by Joan Hohl
After a leisurely breakfast of juice, toast and coffee, Sandra switched on the radio, and proceeded to while away the hours by alternately pacing from room to room and staring out the wide front window and along the road leading to the cabin.
He was late.
It was past noon.
Had he changed his mind?
Sandra bit her lip and peered down the driveway.
It was exactly 12:46 when she spied his Jeep; Sandra knew, because she shot a quick look at her wristwatch as she made a dash for the door to greet him.
She stepped onto the deck as Cameron stepped from the Jeep. The sun felt warm on her face. The sight of him made her feel warmer all over.
The Lone Wolfe.
Lord! He looked delicious.
Good enough to eat.
Sandra promised herself a taste.
He was dressed for the outdoors—tight jeans, denim jacket and desert boots. He waved and strode toward her, looking long and lean and dangerous.
Sandra shivered in the sunshine.
“Hi.”
Cameron’s voice, low, intimate, was more dangerous than the look of him. Her pulse leaped. Her heartbeat went thumpety-thump. Her breath fluttered from between her parted lips on a whisper.
“Hi.”
He took the steps in two long bounds.
Nervous as a crab dodging a rake, she skittered sideways to the door. “Come in.”
He was right behind her.
The strains of an old love ballad blared from the radio. She started toward it to turn down the volume. One step, and then: “Oh!” She yelped as a strong arm curled around her waist, turning her around, bringing her hard against his harder body.
“Dance with me, I want my arms about you.” He sang along with the instrumental rendition of the song in a low, seductive voice.
Sandra gave herself up to the moment, and the dance, and the thrill of moving in time with him.
They danced together very well, as if they had been doing it for years. Bemused, beguiled, Sandra found herself thrilling to the prospect of their being so attuned to one another in the more intimate dance of love.
“I’m hungry,” the Lone Wolfe growled into her ear.
She shivered. “I. I’ll make you lunch.”
“I don’t think so.” His soft laughter was pure incitement. “I’ll have you for lunch.”
“M-m-m-me?” Sandra drew her head back to stare at him; the raw passion blazing from his eyes ignited a liquid fire in the core of her, and burned her inhibitions to smoldering flinders.
“You. Me.” He trailed a hand down to the hollow at the base of her spine, aligning her body to the fullness of his. “Let’s feast on each other.” His warm breath caressed her lips as he slowly lowered his head.
Barely breathing, Sandra parted her lips an instant before his mouth touched hers. His lips were firm, still cool from the outdoors and sweet with the taste of spring.
She moaned and raised her arms to capture his head in her hands.
His tongue dipped, then dipped lower still to her throat.
Her fingers dug into the thick strands of his hair, tugging him closer, closer.
His free hand teased the outer curve and the underside of her breast.
She arched her back, inviting exploration.
His lips hardened, plundering her soft mouth as his hand curled around the soft mound.
She shuddered at the sensations caused by his teasing fingers, and scraped her nails against his scalp, from crown to nape.
“Yes.”
She felt his response, whispered into her mouth, leaping against her body.
“Yes,” she replied in kind, murmuring into his mouth, arching into his arousal.
In a haze of desire, time lost relevance. Their clothing was swept away, unnoticed, unmissed.
“The bed?” Cameron’s lips moved around the tightness of one nipple.
“This way.” Grasping his hand, she stepped back, and turned toward the hallway.
Scooping up his jeans from the floor, Cameron followed her to the bedroom.
Neither noticed nor cared that the front door was left standing wide open.
She released his hand by the side of the bed, then stepped back to look at him.
Unembarrassed in his nakedness, the Lone Wolfe stood tall and proud, magnificent in his masculine glory.
He was beautiful. Sandra’s throat and lips suddenly felt hot and dry. She skimmed her tongue over her lips to moisten them.
“You’re beautiful.” His voice was rough-edged, exciting in its intensity.
“So are you.” Her voice was barely audible.
He smiled.
