He had to admit: the biology of his male mind had gone beyond thought. He stood still as she leaped back up, ran to the bedroom door and locked it. But when he would have questioned her, he never got the chance. She made a running leap to him, arms and legs locked around him, knocking him back down to the bed.
And there, breathless, they began a disorganized and frantic removal of clothing, she tearing at his buttons, he lifting the hem of her knit pullover, both of them using their feet to try to remove their shoes. When clothing was cast away at last, they stared at one another, breathing heavily again, and then his hands were on the firmness of her breasts and she was locked around him again, fingers upon his chest, kissing against his throat, his collarbone, his chest. In a tangle they kissed and petted and explored, and at length he found himself straddling her, feverish, his longing to be a good lover waging war with his desperation to be inside her.
She dragged his mouth down to hers and wrapped her legs around his hips. He forced himself to a certain finesse as he slid slowly into her. At first he was aware of nothing at all but the incredible scent of her body, of the amazing movement, of being with her at last, forceful, his urgency matched by her own, the eager vitality and need of their lovemaking akin in an undulating motion like the ocean in a tempest. She writhed against him, increasing his arousal to a maddened frenzy, as if he were an adolescent, as if life and the state of the world rested in her touching him in return, coming to the same state of wild, frenetic ecstasy.
As if he had been waiting all of his life.
He didn’t know how many minutes went by; time was meaningless. He didn’t know where they were anymore, nor did he care. He moved and moved, and felt as if he moved deeper into her with each touch, and it seemed that his heart and limbs would explode in a savage burst of fire that would consume the world. He refused these feelings in his mind, refused in his soul to let go, until he felt the eruption in the softness of her body, the sweet feminine cry in his ear…and then climax wracked through him with a vengeance.
Ripples, afterquakes, seemed to rip through them both as they lay panting, no words coming to their mouths, and still, he knew, if he tried to speak, he would be too breathless to do so. He didn’t want to speak, to think of time gone by, of the distance that lay between their real worlds. It was best just to take these moments, the darkness and shadows around them, and pretend that the feeling could last forever.
In time, she stirred. “Liam, I didn’t mean…”
“That was pretty good if you didn’t mean it,” he teased.
She laughed, lying against him, her fingers then playing down his chest. “I didn’t mean that…that I expected anything from you, you know.”
“Oh?” he said, heart thundering.
She laughed. “I didn’t mean it that way! I meant…things like that are so easy to say. I’ve always cared about you, and I think we would have, and…”
“I think so, too. And it was really a long, long time for all that tension to build up!” he told her.
She was so relaxed. It was homecoming as it should have been.
Homecoming to him.
No sadness, no fear.
Just the easy laughter and honesty that been theirs once when they’d been so young.
“Liam—”
He pressed his fingers against her lips. “Let’s take tonight, hmm?” he queried softly. Tenderly now, and with time and care, he pressed his lips to her forehead, to her throat and to her lips. “It was a lot of tension, you know. Tons of tension, and…”
She didn’t seem to mind. She was slow and lazy then, just as he pressed his point in an achingly slow and thorough manner. She did the same. He explored the length of her body, luxuriating in the perfection of each limb, the incredible sleekness of her skin, the wonder of her breasts, belly, calves, thighs and everything in between. And she in turn teased with an erotic touch that was equally slow and taunting, with whispered words against his flesh, until neither could bear it any longer and they became entangled in one another’s arms again, her legs locked around him, his heart thundering to a roar and his breath as frantic as a man deprived…for years.
He never stirred from the bed. He wasn’t about to suggest that he go home.
She never seemed to think about him leaving, either.
The moon was full out; it was what they called the wee small hours of the morning.
And still, of course, it was Key West. Some places were just closing. There were still those stumbling around on Duval Street. Workers—servers, managers, musicians—many cold sober, would be annoyed at those who drank themselves silly and had to be carried home by others.
Soon the sun would begin to rise.