, I felt my heart begin to pound.
When he finished with the first stocking and dropped it to the floor, he gently shifted that leg aside and took up the other one.He repeated the unsheathing process, revealing more and more pale skin.Again, when my leg was bare, hedropped the stocking to the floor.This time, keeping my foot flat against his middle, he bent my knee out and ran his hand all along the inside of my leg.
With one leg on the other side of him and my knee as he’d bent it, I was completely exposed to his gaze.I found that, too, exciting.He made me proud of my body, proud to be a woman.When, of their own accord, my breasts began to swell with that pride, Peter looked their way.His gaze rose higher to my face, fell back to my breasts, then lowered to the most private of my feminine parts.
His thumb touched me, then his fingers.He opened me, stroked me, teased my secret flesh until it was hot and moist.By this time I’d turned my head against the intensity of the pleasure.When he suddenly slid his hands under me and up my back, then lifted me to face him, I opened my eyes.
