Gotta Have It

by Lori Wilde

  She straddled him, legs locked around his waist, her sweet sex pressed against his pelvic bone. His cock pulsated, aching to be inside. Abby rocked and her movements shook the bridge beneath them.

  The smooth stone vibrated.

  He was exalted. Her body was a goddesslike temple, something to revere and worship.

  Their desire escalated as the energy swirled and coalesced within and around them. They nibbled and suckled and licked each other, tasting the salt of their skin, listening to the huskiness of their ragged breathing, inhaling each other’s earthy scents.

  Durango felt as if he’d opened the sacred door to a treasured vault and the treasures were immense, but so was the price. Over the years he had carefully built his defenses.

  He’d told himself he didn’t need to belong to a place as hidebound and narrow-minded as Silverton Heights. He’d convinced himself he was a lone wolf who needed no one. He’d conned his own ego into believing he didn’t care what people thought of him.

  Stubbornly he’d clung to the landmarks of the independent trail he’d blazed. But what had helped him in the early stages of his life, had hurt him later on. He’d kept others at a distance, raising his guard.

  Paradoxically, he’d found safety in risk taking, found a sort of acceptance in defying the norm.

  But deep down inside, his equilibrium had been off. Something had always been amiss.

  Until now.

  Their lips navigated skin terrain with measured, meticulous gestures, stopping now and again to finger the definition of an erogenous zone, to pry and discover more and more layers of sensation.

  They whispered ramblingly to each other, lips muted against breasts, necks, belly grottos.

  She moaned slowly.

  He groaned loudly.

  The rock surface beneath the thin woolen blanket was hard but they did not notice.

  He kissed her nipples, massaged her breasts. She stroked his shaft, fondled his testicles. He licked a trail from her nipples down her taunt abdomen to her inner thighs. She quivered and grabbed his hands with both of hers.

  “Take me, Durango, take me now,” she begged.

  But he refused. “It’s too soon,” he whispered, and gently kissed her mouth.

  He wanted their joining to be the ultimate experience. For her, for him, for them both. But it pleased him to know he had roused her to such an agitated state that she was writhing and bucking against his lips. What could delight a man more than moving the woman he loves?

  If only he could bring her up here every night, to this level of rapture. Clasp her by the soul and escort her to that elongated instant of spontaneous ecstasy.

  She leaned over him, her breasts brushing provocatively against his chest, and kissed him. He inhaled her breath, warm as his own.

  Then she slipped down the length of his body and, before he had the presence of mind to stop her, she wrapped her hot, willing mouth around him.

  “No,” he insisted, and tenderly raised her chin, forcing her to look at him. “If you do that I won’t last five seconds.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I do. I want us both to come together.”

  “What next?” she asked, breathlessly panting as their gazes feasted on each other.

  He gave her his best, wicked, lopsided grin. “It’s time,” he said, “for the swing.”

  11

  THEY WERE IN A SEX SWING.

  Suspended fifty-five feet above the earth. The swing was attached to strong cables anchored into the rock with heavy bolts and a series of pulleys. They were also wearing climbing harnesses that were attached to both the bridge and either side of the stone canyon walls.

  Durango was an expert climber. For years he had been engaging in extreme sports. He knew exactly what he was doing. There was no way they would get hurt.

  Abby knew this was going to be the most erotically charged experience of her life.

  Durango was lying back in the rope swing in a semireclining position, Abby straddling him. The individual nylon climbing harnesses snugged around both of their waists.

  Every time she moved, the swing rocked.

  It was an indescribable sensation.

  Pushing with her knees against the rope, she sent the swing moving faster. She felt daring and dangerous, passionate and vibrant. At long last, she truly knew who she was.

  She was a woman who seized life by the throat and squeezed every ounce of opportunity from it. She’d spent too many years hiding from herself. She had a lot of catching up to do.

