But Jillian’s hands were free now, too. She dragged them down his back, sank her fingers into his ass and pulled him impossibly closer, until he groaned in frustration.
“Get naked,” she whispered against his mouth.
No way in hell. And if she could talk, then he wasn’t doing his job properly. Or had he heard her thoughts?
Michael couldn’t tell, so he didn’t reply. He only sank his hand between them, slithered his fingers between her thighs. He broke their kiss and dragged his mouth down her throat, along the pulse beating there.
Then he zeroed in on his target.
Sucking a tight peak into his mouth with a deliberate stroke, he tasted wet fabric and warm skin, felt a moment of pure male satisfaction when Jillian shivered, rode his hand trying to capture him inside.
But the satisfaction was short-lived. The taste of her flooded his senses, spiked his need until he wasn’t sure how long he would stay standing. Her rocking hips built the pressure of that seam to unholy agony, but it was a bittersweet pleasure-pain, arousing as much as it paralyzed.
He found her wet and ready. Pressing a finger inside, he felt her clench in a burst of moist heat. She let out a low moan and took her pleasure with a boldness that made him ache as she came apart in his arms.
She clung to him, lifeless, her breaths ragged. His own broken breathing mingled with hers in the quiet. Their hearts raced together as he willed himself to remain standing, willed her not to move and test his strength.
Horses whinnied and twilight lengthened the shadows, cooling the temperature with the approach of night, a connection to reality during a moment that felt too pleasurable, too powerful to be anything but the best fantasy.
And when he finally managed his own ache, could breathe again without the seam of his jeans threatening permanent damage, Michael noticed the trough overflowing from the hose he’d left in it. “Damn, your shoes aren’t the only wet ones.”
12
BY THE TIME they made it up to the hayloft to reenact a long-ago make-out session, Jillian realized this weekend wasn’t playing out according to her plan, sexy lingerie or not.
She’d intended to bring Michael to his knees, but for some reason, Michael seemed solely intent upon her pleasure. Every time she tried to take control, she wound up gasping and boneless from another incredible orgasm.
Not that she was complaining, of course.
Sometime between three—or was it four?—orgasms later, twilight deepened and the moon rose on a moonlit night alive with sounds of the forest. Wildlife scurried into the underbrush, settling in for sleep. A lone owl hooted. Frogs croaked and cicadas sang.
She and Michael might have been alone in a world where the only thing that mattered was pleasure. There was no work or obligation or routine. Their world was filled with familiar and inviting sounds, a world where the past and present collided.
Once upon a time, they’d sneaked into this very loft to make out. In broad daylight, too, which had been risky since Ike wandered in and out of this barn on whim. But when one of the campers had gone through a rotted plank on the dock during the morning water-skiing session, Ike had hustled to repair it before the afternoon session began.
As soon as they’d heard the news, she and Michael had slipped from the group of riders who’d been saddling up for a trail ride, and climbed up into the hayloft for some long-awaited and much anticipated privacy.
Jillian remembered the passion of that day, found the same passion tonight, only with it a pleasure that had matured through the years, a pleasure only possible when two people intimately knew one another, trusted one another, understood the power of placing their lover’s desires above their own.
Michael was intent on pleasuring her tonight, on recreating their memory of the hayloft with the skill of a long-time lover. Jillian proved powerless to resist the magic she’d only ever known in his arms, and she surrendered to pleasure.
And when he’d annihilated her nearly past the point of no return, she attempted to divest her lusty husband of his pants, knowing that if she didn’t turn the tables now, she risked slipping into an orgasm-induced coma, from which she had no clue when—or if—she’d awaken.
But Michael resisted. “Uh-uh.”
“I can’t take off your pants?”
“No.” His gaze smoldered, intense and strangely unfamiliar in the starlit shadows.
“Why?”
“If you take off my pants, I won’t be able to resist you.”
“That’s the point.”
Sinking back into the hay, he stretched his arms over his head, treating her to the starlit version of a very attractive stomach and chest showing the effects of his recent lifestyle changes. “Your point maybe, but not mine.”
“What’s your point then?”
“To pleasure you.”
“For how long?”
“However long it takes.”
“However long what takes?”
He chuckled. “Trust me. Now why don’t you just lie down here and let me hold you?”
“If I lie down, I’ll pass out.”
“That’s a problem?”
She shoved the hair from her face, the simple act an effort of will with arms still languid and heavy from pleasure. “You’ve nearly put me in a coma.”
“That’s why you need to come here.”
“But if I don’t get those pants off you, I won’t stand a chance of winning this game tonight.” And Jillian needed to win. She had plans for this weekend, important plans, and they revolved around getting this man naked and orgasmic.
“Depends on what you consider winning. How many times have you climaxed?”
He had an answer for everything tonight.
“If your parts don’t get air, they’ll shrivel up and fall off.”
He gave a whistle. “That’s a low blow.”
“A low blow? Sounds like a great idea—if you take your pants off.”
