These Arms of Mine

by Judy Lynn Hubbard

  “Cam asked me to give you something.”

  “What?” Why in the world was he talking about Cam at a time like this?

  “This.”

  His hands threaded themselves into her thick hair and lifted her head slightly off the pillows, forging his lips with hers. He kissed her in a way that should have been illegal and probably was. There was no way she could fail to respond to the sensual assault, and she offered no resistance. Rather, she capitulated without thought or question.

  Her lips melted against the incinerating heat of his, her tongue responding to the insistent pressure of his. He laid her head back on the pillows and his body half covered hers as he continued to devastate her with his mouth.

  His hands moved to her shoulders, easing the thin straps of her gown down as his fingers explored her creamy, burning flesh. His lips slid from her mouth to her chin, gently biting into her burning skin before moving down her silky throat to rest in the valley between her full breasts.

  Her breathing increased rapidly at his touch, and a familiar ache began slowly spreading through her abdomen at his increasingly ardent caresses. He pulled the gown down to reveal her breasts and blew his warm breath onto one of her nipples, which stiffened in response. She moaned as he pulled her swollen flesh into his mouth—his tongue and teeth ravaging her softly scented skin.

  His wandering hands moved to pull the gown farther down her quivering body, from her stomach to her hips, as he continued to devour her with increasingly ardent caresses. Her hands moved to his shoulders, pressing closer to his body as he continued to ignite her with his fiery touch.

  She began to moan, wantonly craving his total possession. She clung to him openly, her own hands exploring his rippling back, pressing him tightly against her throbbing body. At times his caresses hurt, at others they soothed—yet, always they pleased and inflamed.

  He raised his head to lightly touch his lips to hers, and she dazedly realized that she no longer wore her gown. Their bare, heated bodies now touched intimately. She waited for his kiss, and when it didn’t materialize, she opened her glowing eyes to encounter the smiling yet darkly excited depths of his as he stared down at her.

  “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

  His question was whispered against her lips as his mouth touched hers again and again—refusing to satisfy her by thoroughly claiming what she so readily offered. Why did he have to make her verbalize what was so evident by her actions? Her body arched against his convulsively as his hands trailed down her sides to rest on her firm buttocks, pressing her feverish body closer still to his own hard length, making her wholly aware of his need for her.

  “Do you?” He persisted when she remained silent, running his tongue along the outline of her lips.

  Aching pleasurably all over, she still held back admitting what he already knew. He sought her complete capitulation—mentally and physically—and she didn’t have the strength to resist him.

  “Why do you have to make me say it?” Her desire-laden voice was barely above a whisper.

  “Because I need to hear it, and you need to admit it.”

  He took her lower lip between his teeth, pulling at her flesh slightly as his strong hands slowly slid up her body to rest at her waist. She moaned aloud, her fingers moving to the back of his head, pressing him closer.

  As she pulled his lips to hers, she hissed into his mouth, “No—God help me—I don’t want you to leave me alone.”

  At her admission, his smile deepened before her eyes closed and his lips claimed hers in a scorching kiss. She couldn’t think or breathe—all she could do was feel. He sent the blood coursing through her veins boiling out of control with every touch. There wasn’t a part of her that didn’t belong to him and she was unashamedly glad about that.

  She decided then and there to accept their mutual desire and try to make the best of their complicated relationship—while it lasted. She would focus on his being a man, her being a woman and on their sharing the basic needs, even though she reluctantly conceded that she wanted much more than that from him. But did he want more from her?

  He rolled onto his back suddenly, taking her with him so that she was lying on top of him. His hands intertwined in her hair, withdrawing her clinging lips from his reluctantly. He smiled at her dazed, questioning expression.

  “Touch me.” At his soft command, he sensed rather than saw the rush of color that flooded her cheeks as she lowered her eyes demurely. “Alesha.” His insistent calling of her name made her to look at him again. “Touch me.”

  As if spellbound by his tone and his request, she brought her hand up and ran her fingers lightly over his cheek. It was not long before she had memorized every curve, every line of his handsome face. She lowered her head and her lips and tongue slowly followed the path her fingers had left behind. She inhaled deeply at his neck, intoxicated by the clean smell of his flesh. She couldn’t believe she was doing this—wanting and needing to do this. It was as if she were outside her body, watching someone else. She was unable to stop her investigation of his body, though, because what she was doing felt too good to end.

  Her fingers lightly touched his chest before threading themselves in the short hair she found there, tugging lightly. His quick intake of breath told her she must be doing something right. She raked her long nails down the length of his chest before bringing them back up again. Then she lowered her head, tasting his salty flesh, slowly covering his chest and abdomen with wet kisses—thoroughly enjoying herself. Her tongue licked his lower stomach, sliding in and out of his belly button, but she was still too inhibited to explore any further, and though he longed for her to, he refrained from demanding more than she was able to give.