  “Easy, Angel,” Durango said. “For a woman who used to hate rocking the boat, you’ve taken quite a fancy to rocking this swing.”

  “It feels like utopia. Nothing below us, nothing pressing on us. Just you and me and nature and the vortex. Swinging and swirling and swaying.”

  “Don’t forget the rope and the harnesses and the cables. While I’ve made certain the riggings are secure, we are engaging in an extreme sport.”

  “Think it will ever become an event in the Olympics?” she teased. “We could take the gold.”

  She began moving over the top of him, sliding back and forward over his lean, muscular frame, making the minute space between them rocket-hot with her ceaseless action. Durango’s head was thrown back, exposing his throat. His glossy black hair spilled down his neck.

  The slippery friction rolled and slid, sucking and pressing every dip and swell of their sultry skin. Soon, her skin merged with his so that it became impossible to define where one gliding and rolling body began and the other ended.

  The swing swayed rhythmically.

  It felt gloriously out of control.

  Durango raised his head and took one of her full breasts into his mouth. She moaned softly as his tongue did wicked things to her nipple.

  She reached down to capture his shaft between her thumb and index finger. She applied a firm but gentle pressure, then used the pulsating head to caress the outside of her womanhood. She moved her body intuitively, exploring all kinds of touches.

  When she was slick and hot, Abby inserted the tip of him inside her and squeezed him tight within her. He made a sound of startled pleasure.

  “Where did you learn that?”

  She laughed. “I just made it up.”

  “Well, keep the imagination coming.”

  “And coming and coming and coming.”

  “You’re irredeemable.”

  “And you like me that way.” She-tickled him lightly across the ribs.

  “Angel, I like you any way I can get you.”

  She leaned over then and kissed him, the tip of him still inside her. She felt totally relaxed, which was quite odd considering the position they were in.

  But she trusted Durango and knew that she was safe here with him.

  The night’s breeze cooled their heated skin. The full moon bathed them in a splash of grand desert light. The chains creaked, echoing softly through the darkened canyon below.

  Gradually she lowered herself down until she was completely impaled on Durango’s rigid shaft. She hissed out her breath, amazed at the way he filled her up.

  She moved fluidly, up and down his erection. She stared into his face, got lost in his heart-stopping ebony eyes.

  He rocked his hips in time to her movements. The swing went crazy, gyrating in the midnight air.

  Using long, sinuous, thrusting motions, Abby let him go all the way out and then all the way back in. Reaching up, she grabbed hold of the chains above her to help her thrust harder. The chains were cold and dry against her slick, heated palms.

  Even though she was doing all the work, she could sense Durango’s arousal rising along with her own.

  She constricted her inner muscles around him again, tightening and contracting around his pounding erection. Milking him hard with her softness.

  “Yes,” he screamed, and the sound erupted into the night. “Yes, Angel, yes.”

  His hands shot out and he grasped her hips, pulling her down harder. The
swing twisted and bucked. He braced his feet against the ropes and matched her thrusts.

  “Faster,” she cried.

  They were spinning, turning, lost in a whirl of magic and power, caught up in their boldness and daring. The world belonged to them. They owned it.

  And when they came, they came together, crying each other’s name over and over into the darkness.

  OKAY, SHE WAS GOING to take Durango’s advice and dial down her enthusiasm a notch. She was not going to pressure Jackson for sex.

  So when Jackson called and asked her to meet him on Cathedral Rock at midnight, she acted nonchalant and wouldn’t make any promises that she would be there, even though her heart was thumping so loudly she feared he might actually hear it through the phone lines.

  She didn’t dress in her usual seductive clothing. In fact, she borrowed from Abby, rummaging around in her dresser drawers until she found the perfect outfit. Tailored slacks, button-down blue silk blouse, sensible walking shoes.

  Tess arrived at Cathedral Rock ten minutes after midnight. The hike wasn’t too spooky, with the full moon as her guide. She was testing him. Would Jackson still be there? Or had he already given up on her because she was late? The answer would tell her a lot about his seriousness.

