by Amber Cross
At the edge of the field they went into the woods again, for a shorter distance this time, and when they came out, they were high above the quarry. For miles in every direction the dark mountains slept beneath the starlit sky.
“Like it?” He turned his head to ask the question, and she answered with a kiss. Long, full of tongue, exuberant, and reciprocated. She couldn’t tell if the growl now was coming from the sled they were on or the man, but she didn’t care. They both excited her.
When the kids pulled up beside them, they separated, but their lips were wet and their heated breaths made moist puffs of air into the night.
“You two should get a room.” Colin smirked.
“We just might,” Glen fired back.
Darcy groaned. “Can we puh-leeze not talk about this?”
Laughing, Glen revved the engine before taking off across the ridge they were on with the kids following close behind them. Soon they caught up with Jimmy, then Linda, and eventually the whole group assembled in a field on the other side of the quarry. This one stretched out for acres along the river in neat squares separated by fence posts.
“I’ll go ahead,” Peter Tremblay said. Abby recognized him as the young potter who sold his wares on the common at last year’s Independence Day parade. She’d bought matching salt and pepper shakers from him. “It’s my folks’ land so I know where the gates are,” he said. “Someone needs to bring up the rear and shut them behind us, though.”
“We’ll do it,” Glen volunteered.
The pastures were not as exciting as the twisting trail through the woods, but Abby loved the full-out speed as they flew across the wintry landscape with the moon darting just ahead of them across the mirror-like surface. She held on tight to Glen. Rubbed her body against his back and wondered if he could feel it through their layers of clothing.
Because she could feel every move he made. The throb of the engine pulsed through her, heightening the sexual excitement that dominated her every thought when she was with him. The crisp night air cooled her feverish cheeks, but nothing short of this man could quell the fever raging inside her.
At the end of the last paddock they turned north and rode along an abandoned railroad bed in the lowlands beside the river. It was bumpier than the field, and each little hill they topped brought her closer to a climax. By the time they crossed the road at the bridge a few miles later and pulled into Jason and Sara’s yard, each breath she took serrated her lungs.
“Anyone for hot chocolate?” their hostess asked when the last engine rattled into silence.
Most of the party eagerly accepted the offer. Abby waited for Glen to agree, but instead he got off the snowmobile and took Jason aside for a private conversation. She didn’t move. She didn’t dare.
When he returned to where she waited, he scooped her off the back of the sled and down the length of his body until she was standing on the ground. Ripples of lust raced over her skin.
“That’s for torturing me through those fields,” he murmured.
She couldn’t help but laugh because it was either that or cry.
“I didn’t think you noticed.”
“I did. And now we’re going home to finish what we started.”
She was desperate to, shaking with need, but they hadn’t come alone. “The kids?”
“Are going to spend the night here with Jason and Sara.”
****
Glen was too old to pretend when it came to what he wanted. As soon as the elevator doors slid shut behind them, he nudged her back against the wall and palmed her buttocks, lifting her off her feet. She pushed her pelvis up into the hard ridge of his erection and wrapped one thigh around his hip. Her honest response turned his smoldering desire into an all-out flame.
Scraping her nails across his scalp and biting his earlobe, she whispered, “Don’t hold back.”
Taking her mouth in a hard kiss, he hoisted her up until her ankles were locked at the base of his spine. Speared his hands into her thick hair and reveled in its softness while their tongues dueled and their bodies rocked against each other.
Everything about the woman was a fantasy come true!
The ping of the elevator barely registered with his consciousness before the doors opened at their floor. No way was he letting her go. Crossing the lobby without breaking their embrace, he only pulled his mouth away from hers long enough to say, “Put in the code.”
Blindly she swatted at the wall. After a few misses, she got the security code entered, and they stumbled backward into her condo unit, hitting the wall. He yanked her boots off one at a time, dropping them to the floor before kicking off his own. Her hat and mittens were tossed over his shoulder. She tugged at the zipper of his coat.
They left a trail of scattered outerwear from the front door to her bedroom, but he couldn’t care less. She was his tonight. No kids, no work, no misunderstandings between them. Just two desperately turned on consenting adults.
By the time they fell onto the comforter, they were struggling to breathe. Her button-front sweater was open and dangling from the elbows, his shirt was pushed up to the top of his chest, and the snap on his jeans was undone.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” she gasped, disengaging her arms so she could throw off the sweater and unsnap her bra while he stood and shucked off the rest of his clothing.
“I haven’t dreamed of anything else,” he admitted, amazed that he could think at all with her glorious breasts unveiled. “Come here.”
She walked on her knees across the comforter to the end of the bed, breasts swaying, abdomen rippling, and he almost came from watching her.
“Is this close enough?”
She stopped inches away from him, her lush mouth curved into a teasing smile.
“Not hardly.” Tugging on her belt loops with his fingers, he drew her forward until their torsos met, and the feel of her soft skin against his sent a shudder through his body. He unsnapped her pants, lowered the zipper, and slid his hands inside to cup her buttocks. They were cold from the snowmobile run, soft and supple. “Perfect,” he growled. “But still not close enough.”