  After several moments longer, she raised her head and lowered her lips toward his. As they touched, he started to take control of the kiss, but resisted the urge. He wanted her to realize she could arouse him and initiate intimacy instead of just responding to his advances. As her eyes stared deeply into his, her mouth continued its descent until their lips touched. Her hair fell over her face and his as she opened her mouth over his, kissing him amorously. His hands cupped her face, holding her closer as she continued to kiss him with mounting passion.

  Her hands moved to cover his as they rested on her face, moving them to her breasts before moving her own to frame his face as they continued to kiss. He groaned at her initiative, his hands moving from her breasts to her hips, lifting her slightly before bringing her back down to engulf him totally.

  She gasped and straightened to stare at him with passion-glazed eyes. His hands showed her how to please him and herself—for several long wonderful minutes she was in control of their passion and she reveled in it.

  Suddenly, unable to bear her sweet torture another second, he reared up and rolled until she was beneath his hard, throbbing body and he took control of their passionate dance.

  “You feel so good,” he breathed into her mouth as his body bombarded hers.

  She wanted to tell him he felt good, too, but coherent words eluded her. So, she just moaned in agreement. Incredible pleasure began to fill and overflow from her burning body once again. Trembling hands moved to his back, holding him tight. She pressed against him and draped one of her legs over his in order to bring him deeper into her as she pulsed around him, intensifying the pleasure with his every thrust. Nothing else mattered except the wonderful wildfire racing through her veins and the sound of Derrick’s ragged, hoarse breath intermingling with hers. Nothing was important except the strong beating of his heart next to hers—nothing, except the rapture she experienced once again with him.

  The next morning, she awakened with a heavy weight on her chest, which she soon realized was Derrick’s head. One of his arms was draped casually across her waist, his eyes were closed and his breathing was even and steady, evidence that he was st
ill asleep.

  Her heart skipped several beats at the intimacy of their positions. She was tempted to awaken him, but stopped herself suddenly. Why would she choose a course of action she knew would lead to another passionate bout of lovemaking between them? As she gingerly smoothed a few tendrils of hair away from her eyes, she admitted that, even now, her body craved his. She should be exhausted, but she wasn’t. She was becoming an addict, and his body was the drug she now needed more than anything else in the world. And, like all addicts, she didn’t think she would be able to give him up until he nearly destroyed her.

  Softly, her fingers moved to trace the outline of his sleeping face, remembering the sweet love they had made together last night. There had been a blending, a sharing of emotions that each of them was powerless to stop. Once she would have been troubled by that. Instead, the knowledge now made her happy and hopeful. Her heart somersaulted as she fought the impulse to slide down level with his face, kiss him awake and once again experience a bit of heaven in his arms.

  She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly, enjoying the feel of him against her. She could lie here with him this close to her all day and never need to move. Her body had never felt so relaxed or so alive, nor had her soul. As her fingers lightly moved across his lips, she remembered the intense delight they had given her last night. She again fought against waking him so that she could experience the mind-boggling enjoyment she found only when they were pressed close as one. Despite her resolve not to, she silently admitted that she had lost a huge piece of her heart to him last night.

  Quickly, she reopened her eyes, fingers stilling their exploration of his handsome outline. God, what was she doing? How had she allowed herself to reach this point? She hadn’t meant to become emotionally involved with him again, and yet, against her better judgment, she had. It had been so easy and, what was more terrifying, she wasn’t the least bit sorry that she had.

  He was a good man and she was tired of fighting the fact that she needed and wanted him in her life. The real question was this: did he feel the same way about her? Once, she had been certain he had, but now, she didn’t know how he felt about her. He wanted her, but what did he think about them being together permanently? She finally knew what she wanted without a doubt, but what did Derrick want?

  Very slowly, she inched herself away from her husband’s warm, inviting body. He stirred several times before rolling away from her onto his side of the bed. She waited a few moments and then carefully got up so as not to awaken him and donned a thin robe over her naked form. Immediately, she missed the heat of his body as the coldness of the room engulfed her.

  Tiptoeing over to the thermostat, she adjusted it higher before walking quickly and quietly to the bathroom, softly closing the door behind her. Once there, she leaned against the door and let out a sigh, partly thankful that she had made it without waking him, and partly disappointed because she hadn’t. She then flipped the light switch and was glad to see that the power had returned overnight.

  Derrick lifted his head from the pillow and sat up in the bed. His fingers slowly retraced the spot on his face that Alesha had just caressed. He tamped down the urge to join her in the bathroom, realizing she needed some space and so did he.

  Even as his body longed for hers, he resisted fulfilling the desire that was never far from his mind when he thought of his wife. Even though they had just been married a few days and had some important issues to resolve between them, she felt much more like his wife than the woman who had held the title before her. There were questions he still needed answers to—answers only she could give him—and he would get those answers soon. He had to, because his feelings for her were growing astronomically. He didn’t know how to contain them. Did he even want to try?