She raised a hand to stroke his chest; her fingers tingled to touch the tight whorls of dark burnished-gold hair. Emboldened by the tremor her touch sent through him, she slowly skimmed her fingers down the narrowing trail of hair, to flatten her palm against the tightening muscles of his concave belly.
Cameron sucked in his breath. “Don’t stop there,” he said in a raw whisper. “Please, don’t stop there. Find me. Hold me.”
Watching the fire of desire leap higher in his eyes, Sandra glided her hand lower, through the silky curls surrounding his manhood. He moaned and shuddered when her fingers encased him.
“Good. That feels so unbelievably good.” Cautioning, “Don’t let go,” he moved closer to her and, cradling her breasts in his hands, bent his head to suckle each rigid nipple in turn.
Responding to the sensations rioting inside her, the heat building in the core of her femininity, Sandra arched into his hungry mouth and caressed his silky-smooth, throbbing flesh.
Her mind, her body, every atom and molecule of her, was ready for him when he coiled an arm around her waist and lowered her to the edge of the bed. Before she realized what he was doing, he’d dropped to his knees between her parted, quivering thighs.
“Cameron?” She protested when he grasped her shoulders and gently moved her back, onto the mattress. “What are you doing?” she said raggedly when he pressed his lips to her belly, stabbed his tongue into her navel.
“I want to taste you,” he murmured against her skin, moistening it as he slid his tongue lower. “Every sweet, intoxicating inch of you.”
“Cameron.” Though her voice betrayed the uncertainty she was feeling, her hands speared into his hair, anchoring his head to her body.
“You’ll love it,” he promised, swirling his tongue around the tight curls covering her mound. “I’m going to send you soaring.”
Sandra could hear her own harsh breaths, and knew they were caused by anticipation, not trepidaton. She had never allowed this intimacy, never granted the right to any other man.
But this was Cameron. The Lone Wolfe. A man of the law, and a law unto himself.
His tongue tasted the moist heat of her.
Sandra surrendered herself to the law.
Moments later, Cameron delivered on his promise. Ripples of unimagined and unimaginable pleasure cascading through her, Sandra went soaring into the no-time, no-space realm of ecstasy.
The flight was spectacular, but it soon became apparent to Sandra that the journey into sensuality was far from over.
Cameron had an agenda of his own to pursue.
Vaguely, at the fringes of her consciousness, Sandra heard the faint rustle of clothing, the quick, distinctive sound of foil being ripped. Then he was looming over her, moving her limp, depleted body lengthwise onto the bed, settling his taut-muscled form between her thighs.
“That was beautiful to watch,” he murmured, stroking the tremor from her legs. “You’re beautiful to watch.” He slid his hands beneath her and raised her hips, aligning her body with the probing tip of his manhood. “Now, I want to watch you do it again, with me.”
Sandra knew it was possible; at least she had heard it was possible, although she had never experienced the sensation of a repeat release. In truth, she had only ever experienced a single release, on a rare occasion. But, grateful fo
r the exquisite pleasure he had given to her, she was willing to try, to be the vessel of his ultimate release and pleasure.
He entered her slowly, delicately, allowing her still-pulsating body to adjust to the fullness of his, making her feel treasured, not at all a mere vessel, a convenient depository for his passion.
To Sandra’s surprise, her own desire flared anew when he began to move, carefully pacing his rhythm to her response, tightly reining his own needs, while fanning the flames of the smoldering spark of passion.
The look of him enhanced the tension spiraling inside her. In the throes of rigidly controlled passion, Cameron was a sight to behold.
His hair was ruffled from his earlier attention to her pleasure, one gold-streaked swath sweeping his forehead. His eyes were narrowed, intent on the emotional reactions revealed in her expression. His face was strained, and his bared teeth were clenched in determination. The strain was reflected in the tendons and veins throbbing in his arched throat, the muscles bunched in his chest.
He was working, hard, denying himself the soaring experience in an effort to stir her to the point of flying with him.
Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and darkened his hair. His sun-bronzed skin shimmered, slick and moist from perspiration. His flat belly slid, wet and silky, against hers.
