Forsaking All Others (13 page)

“Not with the right person.”

He kissed her left eyelid closed, then her right.

“Don’t,” she breathed.

As if she hadn’t spoken, he wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides in the strong circle of his own. He leaned to kiss her neck. Her
eyelids remained closed as she dropped her head to the side.

“Don’t,” she whispered raggedly.

But his lips moved to hers while he held her with one arm, peering past her cheek as he turned off the oven. Continuing to control her movements with his own, he opened the oven door while pulling her two steps away to make room for its downward swing.

“Don’t.”

Keeping his arm around her, he leaned to pick up a potholder from the top of the stove, then bent her over half backwards, half sideways, while he got the pizza out of the oven and set it on a burner.

The heat on the backs of her legs was nothing compared to that springing through her body as she repeated weakly, “Don’t.”

He manipulated her at will, dipping to reach the oven door and close it again before marching her slowly backwards in his arms across the kitchen, kissing her all the way. He stopped to turn off the dining room light, but didn’t stop kissing, only opened his eyes and peered across her nose to find the light switch and snap it down while she mumbled with her lips pressed against his, “Don’t.”

He danced her backwards with slow, deliberate pushes of his thighs against hers, kissing her now open mouth as they progressed across the dining area
toward the living room. He released her arms, found them with his hands, and forced them up over his shoulders, still walking her inexorably backwards while her body tingled and strained against him with each step.

At the stereo he dipped again, punched a button, then let his eyelids drift closed, kissing her while his tongue delved deep into her mouth, all the while idly playing the radio dial across the scanner until he’d found something soft and vocal with a guitar background. Her arms were now looped around his neck without resistance, and her words were nearly unrecognizable, spoken as they were with her tongue pressed flat against his: “Don’t . . . waste . . . so . . . much . . . time.”

He smiled, devouring her mouth while his hands slid down to her buttocks, pressing their shifting muscles as he hauled her step by agonizingly slow step to the light switch by the entry door. After he’d fumbled for it behind her back, his hand returned to her buttocks. He held her firmly against him in the dark until neither of them seemed able to strain close enough against the other. His thighs pushed against hers again, and she took a faltering step back to feel something solid against her shoulder blades. Wedged between his warm flesh and the wall, her breath came in onslaughts as he pressed his hips against hers, moving in sensual circles until she responded, beginning to move, too. Her shirt
went sliding out of her jeans as he pulled it up with both hands, easing away from her with all but his mouth, which continued plundering in welcome attack. Behind his neck she unbuttoned her cuffs. He sensed what she was doing, stopped kissing her, and leaned his forearms on the wall beside her head.

“Unbutton the rest of it for me,” he begged, his voice gravelly with emotion while his breath whisked her lips. With scarcely a pause, her trembling fingers moved to the top button. He leaned his head low in the dark, feeling with his mouth to see if she was doing as he asked. When the first button was free, his lips pressed warmly against the skin inside, above the bra. She hesitated, lost in delight as the touch of his tongue fell on her flesh. Then, keeping his palms pressed flat on the wall, he bent his head even lower, nudging her fingers to the next button, which opened at his wordless command. This time when he pressed his lips inside he met the small embroidered flower at the center of her bra. He breathed outward gently, warming her skin beneath the garment, sending shivers of desire to the peaks of her breasts. When at last her blouse hung completely open, he ordered in a husky whisper, “Now mine,” hovering so close his breath left warm, damp dew on her nose.

She reached out in the dark, exploring the front-button band of his shirt running down its length. When her hand reached the waistband of his jeans he
sucked in a hard, quick breath and jerked slightly. With both hands she explored his hips, just above the tight cinch of waistband. He was hard, honed, not a ripple of flesh that shouldn’t be there. When her hands reached the hollow of his spine, she slowly tugged his shirttails out.

“Allison.” His voice was thick and throaty. “How I’ve wished for this.”

“And how I wanted to wish, but I was afraid.”

“Are you always this slow?” came his gruff question at her cheek, and in the dark she smiled.

