Retreat From Love by Samantha Kane Page A

between his sac and his hole. In his fantasy that hand and finger were encased in a beautiful pair of gloves and belonged to—

    Anne couldn’t sleep, again. Tonight it wasn’t shock and embarrassment keeping her awake, however. It was desire. Spending most of the day in Freddy and Brett’s company had brought Anne’s senses alive. Lying here in her lonely bed, she could still smell their cologne. She could still feel the heat of their bodies as they stood near her and the play of muscles in their arms as she held them.
    Their deep voices still echoed in her head. “I think you would still taste sweet, Anne,” Brett had whispered. And Freddy, with his rakish teasing. “I only know what you taste like in my dreams.” Did he dream of her then? How utterly marvelous that would be. Anne grinned like an idiot as she lay there and gave a little shiver of delight at the thought of Freddy and Brett dreaming of sex with her.
    What did men dream of? Kissing? Oh, Anne would like to kiss them. Brett’s mouth was wide, and his lips looked as if they’d been drawn with firm precision by the hand of a master. His upper lip came to two sharp points in a heavy bow above a lower lip that was plump in the middle. Anne wanted to trace that bow with the tip of her tongue and then suck on that juicy lower lip before she dipped her tongue into the cleft in his chin. She groaned and grabbed her pillow at the thought.
    And Freddy, God, that mouth. When he wasn’t smiling he looked…almost
    petulant. Just shy of too much. She wanted to see him pout. She wanted him to beg, actually. On his knees. Oh God. At the thought she felt her sex start to throb and tingle as it grew damp. Yes, she’d lean down where he kneeled at her feet and she’d rub her lips along his, just rub, until neither could take it anymore. And then she’d open her mouth and shove her tongue inside his mouth.
    Anne moaned and rolled onto her back again. What would he taste like? She
    thought Freddy would taste dark, spicy. She rather thought Freddy’s kisses would be demanding. He ran deep, although she doubted few people realized it. He seemed so young and carefree, but his eyes and the width of his shoulders belied that. Mmm, his 46
    Retreat From Love
    shoulders. Anne imagined licking a path across his upper back. Her insides heated up and she felt more liquid dampen her slit.
    Brett would taste sweet. So sweet. He tended to be taciturn on the outside, but she’d seen the tenderness inside. His kisses would be soft. His chiseled lips would caress, and beg permission before he softly ate at her mouth. He would take his time with kisses.
    Just the thought of kissing them had Anne on fire. She threw off the covers and yanked her night rail up to her hips, and then she ran her fingers through her damp curls until she found the entrance to her body. She slid a finger inside and immediately imagined it was one of theirs. Freddy’s fingers were slender, long and graceful. But no, it wasn’t Freddy’s hands that had driven her to distraction today. No, Freddy would watch. But the finger filling her, fucking her, was thick and calloused, spreading her wide and rubbing so roughly inside. She was a glove, hugging that finger, hugging—

    Brett sat up in bed, his head in his hands. He couldn’t stop thinking about them! He pulled his hair in frustration. This would get him nowhere, this constant fantasizing.
    He’d nearly embarrassed himself today walking down the lane with Freddy and Anne.
    He sighed. There was no fighting it. And why should he, here? In his own
    bedchamber? Who was there to see? To censure? Slowly Brett reached under his pillow and pulled out Anne’s old glove. He hadn’t returned them to her today. He would have if she’d asked, but she’d forgotten about them. He took the one he’d stretched this morning and slowly worked his fingers back into it, this time not stopping until his whole hand was encased in the old, softly worn leather. He brought