Everything about him, the look of him, the intensity he revealed, heightened the tension, the excitement revitalizing her, driving her to match his ardor.
She could barely breathe, and yet she felt exhilarated. The muscles in her body, which had felt slack and weak moments ago, now felt strong, energized.
Tightening her legs around his thighs, Sandra grasped his hips and arched high, into the measured rhythm of his thrusting body.
Without missing a beat of his driving motion, Cameron suddenly lowered his head to her breast, to capture one turgid nipple between his teeth.
The sensations his nipping teeth created inside her tore a gasping moan from her throat. Her heartbeat thrummed against her eardrums. Her pulses stampeded. Her body clenched around him.
A low, growl-like sound rumbled deep in his throat. “If you do that again, I can’t be held accountable,” he warned, in a harsh, tension-strained whisper.
A sense of sheer feminine power filled Sandra. Testing him, his control, she sank her nails into the spare flesh stretched over his hipbones, and this time deliberately clenched around him.
“Sandra, have mercy,” he pleaded, teeth snapping together, veins now prominent in his forehead.
Once again she clenched, inwardly drawing on him. In response, Cameron thrust to the hilt, while simultaneously thrusting a hand between their bodies to stroke the aroused center of her femininity.
“Wolfe!” Crying his name in a strangled exclamation, Sandra went off like a rocket, blasting into space, convulsing wildly around him.
Within a heartbeat, she heard her own name cried in a harsh exaltation of joy, and felt the throbbing heat of his powerful release.
Sandra was exhausted. Every muscle and nerve in her body quivered. She could hardly breathe. She felt drained, hot and wet. Cameron’s weight crushed her, pressing her into the damp sheet beneath her.
It was wonderful.
“Now…that’s. what I call…a greeting,” he said, between harsh gasps for breath. His tongue swept over her nipple, sending a shiver cascading through her. “And one spectacular way to begin a vacation.”
Startled by the instant response of her body to the caress of his lips, Sandra gasped and wriggled her hips; his response was just as instantaneous. She felt the leap of life deep within her.
“Again?” Awe colored her tone, and surprise widened her eyes as she met the glittering gaze he fixed on her.
“Amazing, ain’t it?” Laughter, and more than a hint of masculine pride, threaded his voice. “Are you game for another gallop?”
“That depends on the inducements offered to me to ride,” she rejoined, laughing along with him.
“Suppose I say please?” he asked, but without giving her time to answer, he heaved himself up and over, hauling her with him.
Sandra found herself in the saddle—so to speak. “Please would be nice,” she said, drawing a moan from him by settling onto his hair-roughened thighs, and settling him firmly inside her.
“Please, Sandra,” he said, retaliating by arching high off the bed, thrusting deeply into her. “Ride with me into the fires of ecstasy.”
Before many more moments elapsed, it was Sandra who was crying “Please” and “More” and “Hurry” and then “Oh, Cameron, Cameron!”
Four
Sandra surfaced from a light doze to the tingling sensation of long fingers combing through her hair.
She curled closer to the man beside her, to press her lips to his chest.
The combing fingers stilled. The chest beneath her parted lips expanded.
“I’m sorry if I woke you.” Cameron’s warm breath ruffled her hair, and her pulse.
“S’okay,” she mumbled, in a voice still slurred by sleep. She yawned, and felt a tremor ripple through him from the movement of her mouth against his skin. “It’s chilly in here.” Sandra shivered, then frowned. “Where is that cool air coming from?”
“I’m afraid we left the front door wide open,” he said, moving away from her to first pull the comforter over her trembling body, then roll off the bed. “I guess I’d better go shut it before we find ourselves sharing the place with little forest critters.”
The possibility held very little appeal for Sandra. “Critters?” she yelped, tossing back the comforter and springing to her feet. “What kind of critters?” she cried, scurrying about to find her robe.
“Oh, squirrels, andraccoons, and skunks, and. maybe a snake or two.”