She held up a hand to ward him off, then wriggled out of her remaining clothes and tossed them onto the floor before coming up onto her knees again.
The flesh between her thighs was bare. He knew a lot of women shaved or waxed there, but it surprised him, and he admitted he was a little disappointed. He had imagined dark curls adorning that special place.
“It’s for swimming,” she whispered, as if she had read his thoughts. “It’s more comfortable in a tight suit, and it reduces the drag.”
“Ah.” Of course. Although she obviously cared about her appearance, this was a practical reason he could appreciate.
Palming her shoulders, he slid his hands down over her breasts, her belly, and finally stopped at her hips. “I told you I would go down on my knees for you.” His voice was barely recognizable, strangled by lust, the same lust that raced like a fever through his bloodstream.
Confusion crossed her face quickly followed by surprise when he dropped to the floor. Her belly quivered and her legs began to shake. He slid his fingers up the back of her thighs and squeezed. She was soft and golden everywhere, curvy but strong.
His breath kissed her inner thigh. She jerked in his hold.
He nuzzled the spot with his nose, and she fisted her hands in his hair.
“Touch me.”
The raw groan was torn from her. When he looked up, gray-green eyes glazed with need stared down at him. No way could he ignore the plea in them.
Hands still clasping her hips, he used his thumbs to part the folds of her sex, exposing the small kernel of flesh that held so many nerve endings and could bring so much pleasure. And he wanted to bring her pleasure, wanted to watch her skin flush and her eyes dim while she came.
He blew a warm puff of air against her naked flesh. Watched as her stomach convulsed and she shrank away from the sensation only to rock forward again, seeking mor
e. He blew again. She folded over at the waist, hair falling over her breasts, a hiss escaping her lips.
“So sensitive,” he marveled.
“Touch me!” A demand this time, accompanied by a thrust of her hips.
Glen pushed down on her clit with one thumb. When he rubbed in a circular motion, she dipped and swayed above him. Her eyes closed. She threw her head back and bit her lip, long hair flowing down to the middle of her spine.
Replacing his thumb with his mouth, he suckled the flesh at the apex of her thighs, took one nipple in his free hand, and twisted gently. She gasped. Her eyes flew open, staring down at him as he made love to her with his mouth. He increased the pressure on her nipple, and her hands fell away from his head, flailing uselessly before coming to land on his shoulders. Then she held on tight as if she might lose her balance. With his other hand he tested her readiness. His finger slid home without resistance.
“Oh, my God.”
If his mouth was free he would second that thought because he had died and gone to heaven. Never had he known a woman as responsive as she was. To have her lush body under his command, to watch her flush with pleasure and undulate above him, gave him an unparalleled high. He didn’t know how long he could please her, though, before he put himself in danger of losing control. Something he hadn’t done since adolescence, but she made him feel like a teenager all over again. Like the first time. No, better than the first time because now he knew what he was doing.
He slid a second finger into her warm, wet sheath, and she exploded around him. One moment the muscles of her thighs and abdomen went rigid, the next she was shaking like a leaf in a gale force wind. He grasped her nipple, hard, at the same time he sucked her into his mouth. A broken cry fell from her lips, and she dropped her head to her chest.
When the last contraction passed and she went limp in his hold, perspiration coated her golden breasts, abdomen, and thighs. He wanted to lick every drop from her flesh.
“Abby?”
“Hmmm?”
Her eyes were closed. She didn’t seem to hear him.
Slowly Glen withdrew his mouth. He slid his hand from her breast and ran his thumb over her clit. Softly, but still a ripple of aftershock went through her. He moved that hand to her hip and gently withdrew the other one from her body, resting it on her thigh.
Blinking slowly, she looked down on him through eyes glazed with passion. There was no way she could fake what she experienced, no way to fake what she was feeling now. He’d put her in this state, and he had to admit he liked it. She looked ready for a long, warm nap while he, on the other hand, was still painfully hard.
Careful not to startle her with any quick movements, he reached over with one hand and slid a condom from the back pocket of his jeans where they lay on the floor. Thank God he had thought ahead to put one there. He had more in his coat, but he didn’t want to break contact with her to get one of them. Not even for a second.
He put the packet to his teeth and tore it open. Smiled when she leaned forward, watching with curiosity as he slid the condom on and rolled it back.
“I’m on the pill,” she told him.
He believed her but he had heard that before. Then there were the other considerations.
As if reading his mind, she said, “I haven’t had a lover in two years.” His surprise must have been evident on his face. “Look where I live. I’m a lawyer and a judge. I can’t indiscriminately sleep with people and keep the reputation I need as a professional, and it’s not like there are any bars or dance clubs around here to go to on a Friday night.”
He didn’t want her in a bar or a nightclub. Whoa, that reaction shocked him so much he stood abruptly only to watch as she tumbled back onto the comforter.
“Glen?”
Still wondering where this sudden possessiveness came from, because he had never experienced it before, he came down on the bed beside her.