“Not yet, sugar.” Grabbing the saddle blanket, he pulled it over his legs. “So why don’t you stop asking all these questions, snuggle up in my arms and let those eyes close. You’re plum exhausted from all those orgasms.”
Jillian wanted to know what was on his mind, needed to know to alter her plans if they needed altering, but she simply didn’t have the energy to resist sinking into his warm embrace.
By the time she opened her eyes again, a rooster crowed the dawn and she had straw in her hair. And a few other choice places, too.
But Michael was there, on his knees and looking dreamlike in the predawn haze, helping her sit up with one hand and offering her a mug of steaming coffee with the other.
“Where’d you go?” She sounded sleepy and wasted.
“Ran to Ike’s. It was close.” He raised the mug to her lips.
Leaning into his embrace, she sipped, letting the vestiges of sleep fall away beneath the surge of hot caffeine. The predawn bathed the loft in a gray haze, the sounds of life awakening outdoors lending the moment a surreal quality. She felt wistful and content, sitting there in his arms, her body coming to life with the achy reminders of last night’s intimacy.
She felt hopeful. Not only because the weekend was off to a good start, but because she hoped they would turn a corner in their marriage and head down a path that would renew their involvement with each other. While they were exploring fantasies and sharing pleasure, they could bridge the distance that had been growing between them so things like her health issues and his lifestyle changes wouldn’t seem to come out of the blue.
The timing was perfect. They were out of their routine and feeling relaxed. They were focused solely on each other in a way they hadn’t been since their college days.
Now they just needed to make love.
She wanted Michael to feel as wonderful and content as she did right now. And her awakening brain cells recalled the limitations he’d imposed last night. They couldn’t make love until she got his pants off….
“I’m awake now.” Tipping
her head back, she gazed at him and found him frowning. “What’s wrong?”
He just shook his head and said, “Sugar, we’ve got a farm to tend.”
With that, he was on his feet, herding Jillian into action so fast that she had to suck down the last few swallows of coffee before he snatched the mug away. They dug through the hay to find her clothes.
“Did I tell you how much I like your new outfit?” He handed her a twist of clingy fabric that turned out to be her bottoms.
She shook out the shorts before attempting to put them on. “Several times, in fact. You should see what else I have.”
“Sexy like this?” He held up her top.
“I was inspired.”
“Lucky me.”
“You’ll never know unless we get those pants off.”
He only laughed and headed down the ladder.
Jillian followed.
“I was such an idiot the last time we were up in this loft,” he said when she was about halfway down.
“Why’s that?”
“Because I had no idea what the view was like from down here.”
“If memory serves, I had jeans on the last time I made this climb.”
“If I’d have had any idea what you’d look like with your long bare legs and that sweet bottom, I’d have taken those jeans off myself.”
“If memory serves, you did.”
He laughed. “But I’d have thrown them over the edge so you’d have had to climb down to get them.”
Jillian didn’t get a chance to reply. As soon as her feet hit the ground, Michael swept her into his arms, and she found herself colliding against warm, hard male.
Warm, hard aroused male.
“Sure you don’t want to lose the jeans yet?”
“Want has nothing to do with it.”
She dropped open-mouthed kisses from his throat to his shoulder, determined to distract him from his sudden diligence. And she thought she’d accomplished her goal. He shuddered and exhaled a contented sigh. Then he spun her around and marched straight out of the barn to the chicken coop.
They split the chore list down the middle. Soon Jillian was back inside the still-damp sandals. But even that sensation faded from her awareness as she fed the farm animals, starting with the chickens and ending with the goats, where one kid trailed behind her, more interested in nibbling the lace on her shorts than in breakfast.
She had to pay special attention to the newborn piglets, but they all seemed to be thriving. By the time she completed her share of the chores, the sun shone brightly overhead and her stomach growled hungrily.
“Ready for breakfast?” She caught up with Michael at the lake where he was feeding the ducks.
“I guess. These guys sure are. I can’t believe Ike feeds them. You’d think there was enough food around here between the forest and the lake.”
“He supplements their diet with vitamins and minerals to keep them healthy,” she explained. “But you’re not hungry, Michael? We haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.”
“Pshaw. I ate my fill of you last night, sugar,” he said. “You’re an outdoors gal. Why don’t you just slip up under old Bessie and have a sip of fresh milk?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of a little protein and a lot of caffeine. I’m still not awake.”
Michael ruffled his fingers through her hair, making even more of a mess. “But I like you looking all soft and sleepy. Makes me think about snuggling between your warm thighs.”
“No more snuggling until I get a shower. I’m covered in corn dust from the chicken scratch.”
“I like corn.”
“Uh-uh, buddy. If you won’t take your jeans off, then I’ve got nothing stopping me from taking a shower.”
Jillian turned around to head back to the house, but suddenly Michael’s arms came around her. She gasped and tried to break away, but he had her off her feet in an instant.
Ducks scattered in a flurry of outraged squawks and flapping wings as he strode toward the lake.