  An hour later, Alesha placed a glass of orange juice next to the plate of steaming pancakes she had just prepared for herself and Derrick. She shivered as she looked out at the snow-covered terrain beyond the window, and walked out of the kitchen to the foot of the stairs.

  “Derrick, breakfast is ready,” she yelled.

  “I’ll be right down.”

  She turned, went back into the kitchen and sat down. She had just taken a sip of her juice when he came through the door dressed casually in a Washington Redskins sweat suit. He stopped by her chair to kiss her cheek, nearly causing her to spill her juice before sitting down opposite her.

  “Good morning.” He smiled and looked out at the snowy day. “It’s a good thing we don’t have to go out today.”

  “Yes, it is.” She watched him as he cut into a pancake and placed a large piece in his mouth—a mouth that had given her the most gratification she had ever known.

  “Mmm, this is delicious,” he said, breaking into her disturbing thoughts.

  “Thank you.”

  There was welcome silence as he continued to eat and she pretended to do so. She felt so odd, as if they were really a married couple enjoying a leisurely breakfast together. Of course, they were, but this was hardly an ordinary relationship, she firmly reminded herself. However, she wished it was. Suddenly, she wanted to talk to him about little things, to have him smile at her without mockery, to freely touch him and to feel…

  “Alesha?”

  “I’m sorry, what?” She reluctantly roused herself from her disquieting contemplation.

  He smiled then, that smile she hated—the one that said he knew exactly what she was thinking. Why did he seem to know her so well, at times even better than she knew herself?

  “I said you’re an excellent cook,” he slowly reiterated, razor-sharp eyes studying her flushed features.

  “Thanks.” She smiled slightly, a little embarrassed.

  “I missed you when I woke up.”

  His seemingly innocent sentence caught her off guard, making her drop her fork noisily onto the plate in front of her. She swallowed the lump in her throat and glanced up from her plate.

  She stared into his eyes as warm color began to flood her cheeks and stammered, “I—I, um, well, you were out so late and I wanted to let you sleep in.”

  He smiled that shrewd smile before replying, “I know what you wanted.”

  Her pupils dilated to twice their normal size. Had he been awake when she had caressed his face? Had he known she had almost awakened him with kisses and an invitation not for food, but for herself? At that thought, her discomfiture increased almost unbearably.

  “Would you like some more coffee?” She stood up, seeking an escape from his presence.

  “Alesha, don’t be afraid of me,” he said, grabbing her hand as she prepared to walk past him, halting her progress.

  “I’m not,” she whispered without looking at him.

  “Yes, you are,” he softly contradicted, pulling on her hand until she was sitting in the chair next to his, forcing her to meet his intense gaze. “You’re also afraid of yourself and of us,” he correctly surmised.

  “This is all so new to me.” She didn’t bother to deny his observation.

  “It’s new to me, too,” he assured her.

  “You were married before,” she reminded him, daring to glance into his understanding face.

  “Not like this,” he said quickly, surprising himself and pleasing her.

  “No?” Why did her heart skip a beat at his admission?

  “No,” he reiterated, refusing to elaborate. “It doesn’t have to be an unpleasant experience.”

  “It’s not,” she replied before she could stop herself, waiting for a sarcastic response that never came. Instead, he smiled at her more gently than he ever had. In doing so, he melted her heart.

  “And that’s what bothers you.”

  “Yes,” she replied truthfully, unable to look away from his irresistible eyes.

  His free hand moved to lightly touch her warm
cheek as he suggested, “Stop berating yourself for what you feel as far as we’re concerned.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  She couldn’t believe they were having a serious soul-searching conversation. It was a novel, yet welcome, experience.

  “Maybe it will help if you know that I feel the same way, too,” he admitted.

  “Do you?” Surprised eyes stared deeply into his warm ones.

  “Yes, I do.” He brought her hand to his lips. “We both know why we married, but what we have together is real—as real as it can get. There’s no shame in admitting that.”

  He was being so kind to her—she didn’t know what to say. This was the last thing she had expected when she had bared her soul. It added just one more layer of confusion to her already troubled heart.

  “It feels real.” She sighed softly.

  “It is real.” He traced the outline of her lower lip with his fingers. “We’re the only two people who will ever know what we feel when we’re together. I promise I won’t ever use that knowledge against you, or make you sorry for wanting me.”

  “You’re shattering all my evil illusions about you, Derrick Chandler.” Her voice was husky with emotion as she fought back tears his compassionate words evoked.

  “Good. You should have none when it comes to people. You should make up your own mind.”

  The smile he gave her was tender and, dare she think it, loving. She felt her heart melt even further at the look he gave her, and knew she was very rapidly losing her battle not to become any more emotionally involved with him.

  “You’re right.”

  “Let’s take it one day at a time,” he suggested.

  He continued to smile, not the smile she hated, but one she knew she could definitely learn to love.