Tamping down those dark emotions, he said, “It’s been eighteen months for me. Clean bill of health, but you can never be too careful.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
Laughing, he rolled over and slid between her welcoming thighs. Placed his palms on either side of her body to keep the weight of his torso from crushing her. And to admire her breasts. He loved the way perspiration trickled over the ample slopes on a path to her rosy pink nipples. Loved the way they stood out from her golden skin. He couldn’t resist laving them with his tongue, once, twice, only to stop when she moved restlessly beneath him.
“Stop teasing me.” Her voice was husky with need. “Please, Glen.”
Hearing his name from her sweet lips was more than he could handle, and he slid home.
“Yesss.” The word was a sibilant hiss. She arched her back, and he wanted to kiss her exposed neck, but short of being a contortionist, there was no way he could bend to reach her, so he satisfied himself with the feel of her instead. Rested his body weight on one forearm and used his other hand to palm her buttocks. Smooth and supple. She wrapped her legs around him, the muscles in her thighs clenching his lower back as her inner muscles contracted around him.
Then she used her hands; small, agile, and soft. She stroked his back, scraped across his chest, and delved between their bodies. He had never had a lover who touched him during sex like that. Abby slid two fingers around the base of his erection so that every time he moved the friction between them heightened. She stroked herself, and he almost lost his breath. With her free hand she squeezed his buttocks and scored the back of his thigh with her nails.
He convulsed above her, almost losing his rhythm.
“I dreamed about this.”
She talks. Could the woman possibly turn him on any more than he already was?
She squeezed his thigh and thrust her pelvis up to meet his, whispering, “I dreamed about this. With you.”
He lost it.
With little finesse and no attempt at rhythm, he thrust into her welcoming body. Once. Twice. And then he went off like a rocket.
Throwing his head back, his leg muscles rigid with the force of the explosion, he savored every spasm, every ripple, as his heartbeat went from a gallop to a trot and finally back to its normal pace.
He thought he was done. Pulled in great gulps of air and brought his forearms, weak and trembling in the aftermath, to rest on either side of her. Kissed the curling tendrils at her forehead. Nuzzled her cheek with his chin.
Her breath came in soft pants against his chest, and he closed his eyes to enjoy the feeling. He was sure there must be nothing left inside of him to give.
Then she raised her head and gently bit his nipple, proving he wasn’t done after all.
Chapter Seven
Abby took a sip of red wine and set it on the nightstand so she could snuggle closer to his hard, warm chest. The bedding protected her modesty but rode low on his torso. And such a beautiful torso it was. She played with the dark whorls of hair running between his nipples and down to his navel before disappearing beneath the edge of the sheet. He didn’t seem to notice. His attention was on the large painting suspended from the ceiling over her bed. Modern and abstract, a brilliant splash of orange and reds and blues in her father’s signature style.
“You told the kids you summered with your grandparents?” he asked somewhat absently.
Taking advantage of his distractedness, she slid one hand beneath the covers and lightly stroked his thigh while she talked. “I spent most of my summers with my grandparents. At least two months each year as an out-islander. Pa was a fisherman and I was his first mate. Ma ran a fruit stand. She knows all the locals, and she introduced me to them each summer as if it was the first time I’d been there. She said that way they would remember me when I grew up and came back again. Not mistake me for an American.”
He swirled the wine in his glass, seeming lost in the reflection from her bedside lamps on the burgundy liquid. Took a long swallow before speaking again. “You’re not a US citizen?”
“I am now, but children of a Bahamian father take his citizenship, so I didn’t choose to be American until I was ready for the bar exam. Anyway, in the Bahamas you’re referred to by your original nationality even if you have citizenship, so there were always people asking where I was from. Ma wanted me to be seen as local because Americans can be resented there. A tourist thing.”
“Hmm.”
Abby loved the sound that vibrated through his torso when he spoke. It was like the purring of a cat, only magnified by his size so it hummed through her whole body and made her want to stretch against him. Or pet him. She dropped a light kiss on his ribcage and continued to stroke his thigh, hoping he would stop talking and give his attention to something else.
“What about your other grandparents?”
“Grammie and Grampa Kelly. I’d spend at least two weeks with them after coming back from the Bahamas. Grampa was a long-haul trucker for UPS, but he always took time off in the middle of August to see me. Grammie stayed home and took care of the garden, the family.”
“But your parents didn’t follow in their footsteps?”
Sighing because she didn’t want to talk, she removed her hand from beneath the covers and retrieved her glass of wine. She finally had the man in her bed after fifteen years of longing for him, and he wanted to go over her family tree? She took a gulp of wine and settled back against the pillows before continuing.
“Not a chance. Dad couldn’t wait to come to the States and live in the city. He goes home to visit, but when Mom left the Delta, she never looked back.”
He refilled his now empty wine glass and at her nod in response to his silent inquiry, topped off hers as well.
“I grew up on a dairy farm,” he volunteered.
“The one across from your sister’s diner?”
“The same. My grandparents owned it, and we lived with them when I was little. My Quebec grandparents would come down and help with busy seasons; calving and haying and maple syrup. My American grandparents passed away, so now Mom and Dad are the older generation, and my brother Roger runs it. He’s training Bryce to take over from him someday.”