“Mmm-hmm, I like it slow.”

“Me too, but I can’t wait any long . . .” The last word was swallowed up by her mouth as his came against it while he speedily loosened his remaining buttons.

He laid his warm hand inside the open neck of her shirt, caressing her throat before pushing the garment back from her shoulders to fall to the floor behind her. His arms slid around her ribs, fingers testing their way to the clasp of her bra. It came away in his hands, leaving her half naked, eager for the caress of his palm upon her bare flesh. He stepped back, taking the bra down her arms, and in the dark she heard a rustle as he tucked it into his hind pocket. She waited, breath caught in her throat, for the return of his touch, expecting a warm cupping of her breast.

But he, too, seemed to be hovering in wait.

She reached out a tentative hand, seeking texture, seeking warmth, remembering the look of him standing in the studio, straight, erect, with his shirt off, while she assessed his almost square chest muscles studded with lightly strewn hair as pale in color as a glass of champagne, the light refracting off them as if caught in champagne bubbles.

Her hands now found what they sought, sensitive fingertips fanning across the hard muscles, the soft hair, the firm skin that shuddered beneath her touch, surprising her.

“Richard Lang,” she murmured, almost as if to remind herself she was here, that it was he whose skin had just reacted so sensuously to her touch.

An almost pained sound came raspily from his throat while he scooped her against him, coaxing her bare breasts to his half-exposed chest. His lips and tongue swooped down again, working their magic as he pulled her away from the wall and took her with him, this time stepping backwards himself, feeling her legs brush his as she followed his lead.

In front of the stereo he stopped, studying her face by the dim light radiating from the face of the dial. Scant though it was, Allison could make out the outline of his features, the points of light caught in his eyes as he wrestled his shirt off, then draped it across the top of the closed turntable. He stood away from Allison, reaching first to touch her eyebrows while her lids lowered and a
shudder possessed her body. His fingertips trailed over her cheeks, touched her lips, then after what seemed an eternity, found her waiting breasts.

She opened her eyes languorously. His were cast down, watching his hands. She, too, followed his glance to witness long fingers gently adoring, caressing, exploring, while beside them a voice sang, “It was easy to love her, easier than whiling away a summer’s day . . .”

He touched her with tentative reserve, almost a reverence, until she could stand it no longer and covered the backs of his hands with her own, pulling his palms full and hard against her, twisting repeatedly at the waist to abrade his palms with the side to side brushing of her nipples, all hard and eager and tightened into little knots of desire.

“Allison . . .” he uttered, and dropped to one knee, reaching his mouth up to cover the hardened peak with his lips and suckle it with his tongue. “You’re beautiful.”

She felt beautiful as his words washed over her and a strong forearm pulled her hips against the fullest part of his chest. Her head fell back weakly, a soft sound of abandon issuing from her throat while she undulated slowly against him, brushing, brushing, with light strokes that moved her in sensual rhythm. She ran languid fingers through his hair, lost in sensation, while he moved his mouth to her other breast and took its nipple gently between his teeth, tugging lightly before circling
it with his tongue, sending shivers of desire coursing through her body.

The song on the radio changed, and as if to verify the softly uttered confidences of minutes ago, a feminine voice crooned about wanting a man with a slow hand.

And a slow hand it was, slow and sensual and arousing Allison’s passions until her breathing grew labored and her limbs felt as if she were moving against swift water.

Rick was on his feet again, moving against her in the age-old language of rhythm and thrust, compelling her hips to seek a mate. He backed away, guiding Allison to the soft cushions of the wicker sofa, leading her by a wrist, then urging her down with the gentle pressure of his hands on her shoulders until she lay on her back while he knelt on the floor beside her.

A strong hand found the hollow beneath her jaw, while his other one slipped behind her head, controlling the kiss that moved from mouth to nose to eyes, questing, testing. When Rick’s mouth found hers again, his tongue slipped within, riding against hers in rhythm to the music, the song’s sensual words underlining their feelings about this act they were sharing.