  Before she reached the top of the mesa, she could hear the soft strains of music and she smiled to herself. He must have talked to Abby. How else could he have known she was a huge Celine Dion fan?

  Apparently, he was deadly serious about his devotion to pleasing her. Give the man an A for effort.

  When she arrived at the top of the trailhead, her heart started to race. There, in the middle of the mesa, Jackson had set up a card table with a white linen tablecloth, flickering candles and an assortment of aphrodisiacs from truffles to caviar to chocolate.

  Holy moly, he was pulling out the big guns. It had taken quite an effort, hauling everything up here.

  Tess was touched by his grand gesture. It made a girl feel special.

  Jackson was decked out in a tuxedo. He stepped toward her, hand outstretched.

  Shyly Tess hung back, partly in homage to Durango’s cautious advice but also because she was suddenly overcome with a quiet stillness that she never knew lived inside her.

  Her brazenness vanished under the tender expression in Jackson’s eyes. Gone was her self-assured boldness, her impudent self. Where was the saucy wench who wanted sex and lots of it?

  Replaced. By a woman who was secretly hoping for something more.

  “Tess,” he murmured, and pulled out a chair for her to sit.

  He popped the cork on a bottle of champagne. They sat dining as if they were at a five-star restaurant in Paris instead of a mesa top in Sedona.

  The air swirled around them, thick and aromatic with the scent of piñon pine. They drank a toast to the vortex, then set down their glasses. Tess eyed the exotic nibbles of food spread out before them.

  “Caviar?” He spooned up a lob of caviar on a sesame-seed cracker and fed it to her with his fingers.

  “What are you hungry for?” she asked after she’d eaten the delicious delicacy and licked her lips.

  “For this.” Jackson leaned across the table, took her chin in his palm and raised her face to meet his. Slowly, teasingly, his lips descended upon hers.

  She pulled back.

  “I don’t think we should be doing this,” she said. “It’s not a good idea.”

  “That wasn’t what you were saying last night.”

  “Last night I had too much schnapps. My judgment was clouded.”

  “So have some more champagne.” He flicked his tongue along her jaw and it was all she could do not to throw her arms around him and take him right there.

  “I need to keep my wits about me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because you make me nervous.”

  “And why is that.”

  “Dammit, what is this? Twenty questions.”

  “Nope, twenty kisses.”

  His mouth found hers again. There was something comforting in the way he kissed. Rather old-fashioned and courtly. He held her close as if she was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

  She felt the shimmering heat in her fingers and toes, experienced the fevered hot wetness in her mouth. Her stomach, the very core of her womanhood, came alive beneath his touch.

  Never had any kiss tasted so sweet, so intense, so vital.

  Ten glasses of the finest champagne could not have equaled the intoxicating power of his lips. A hundred romantic ballads could not have produced music as mesmerizing as Jackson’s steady breathing. Ten thousand lit candles could not have compared with the sultry blaze in his brown eyes.

  All of this for her.

  And she felt positively demure, basking in his attention.

  While his tongue entwined with hers, his hands were busy easing open the buttons of her shirt.

  Ah, to hell with the thrill of the chase, she thought. She was going to let him have his way, because she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  Tess did not protest when his fingers pushed beneath her bra and gently caressed her pink nipple buds. Closing her eyes, she rode the wave, acutely aware of every minute sensation.

  The feel of his callused palm against her skin, the succulent taste of his mouth, the scent of his freshly shampooed hair triggered an immediate response.

  More. More. She wanted more.

  Durango had advised her to hold back, but she could not. Jackson was everything she wanted.

  Moaning softly, Tess tilted her head, exposing her bare neck to him.

  He nibbled her throbbing pulse points. The sensation sent aching spikes of awareness flooding her whole body. She moaned again, overcome with the deliciousness of it all.