“Michael, no!”
Too late. They were airborne for a suspended instant before he twisted around to hit the water first. His body broke the impact, but he sank like a stone.
And Jillian sank with him.
The cold water closed over them like an icy blanket. The breath froze in her lungs, and she might have been naked for all the good her skimpy outfit did at keeping her warm. Her sandals proved the final insult as the water sucked them off. Each one surfaced in turn and floated idly out of reach.
Michael finally released her, and she broke the surface gasping and sputtering.
He came up right behind her, laughing, water sluicing over his bare chest, his jeans clinging to his butt sexily.
“Crazy man.” She could barely get the words out. Every muscle in her body had seized in shock. “What are you doing?”
He stood in the thigh-high water, looking so much like the boy she’d once skinny-dipped with, his smile dashing, his blue eyes bright and his hair plastered to his head. She didn’t think to resist when he pulled her into his arms.
“Come here, Jilly, I’ll make you warm.”
Their bodies came together in a collision of cold, wet skin. They melded together the way they always did, aligned as though they’d been designed for each other.
Despite the chill, everything inside Jillian melted on a wave of awareness, the silk of his wet skin and his strong arms cradling her close. Suddenly his mouth came down on hers and he dragged his tongue across her lower lip.
“I love you,” he said huskily. “Have I told you yet today?”
Closing her eyes, she clung to him as she had so long ago, as if she never wanted to let him go, as if the precious moments they shared together were all too fleeting. This urgency might have faded through the years, a feeling that each moment was unique and meant to be savored, never wasted.
But she remembered now. The problems they had were so minor in the scheme of their lives, the scales tipped toward good fortune and blessings. Jillian could hardly believe she’d let such stupid things like missed birthdays and forgotten doctors’ appointments gain so much momentum in her head.
No more. She had too much to be grateful for. This wonderful man loved her. He’d dieted and exercised because he wanted to look good for her. He’d plotted fantasies because he missed her. No, he wasn’t perfect, but then neither was she.
They were only perfect for each other.
She’d let that be enough.
Jillian had missed him, and hadn’t realized just how much until he’d shown up in their driveway on a chopper. Until he’d cornered her inside his office with nipple clamps. Until he’d pleasured her in a hayloft. Until he kissed her now with a wild abandon that assured her he’d missed her as much.
They’d tackled tough problems before. They’d tackle this, too. If she could just get those pants off…
Molding her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, she glided each deliberate stroke over his wet skin, raising goose bumps in her wake. Parting her thighs around his, Jillian rode against him, earning a heated response when he dragged his hands down her back and sank his fingers into her bottom.
He ground against her, the bulge trapped inside wet jeans swelling hungrily, his need breaking in a low growl against her mouth. Jillian kissed the sound from his lips, let her hands roam freely over his bare chest, grazing hard nipples through the crisp smattering of chest hairs over them.
She trailed kisses from his lips, along his stubbled jaw. She savored the taste of him, sampled the eagerness of his arousal, shared her own awakening need.
With a laugh, Michael speared his hands into her hair and arched her head until he could give back in kind. Dragging open-mouthed kisses down her throat, he joined in on the frenzy of the moment, his hands roaming, his hips arching, his laughter breaking as warm bursts against her skin.
Then he broke away, diving cleanly into the water.
“Michael!” She dove in after him, f
inding the depths a warmer refuge than the air.
They played chase in a game from long ago. She swam after Michael, who paused only long enough for her to almost catch up before taking off again.
They’d played this game at every birthday and pool party they’d ever attended together while growing up.
Once they’d grown up, they’d played the game again as eager young lovers.
Now they were back again. Her muscles strained and warmed with the freedom of the activity, waking her more surely than any amount of caffeine. She cast off even the achy tenderness of the night before as laughter and adrenaline rushed through her, the challenge of catching her playful husband and finally, finally coaxing his jeans off.
And when at last he made it back to the dock, he hoisted himself up before assisting her. She stretched out beside him, grateful for the rising sun that warmed them, breathless and excited and more relaxed than she could remember being in far too long.
“Will you let me get those jeans off you?” she asked after catching her breath.
“Persistent, aren’t you?”
“That shouldn’t come as a surprise. We can’t make love until you take your pants off.”
“Horny, aren’t you?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she agreed boldly.
He only laughed, and she reached out to brush away trickles of water running from his hair along his cheek.
“No, I’m not surprised you’re so persistent, Jilly. You’ve been tagging after me trying to get me to pay attention to you since I was in kindergarten.”
“Sorry?”
“Only that it took me until high school to notice you as more than Donny’s pesky kid sister. I wasted way too much time.”
She liked his answer. “We’ll just have to make up for that time now.”
“Sounds like a good plan.” He rolled to his side and propped up on an elbow, gazing down at her with such utter seriousness that her breath caught. “I can be such an idiot when it comes to you.”
“What are you talking about?”
If You Could Read My Mind Page 18