While his left hand remained buried in her hair, his right traveled down the center of her bare stomach, following the zipper of her jeans until he cupped the warmth between her legs, pressing, pressing, unable to
press hard enough to satisfy either of them, exploring through tight, restrictive denim until she raised one knee and her hips jutted up, bringing her body hard and thrusting against his touch.

Lowering his mouth to her breast, he continued his exploration, pressing the heel of his hand against the mound of flesh hidden yet from him, delighting in her response as small sounds of passion came from her throat, and she strained upward with arousal and the need for more. He kissed the hollow between her ribs, burying his face in the wider hollow just above her waistband, feeling the driving beats of her breath as her stomach lifted his face time and again.

He raised his head. With one tug, the snap of her jeans gave, and she fell utterly still, not breathing, not moving, but waiting . . . waiting. The rasp of the zipper seemed to match the sound of Rick’s strident breathing.

When his palm slipped inside, against her stomach, pent-up breath fell from Allison in a wild rush, and she flung one arm above her head while wholly giving over the control of her body to him. His hand slid lower, fingers delving inside brief, silken bikinis until they brushed flattened hair and moved beyond, contouring her flesh, seeking, finding, sliding within the warm wet confines of her femininity. Her ribs arched high off the cushions as he began a slow, rhythmic stroking to which her body answered.

She lowered the arm from above her head, seeking to
know him in the dark, then rolled slightly toward him and found his hot, hard body, while he knelt with knees spread wide, ready. He made a guttural sound deep in his throat, and she caressed him more boldly, learning the shape of him through his jeans. He leaned to nuzzle her neck, and as his nipple touched hers she could feel the torturous hammering of his heart against her own.

The moments that followed were a rapturous swirl of sensation as they pleasured each other with touches. There no longer seemed a need for lips to join. Only their cheeks rested lightly against each other while they savored this bodily prelude and honed their senses to a fine edge.

He was so different from Jason, unrushed and sensitive to her every need. “You like that?” he whispered against her breast, laughing deep in his throat when she answered, “Yes, do it again.” He washed the entire orb of her breast with his tongue again, wetting all of its surface until shivers radiated across the aroused skin.

He slid his lips to the corner of her mouth. “Lift up,” he whispered, hands at her hips. And in the next moment, both denim and satin were down around her hips, then gone, whispered away from her ankles. His hands deserted her body, and she listened to the rustle, snap, and zip as he freed himself in like manner, found her hand, and once again led it to him.

He leaned over, burying his face in the warm hollow of her waistline as a shudder overcame him and he held
her wrist, guiding her to stroke his velvet sleekness. Then they were lost in each other, in the moving, touching, and trembling. They reveled in the taking and giving of sensory delights while the darkness whispered their intimacies. Time had no limits as they explored with slow ease, thrilling to the realization that they had found each other. Somehow, in this wide world of countless souls, theirs had managed to meet and strike a chord of kindred need and compatibility.

They felt rich and blessed, at times awed that they should be this lucky. They were, in those minutes, open and unencumbered, hiding neither the passion to give nor the pleasure in taking, extending the anticipation of the final blending until their bodies writhed and burned.

But soon the heat and height grew too great for Rick. “Allison, stop . . . stop . . .” He grabbed her wrist and pinned it above her head, pulled in a deep, shuddering breath and lay his hips just beside hers. “I’m outdistancing you, darling,” he whispered thickly, “but there’s no hurry, we have all night.” He kissed her eyelid, the side of her nose, continuing his silken arousal of her even while temporarily denying himself fulfillment. Again his mouth was at her breast, teeth, tongue, and lips sending ripples of impatience radiating everywhere. The tumult he’d started rumbled close to the surface—higher, higher, until Allison’s head arched back, her body now moving to meet his velvet touches. Through clenched teeth she whispered a single word, “Please . . .”
knowing he would stop, leaving her at the brink of that hellish heaven where her body would be exposed in its most vulnerable state.