JanesPrize by Margrett Dawson Page A

whispered. “Close to me.”
    She set her hands on his shoulders. Little
darts of electricity seemed to tease his muscles. A deep ache clamped on his
groin.
    He felt her shiver. His hands smoothed her
back, feeling the structure of her body, the firmness of her spine, the swell
of her hips. It was unbelievable. He’d known her such a short time. He breathed
in her scent and savored her softness, her warmth against him. He was starting
to think this should last forever.
    He might love the feel of her, of her skin,
her face, her breasts, her lips, but he also savored the sound of her voice as
it caught in her throat. He treasured the glint of excitement in her eyes that
seemed to set a spark to his male ego, provoking a pulsing, desperate arousal
that must be satisfied.
    The insatiable drumming in his groin
threatened to take over his brain. A mist floated over his eyes and he could
see nothing clearly, could only feel. His mouth found hers and he tasted the
sweetness, sensed the fragility of her bones. All he wanted was to lie over
her, to feel her yield as she had done before, letting him into her, taking him
deep inside her, making murmurs of desire and contentment.
    He pulled her shirt up and let his fingertips
flutter against the muscles of her back.
    She pulled her mouth from his. “I want
you,” she whispered, meeting his eyes, echoing his own thoughts, making his
heart leap.
    He stepped back and ripped at his shirt. “I
think you said that once before. And my answer’s the same—not half as much as I
want you.”
    Suddenly they were both moving, shedding
clothing until they were naked. He stretched out his arms for her but she did
not move into them. She stood, feet slightly apart, letting him gaze his fill
at her breasts, her waist, the flare of her hips, the soft curls concealing her
mound. With one fingertip, he traced the line of a blue vein in her breast to
where it met her nipple. The brown bud puckered and stood out. He smiled.
“Nice,” he whispered.
    She shuddered but still did not move.
    He dropped to his knees and ran his hands
up her legs. He felt the slight tremor in her muscles and his cock hardened
even more. He seized her wrists and held her firm as he pleasured her with his
mouth and tongue. The world faded. Every thought was gone, save for the silky
warmth of her skin under his fingertips. He touched the tip of his tongue to
the sensitive spot between her legs and she quivered again and moaned. The
insides of her thighs were moist with her juice. He sucked the nub of her clit
between his lips and held her a prisoner of his mouth and hands. She arched her
spine and threw back her head, widening her stance to give him more access to
her dark, soft places.
    He released her hands and grasped the
mounds of her buttocks, still sucking on her clit. He felt her hands on his
head, her fingers in his hair, pulling him even tighter against her.
    This woman filled him with wild, wanton
ideas of what he would like to do to her and at the same time made him think of
gentleness, loving-kindness and sweetness.
    She uttered another sound deep in her
throat and he tasted another rush of creamy liquid. He dug his fingers into the
crease between her cheeks and at the same time released the tender flesh of her
clit from his mouth. She groaned again and he blew delicately onto her heat,
following it with a featherlike caress with his tongue. As if he had touched a
match to a tinderbox, she exploded, the orgasm pushing her vulva against his
mouth again, making her legs shake and her whole frame tremble. He held her on
her feet while the storm swept over her until she sagged over him, spent and
weak.
    He stood and swept her into his arms and
turned toward the bed. She clung to him, her face pressed to his chest, one arm
draped over his shoulder.
    In the small room, it was a bare two
strides to the bed. He fell with her onto the tangled sheets, already scented
with their lovemaking.
    She snaked the fingers of one hand