Adam by Joan Johnston

as he asked, and an instant later Tate was naked. She hid her face in his shoulder, suddenly shy with him.
    Adam’s arms slipped around her. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, sweetheart,” he teased.
    â€œThat’s easy to say when you’ve got clothes on,” she retorted.
    Adam laughed. “That can be easily remedied.”
    He reached between them and unsnapped his jeans. The harsh rasp of the zipper filled a silence broken only by the sound of her labored breathing, and his.
    Tate grabbed Adam’s wrist to keep him from pulling his zipper down any more. “Not yet,” she said breathlessly.
    She couldn’t help the nerves that assailed her. Adam seemed to think she knew what to do, and perhaps she had led him to believe it was so, but she was all too aware of her ignorance—and innocence.
    He dragged the zipper back up but left the snap undone. “There’s no hurry, sweetheart. We have all night.”
    Tate shivered—as much from a virgin’s qualms as from anticipation—at the thought.
    Adam settled her hands at his waist and lifted his own to gently cup her face. He angled her chin so that she was looking up at him. “You’re so damn beautiful!” he said.
    â€œYour eyes.” He kissed them closed.
    â€œYour nose.” He cherished the tip of it.
    â€œYour cheeks.” He gave each one an accolade.
    â€œYour chin.” He nipped it with his teeth.
    â€œYour mouth.”
    Tate’s eyes had slipped closed as Adam began his reverent seduction. She waited with bated breath for the kiss that didn’t come. Suddenly she felt herself being lifted into his arms. Her eyes flashed open in alarm.
    â€œAdam! What are you doing? Where are we going?”
    He was already halfway down the hall to his room when he said, “I want the pleasure of making love to you for the first time in my own bed.”
    Tate had peeked into Adam’s bedroom, but she had never been invited inside. It was decorated in warm earth tones, sandy browns and cinnamon. She had remembered being awed by the sheer size of his bed. The antique headboard was an intricately carved masterpiece, and the spindles at head and foot nearly reached to the ten-foot ceiling.
    The quilt that covered the bed was an intricate box design Tate had never seen before, but the craftsmanship was exquisite. Tate grabbed Adam around the neck to keep from falling when he reached down to yank the quilt aside, revealing pristine white sheets.
    â€œNow we can relax and enjoy ourselves,” he said.
    Adam laid her on the bed and in the same motion used his body to mantle hers. He nudged her legs apart with his kneesand settled himself against her so that she was left in no doubt as to the reason he had brought her here.
    â€œWhere did you get this bed?” Tate asked, postponing the moment of ultimate truth.
    â€œIt’s a family heirloom. Several generations of my ancestors have been conceived and born here.”
    But not my own , Adam thought. Never my own .
    Tate felt the sudden tension in his body. “Adam?”
    Adam’s features hardened as he recalled what had happened over the past week to cause him to be here now with Tate. She had made her choice. And he had made his. He wanted her, and she was willing. That was all that mattered now.
    Adam’s kiss was fierce, and Tate was caught up in the roughness of his lovemaking. There was nothing brutal about his caresses, but they were not gentle, either. His kisses were fervent, his passion unbridled, as he drove her ruthlessly toward a goal she could only imagine.
    Tate was hardly aware when Adam freed himself of his clothes. She was so lost in new sensations that the feel of his hard naked body against hers was but one of many delights. The feel of his hands… there . The feel of his lips and tongue… there .
    Tate was in ecstasy bordering on pain. She reached with trembling hands for whatever part of