Nocturnal Urges (Nocturnal Urges, Book One) by Elizabeth Donald

writhed beneath him, arching her back to bring her breasts closer to him. But he just teased her, his hand smoothing the skin across her abdomen, below the breasts, breathing hard against her chest but refusing to touch it. Her legs pumped beneath him, trying to draw him close.
    She lurched her head upward, trying to capture his mouth. But she missed in her darkness, and caught his ear instead. Passionately she sucked at it, and his hand tightened on her hip. He ground his hips against hers, still clad in rough jeans that chafed her tender skin in a delicious friction that went on and on.
    “Oh God, Duane, please,” she cried out. Her words dissolved into cries as his mouth descended between her breasts, licking and kissing the tender skin as he moved over to suck a hard, taut nipple into his mouth. He molded her nipple through the fabric, and then slipped it free. She felt the moist heat of his mouth take her breast in hard passion.
    She struggled against his restraining hand, wanting to reach down where his jeans remained in her way, to tear them apart and take his hardness in her hand, to bring him to her, to feel him within her. But he held her tightly, and the struggle itself was intoxicating and exciting.
    Duane’s hand slipped downward, beneath the thin nylon of her panties and groped her mercilessly, without preamble or finesse. His rough fingers made her cry out at sharp sensations spearing through her. He pulled and tugged, and her panties were gone.
    “God, Isabel, I can’t wait,” he said, finally releasing her hands as she heard his zipper go.
    “Duane, oh God, Duane,” she cried in her darkness. His weight pressed down hard on her, driving her into the mattress, and she felt his naked heat settle between her legs. She clutched at the small of his back, heedless of her nails digging into the skin, urging him onward as his breath, fast and hard, came hot on her neck.
    He thrust upward, hammering into her with force that made her cry out in mixed pleasure and shock. As always, there was a slight lessening of the passionate madness the moment he entered her, the actual sensation dampening the delicious tension that had built up. But he thrust again, hard and fast, and the tension built again, powerful and strong.
    She cried out and held him close, feeling his hard driving thrusts push her deep into the mattress. It seemed she could not get him deep enough into her, as though she would draw his entire body into her skin. Not just the deep hard heat of him penetrating between her thighs, she wanted to envelop all of him into her and fill that horrible emptiness with heat and passion and feeling .
    “Ryan, oh God,” she moaned, feeling him speed up, knowing he was close, that this hard passion could only be brought to explosion soon. She felt it beginning, almost insanely soon, as the frantic clapping beat of his sweat-soaked body slamming against her own skin sped to a pace nearly out of control.
    “Isabel,” he cried, jerking so hard she had to brace herself on his shoulders.
    Only another moment , she thought, and he thrust hard four more times in quick succession, hard fast powerful thrusts and she came, huge bursts of glorious throbbing ecstasy radiating out from her very skin, and she cried out again in wordless sounds of release.
    Just as she ebbed, Duane sped up again, hard and fast, crying out as he exploded, throbbing within her, his hands clutching the blanket on either side of her shoulders. She rode the waves with him, feeling his body begin to relax as his own passion waned within her, and it was almost as good as her own climax, feeling him within her.
    He lay there for a moment, and did not withdraw immediately. She started to reach up for the blindfold, and her hand froze in midair as it suddenly struck her.
    She had cried out beneath Duane. Cried out in passion.
    Cried out another name.
    Oh God.
    Had he heard? He was still hard inside her, beginning to soften. Was he just now realizing what