“God, you’re so tight and sweet.” Keeping up that movement, he lifted enough to claim her breast again, suckling the nipple as he laid his hand over the collar, stretching her neck up farther, increasing the reminder of his possession, his claim. It knocked her over.
“Please…I can’t… May I…”
“Come for me.”
It rolled up hard and slow, like the richness of molasses, and when it took hold, it was so powerful he had to hold her still, keep her legs down and clasped together, making it that much more incredible. When he released at her pinnacle, it pushed her higher, so much pleasure at once. He captured her fierce cries in his mouth, his tongue plunging hard and deep like his cock. She clung to him, rocking with his body, making noises of need and yearning into his mouth, tugging on his hair as her body convulsed on his and the world changed irrevocably.
* * * * *
Coming down was as slow a process, for he kept kissing her mouth, her throat, her breast, moving inside her, though he let her legs slide outward to cradle him. That movement alone brought on an intense final spasm that had her clinging to him an extra, gasping moment. Lesser aftershocks continued for a long time afterward, as he cleverly kept drawing them out. While he did his sorcerer’s magic on her body, his gaze rarely left her face, that total attention she’d envied Dana for having with Peter. It was now a gift she’d won as well.
“You’re crying.” He placed open-mouthed kisses over every tear, nuzzled her ear, the line of her jaw. “Don’t cry, sweet girl.”
“They’re good tears, I think.” She reached up, traced his face. “You know, when other girls were dreaming about careers as veterinarians or dancers or equestrian jumpers, I only had one dream.”
“Tell me what it is, and I’ll make it happen.”
She smiled at that, even though it made her eyes brim again. “The big adventure I dreamed about was falling in love with someone and loving him with all my heart and soul, for the rest of my life. It was all I ever wanted.”
When those blue eyes filled with pleasure for her, his mouth a sensual curve, she saw what Dana had been trying to say. They only pick one. By some miracle, she was it for him.
“Part of the problem with trust is that you’re a fairy tale, Jon,” she whispered. “It’s hard to believe you’re real, when I’ve longed for you for so long, and convinced myself you’re a delusion I had.”
“I’ll change your mind about that.” He gave her buttock a pinch, hitching her leg more securely around his back. Her heel rested on his upper thigh, his firm ass beneath her calf, flexing as he shifted their bodies. “I’ll be the fairy tale and the reality. Shining armor one moment, underwear dumped outside the hamper the next. The best of both worlds.”
It made her smile, as she was sure he intended, and he framed her face in his hands, tender affection in his expression. “I believe there comes a time when, no matter what else has happened, your soul is ready to give yourself something you want, and you’re ready to accept it, your appreciation of it deepened by experience.” His serious blue eyes caressed her face. “I also believe that sometimes you’ve suffered enough, figured enough things out, that you earn something wonderful in this life. You don’t have to wait for it. You get your taste of afterlife now, full of everything you’ve always wanted. On the karmic scale, it means you’ve been very, very good.”
She closed her eyes, clasping his strong forearms. “Or it means God is very, very merciful.” She hadn’t believed that, not after Kyle’s death, but somehow, the love she was finding here told her she might find that faith again. Human tragedy might have taken her son from her, but he was in Love’s hands now. Maybe, wherever he was, he was happy and at peace. And maybe she could find the same in Jon’s hands.
“Oh, sweet girl.” He slid from her at last. Just as he’d done a remarkable few days ago, he turned them and curved around her, protecting, sheltering and caressing her at once, holding her pain and happiness in the same capable hands. “I’m here. And whether whatever we call God is merciful or not, I’m not going anywhere. You deserve everything I can give to you, and I want to give you the world.”
“I only want you,” she said softly. “If God lets me have that, then I won’t ask for more.”
The End
About the Author
I’ve always avoided interviews of favorite personalities because so often the person doesn’t measure up to the beauty of the art they produce. Their politics are distasteful, or they’re shallow and self-absorbed, a vacuous mophead without a lick of sense. From then on, though I may appreciate their craft, it has somehow been tarnished. Therefore, when I’m asked to provide personal info for readers, a ball of anxiety forms in my stomach as I think: “Okay, my next words may forever change the way someone views my stories.” Why does a reader want to know about me? It’s the story that’s important.
So here it is. I’ve been given more blessings in my life than any one person has a right to have. Despite that, I’m a Type A, OCD phobic paranoiac who worries I’ll never live up to expectations. I don’t like talking on the phone, I dread social commitments. Living in monastic solitude with my husband and animals, books and writing, is my idea of paradise. I love chocolate, but with that irrational female belief that weight equals worth, I keep it to a minor addiction. I adore good movies. I’m told I work too much. Every day is spent trying to get through the never-ending “to do” list to snatch a few minutes to write.
Despite all these mediocre and typical qualities, for some miraculous reason, these wonderful characters well up out of my soul with stories to tell. When I find that precious “stillness”, which calms all the competing voices in my head, I can step into their lives, hear what they are saying, what they’re feeling, and put it down on paper. It’s a magic beyond description, akin to believing my husband loves me, winning the trust of an abused animal, making a true connection with someone or knowing I’ve given a reader something special through those written words. It’s a magic that reassures me there is Someone, far wiser than myself, who knows the permanent path to that garden of stillness, where there is only love, acceptance and a pen waiting for hours and hours of uninterrupted, blissful use.