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her marriage, and though the hurt had been by default, the pain had
been real. Now, curled next to him, she was vulnerable again. He
rather liked that thought. He liked feeling responsible for her. The
only problem was that he wanted to make love to her there and then,
only he'd told her they'd talk.
Closing his eyes, he breathed in the sweet smell of her hair. Between
that and the soft feel of her body, the weight of her hand on his
chest, the bend of her knee over his, he was in an agony of bliss.
Faith felt something of what he did, but for different reasons.
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"This is so strange," she whispered.
"How so?"
"Being with you like this. We've known each other for so long. I keep
thinking we're doing something we shouldn't be doing."
"We're not."
"You sound sure."
"I am."
She sighed.
"Nice, to be so sure."
"You'd be sure, too, if you stopped thinking so much. Feel it.
Faith.
It feels right. "
It felt more than right to Faith, but what he said was true. She
thought too much. She wasn't used to relying on feelings.
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"I analyze things to death, I guess."
"Which is great for some things. It's one of the reasons you're such a
dynamite lawyer. You look at a case from every possible angle before
you decide on the best course of action, and you have to, because
judges and juries don't decide things by intuition. They need
arguments and facts. We don't."
But there were certain facts of which she was becoming increasingly
aware, such as the fact that when he spoke his deep voice rippled
through her, and the fact that his shoulder was just broad enough and
full enough to make a wonderful pillow, and the fact that the scent of
warm male after a day's work was surprisingly exciting.
Mostly she was aware of the fact that she wanted him. She might have
joked about stripping and doing it, but there must have been a little
wishful thinking in the joke. The more she relaxed against him, the
more she tightened up inside.
Reflecting her thoughts. Sawyer shifted his lower body.
Faith tipped back her head and looked at him. The new log had
brightened the fire, still his expression wasn't easily read. His eyes
were dark, his lips firm, but it was only when the flames danced up
with a sudden snap and a sizzle that she was able to see tiny lines of
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tension.
"Don't look at me that way," he whispered, not once taking his eyes
from hers.
"I'm trying."
"Trying what?"
"Not to take you right now. I said we'd talk."
"Why did you say that?"
"Because I want you to know that what's between us isn't only sex."
Faith knew that.
"We've been good friends for a long time. You said it yourself--we had
a lot going for us before we ever tried sex."
"Still there's a lot to say. Friends say certain things, lovers say
others."
She kept looking at him. She wanted to say that she'd like to
experience the lover part again before they got into deep discussions,
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but that seemed wrong. After all, she'd been the one putting him
off.
"Help me. Faith," he growled.
"I'm trying, but it's not easy."
But she couldn't look away. She was intrigued by his features, so
carved and commanding, so taut with desire that she had trouble
believing she was the cause.
He closed his hand over hers on his chest. "Why do you look so
surprised?"
"I ... uh..."
He began to move her hand in widening circles.
"You don't believe that I want you?"
"I don't believe how much," she said guilelessly.
"Much. Very much." The circles edged lower as a wry grin pulled at
his mouth.
"And more by the minute." He had her hand at the snap of his jeans,
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but there the circles ended. After a minute's hesitation, he moved
their hands southward to cover the raised ridge of hard flesh that
pushed insistently against his fly.
Faith could barely breath. Vague glimpses of that other time, made
hazy by the wine she'd had, brought the recollection of heat and
length. But this was different. There was no haze, and the reality
straining against her palm was far more than a glimpse. Heat, length,
thickness, power--she was aware of all of those things as, with
agonizing slowness. Sawyer inched her hand over him. When she saw his
eyelids drift shut, even more when she heard the low, guttural moan
that he couldn't suppress, she realized that the power was hers as
well.
Shaping her fingers to better capture his strength in the stroking, she
levered herself up and sought his mouth. He gave it to her, along with
a wet, deep- seeking kiss that left her dizzy. It also left her far
removed from thoughts of sensible discussions. What she was feeling,
not only beneath her hand but deep inside her, was strong enough to
decide the matter. She and Sawyer were making love then and there.
Once they were done, they could talk.
She conveyed her decision to Sawyer by going in for a second kiss.
This one was even more involving, and by its end, she was flat on her
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back with him looming above her.
"Last chance," he said. His low voice vibrated with need. His dark
eyes were on fire from within.
"Last chance, Faith."
Again she answered without a word, this time flattening both palms on
his chest, running them up to his shoulders, then reversing direction
and sliding them down over his chest and belly until they met at his
burgeoning sex.
He moaned again, again helpless to hold it in, but he wasn't so
helpless that he didn't know the import of the moment. Making love
with Faith was going to be different this time than it had been before.
This time they were stone sober. They knew what they were doing and
why. And Sawyer knew that it had to be better than either of them
remembered it being, if they were to have a shot at the future.
He had to show her that when it came to sex, she was everything he'd
ever wanted.
That was actually the easy part, because it was true. He couldn't
control the hunger in his mouth when he kissed her, or his need to
repeat the kiss from one angle, then another. He couldn't control the
depths to which his tongue plunged in its search for hidden droplets of
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her sweetness. He couldn't control his need to nuzzle her neck, to
inhale her scent as though it were life-giving oxygen, to nudge aside
the crew neck of her sweater and nibble on her collarbone.
He told her of his pleasure in a myriad of wordless ways--in the
smokiness in his eyes when he cupped her breasts, the tremor of his
hands when he freed her from her sweater, the eagerness of his breath
when he explored her through her bra. Whispered words came when he
removed that wisp of lace and nuzzled her swollen flesh. He told her
how beautiful she was, how responsive, and he showed her by chafing the
pad of his thumb over her nipple until it was puckered and taut, then
taking the hardened nub into his mouth and drawing it deeply between
his teeth.
By this time she was holding tight to his shoulders, arching toward
him, taking short, shallow breaths, and it was easy to go on. He undid
her jeans and skinned them from her legs, then smoothed his hands over
her panties until they followed. As though he'd been stifled before,
when she was finally fully naked he couldn't touch her enough. With
broad sweeps of his hands he covered her body from top to bottom. His
palms were flatter over her throat, her hips, her legs;
his fingers curved around her breasts and lower, on the focus of her
womanly heat.
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No, showing her how precious she was was the easy part. The hard part
was restraining himself. At times he shook all over with the need for [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
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