  Maybe things really could work out between them.

  Tess took the tentative faith and tucked it away inside her. Then his mouth was at her breast and she forgot everything but the moment.

  Their kissing reached a fevered pitch and they were taken over by a force as old as time. The maelstrom of the vortex stoked their mounting passion.

  Jackson swept the food from the table. The dishes clattered in a heap to the stone below. Neither of them cared. She sucked in her breath at the sudden shock of his passion.

  He whisked off her clothes. She helped him shuck the tuxedo.

  It was wonderful, all of it. The probing and the touching. The smell of man and champagne.

  “What’s your pleasure,” he whispered as if he held the key to a treasure chest of phenomenal things and all she had to do was ask and her heart’s desire would magically appear.

  She didn’t speak, but guided his penis where she wanted it to go. Meanwhile, his lips were everywhere, at her cheek, her nose, her eyelids.

  She hesitated. Was this right? It couldn’t be otherwise, it felt so good.

  “I want you,” he said, sensing her mental doubts and kissing her chin.

  Her optimism soared. Her protective shell cracked, just the teeniest bit.

  Maybe, maybe.

  After all, she’d never felt this way before. She had heard it sung about in love songs, read about it in romance novels, but this heartfelt power had never been a part of her reality.

  It didn’t have to include tomorrow. She had no expectations beyond tonight. But for now this feeling was so true and real she could not deny it.

  They were making love on top of the mesa in the moonlight, stripped bare of all pretenses.

  It aroused Tess to unthinkable heights. Decadent. Sinful. Wickedly indulgent.

  Jackson found a grape squashed underneath his bottom and swept it away.

  Tess giggled.

  “You think that’s funny?”

  “Uh-huh.” She nodded.

  “I’ll show you funny,” Jackson said, and lightly tickled her.

  “Oh, no, stop!” She squirmed.

  “How about here?” He trailed a hand along her hip walking his fingers down her thigh.

&nb
sp; “Wow.”

  “Does this tickle?”

  “Hmm, no, that doesn’t tickle.”

  “What does it feel like?”

  “Good. Really really good.”

  “And this.”

  “Ohh.”

  “How about this?”

  “Stop talking.” She reached up, threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his face down to her mouth.

  Their lovemaking was wild, frantic, filled with the peril of getting caught, the urgency of rushing. It was basic and hungry and primitive.

  He placed her astride his body and Tess rode him, thrilling in her savage sexuality.

  She peered down into his face, into those deep and murky eyes and saw herself reflected there.

  Saw love.

  It scared Tess and healed her all at the same time.

  “Jackson,” she cried, loud and throaty as she crested on the throes of her orgasm. “Jackson, Jackson, Jackson.”

  “Yes, luv, yes.”

  His hands clamped around her hips, held her pinned in place upon his male hardness. Waves of ecstasy slammed into her, tripping through her body with a mind-shattering force.

  The incredible power unbalanced her, sent her spinning into oblivion. His guttural cries told her that Jackson had joined her in completion.

  Ah, Tess thought. It was true what they said. There was no sex like vortex sex.

  ON THE FOLLOWING DAY, Abby signed up for Sunrise Tours first Freefall adventure with Durango as her guide. Last night, she’d had an erotic sexual experience she’d never forget. Now she was ready to tackle the ultimate physical high—skydiving.

  Every muscle in her body was already sore and aching, but in a good way. She marveled at the changes in her, both in her body and her mind. Thanks to Durango and her own willingness to push her boundaries, she was finally coming into her own.

  She had stood up to her father. She had made a decision to move to Sedona to explore a possible future with Durango. She had made love in a sex swing suspended from a fifty-five-foot rock bridge in the middle of the night.

  It didn’t get much more passionate than that.

  They sat in the cargo hold of the plane, wearing jumpsuits and strapped into their tandem harnesses, the two of them one once more. Durango winked and reached over to lightly squeeze her hand.