Turned away from him, she didn’t see the devilish gleam in his eyes, but she couldn’t miss the laughter threaded through his voice. Even so, she responded to his teasing bait.
“Snakes!” She whipped around to stare at him in abject horror. “Do you really think—?”
“No, of course not,” Cameron quickly interrupted to reassure her. “I was only teasing.”
“Teasing? You, you—” She burst out laughing, while trying to sound angry. Unsuccessful at her attempt to appear incensed, she threw her robe at him.
Laughing with her, and nimbly stepping out of the line of fire, Cameron made a hasty retreat from the room.
He should have looked ludicrous, trotting through the doorway as naked as a newborn, Sandra mused, staring after him. But he didn’t. Quite the contrary, she realized. To her eyes, he appeared utterly natural, in his element, breathtaking and magnificent.
The Lone Wolfe.
Sandra shivered; her reaction owed nothing to the chill in the spring air.
“Is it safe for me to come in?” Cameron called from the hallway. “Or are you clothing-armed and to be assumed dangerous?”
“I’m unarmed, Officer,” she called back, suppressing an urge to giggle like a teenager. She felt good—wonderful. No, glorious, more vibrantly alive than she had ever felt before. “And I’m escaping into the shower,” she went on in sudden inspiration. “You won’t catch me, Copper.”
Cameron burst into the room like a member of a SWAT team on a raid, immediately assuming the position, legs apart, knees slightly bent, arms extended straight out in front of him, hands clasped, as if around the butt of a revolver.
Sandra’s expression of wide-eyed surprise was unfeigned; Cameron’s appearance, buck naked, in that familiar stance, was more than surprising, it was flat-out hilarious. She clapped a hand over her lips to contain her laughter.
“Don’t move, lady,” he ordered, in a low, menacing voice. “I’ve got you covered.”
“Not yet,” she responded, laughing through her spread fingers. “But I do have hopes in that regard.”
Cameron’s blue eyes glittered with sheer devilment. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you into protective custody.” He indicated the b
athroom with a quick movement of his head. “In there, lady.”
“Whatever you say, Officer.” Tossing aside the nightshirt she’d pulled from a drawer along with her robe, which she’d been holding in front of her nude body, Sandra started toward the bathroom in a sashaying stroll. Glancing back over her shoulder, she gave him a smoldering look and a throaty invitation. “Walk this way.”
“Well, if you insist,” he said doubtfully. “But I’m going to look pretty silly.” Lowering his arms, he straightened and crossed the room to her, mimicking her hip-swaying stroll.
Sandra lost it.
So did Cameron.
Roaring in laughter, he swept her up into his arms and carried her into the bathroom, there to indulge in what she would later decide was probably the longest shower on record, possibly in history.
She reveled in every minute of it.
“That was wonderful.” Sandra patted her lips with a paper napkin, then dropped it onto her empty plate.
Several hours had elapsed since their showerlovemaking marathon. Long spears of lateafternoon sunlight lent a mellow glow to the room.
After an energy-restoring nap, they had dressed, picked up their clothing from the living room floor, unloaded and unpacked his gear, then headed for the kitchen for much-needed sustenance.
Cameron had insisted on preparing the repast.
“Thank you, ma’am. I aim to please.” He grinned at her over the rim of his coffee cup.
“No, I’m serious,” she said. “That western omelet was perfect, golden brown outside, creamy inside. You really are a very good cook.”
“Thanks again,” he said quietly, setting the cup on the table. “But I owe it all to my teacher.”
Sandra’s eyes widened in surprise. “You went to a cooking school?”
“No.” Cameron shook his head, dislodging a lock of hair as golden brown as the omelet had been. “My teacher was a mother who firmly believed that being born a male did not excuse a child from lessons in the basics of domesticity.” His quick, soft chuckle was threaded with loving remembrance. “She insisted that her sons be housebroken.”
“Sons?” Sandra asked, suddenly realizing how very little she knew about him, this Lone Wolfe who was now her lover. “How many are there?”