Sam’s tongue was in her mouth, sweeping over her teeth. He nibbled at her lip, filled his palm with her breast, kneading it, and then tucked his hand underneath her sweater. His rough skin against hers aroused her, made the tingling in her spread to all her limbs. She was aware of her body dampening, her pulse throbbing at her temples and in her groin. All her second thoughts washed away from her. No matter how they’d come together, no matter anything else, this felt right, as if she belonged on his lap before a fire, his hands on her body, his tongue in her mouth.
He shifted again, rolling onto his side, and putting Libby on her back before the fire. He moved over her, holding himself above her, taking her in, his gaze wandering all the way down to the socks on her feet, then up again, to the funky sweater she wore. With the palm of his hand, he moved slowly from her chest, over her breast, down to her belly, and to the top of her skirt. He kissed her softly on the hollow of her throat and moved his hand again, down to her knee, then up under her skirt, his fingers sliding up so softly that a shiver of anticipation ran deep into her veins.
He languidly caressed her inner thigh, stoking a fire deep in her groin. “This is crazy,” he said roughly. “You make me crazy. I don’t know what it is about you, but you make me crazy.” He kissed her neck and slid his fingers up between her legs, sliding over the silk of her panties.
His touch reverberated through every limb. She sighed as she thrust her fingers in his hair. Sam stroked her over the fabric of her panties, then dipped one finger beneath them, into the damp heat. She could feel his cock hard and long against her leg, and she imagined him sliding into her, his hips clenching with the effort to restrain himself. Her eyes fluttered shut at the erotic image, her thoughts devoid of anything but him and his touch, of the way he could tantalize her with just a stroke or swirl of his fingers.
Sam was kissing her wildly now, his finger sliding up and down and into her body, pushing her to the brink.
He moved again, this time pulling her up, his hands on her rib cage. Libby was quick to discard her clothing, baring her breasts to him. Sam made a sound of pure hunger as he took a breast into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the peak, his teeth lightly teasing her.
She heard panting—she was panting. She fumbled for the waistband of his jeans, desperate to feel him in her hands, and he was eager to oblige her. Through some feat of athletic prowess, he managed to keep his mouth on her while kicking off his jeans. He paused to remove his shirt, then shifted over her again, eagerly yanking at her skirt and panties, pulling them from her body.
Just looking at him made Libby shudder with desire. He was magnificent, his eyes shining hungrily in the gold light of the fire. His arms and chest were muscled and hard, his waist lean, his hips powerful. He began to stroke her again, his eyes locked on hers, his breath coming in long, deep draws. He hadn’t even made love to her and Libby was flying. She pressed against him, wanting more as a furious, demanding rhythm thrummed in her. He began to suckle her breast at the same time his thumb began to swirl around her clit.
Libby arched her back, her hands seeking his flesh and his cock, feeling it hard and hot in her hand. She circled him with her arms, lifted herself to his chest, then forced him down with her, bringing him to the ground and moving her legs so that he could nestle between them.
His body was damp with the perspiration of restraint. Libby’s blood simmered just beneath the surface of her skin, and each time his hand caressed her, she felt a ripple in her veins. She had passed the point of no return, had surrendered her heart to him.
Sam groaned as Libby swept her hands down his body; his mouth moved to her jaw, and he trailed a path with his tongue to the hollow of her throat, then down to kiss the crevice between her breasts. His kisses turned tender, his mouth soft and wet against her skin.
“This is not what I intended,” he said as he shifted between her legs, the tip of him against her wet opening.
“Me either.”
“I don’t know what to do with you,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he asked as he kissed her cheek and nuzzled her neck.
Beautiful. He thought she was beautiful. Libby smiled with pleasure. He had teased her body to a precipice, and she wanted to leap off that cliff, to fall with him. He lifted himself up, his gaze on hers as he slid into her, easing himself in, his strokes gentle and slow, lengthening. It was exquisite torture, so pleasurable, so maddeningly tantalizing. Libby adored the feel of him inside her, the way her body claimed him, drawing him in, and lifted her hips.