Loose Ends - By Tara Janzen Page 0,140

so long and silky against his face. He loved her; with every beat of his heart, he loved her.

The house was a low-slung plantation-style cottage with more porch than house, all of it screened in. They’d set their bed on the east side, where the morning sun would wake them, but where it was cooler in the evenings.

In the privacy of their jungle-bound bower, he set the pitcher and her cupcake box on a table, then lay her on the four-poster bed and followed her down, stretching himself out beside her on a soft cotton, brightly colored quilt, and she wrapped herself around him.

She kissed his lips and the side of his face, and ran her fingers through his hair, and every act of tenderness made him want her all the more.

The hot-pink bikini was nothing but strings with four triangles of material stamped in a white hibiscus print. He had her naked in half a minute—and from there it was all one long, sweet slide into the sights, and sounds, and the scent of her, into oblivion.

She had little tiny tan lines, and he ran his tongue over each one. She giggled in some places and sighed in others, and he didn’t stop until she groaned—and there, settled in between her legs, he pleased his woman, teasing her with his tongue, loving her with all his heart.

Stroke after lovely, intensely intimate stroke, he made her his, and with every taste, he got harder and hotter and heavier, until the need to be inside her became a craving. She sighed, and he felt her tighten and then tighten again, and he kept licking her, sucking on her so gently while she found her way, and when she came, he played her to the end and beyond, chasing her pleasure with every languid slide of his tongue.

“You’re so soft.” He licked her and she shuddered one last time. “So wet. So mine.”

He lifted his head to look at her, at the satiny, golden curves of her hips and the sweet, mysterious territory in between. She was a need for him, not optional. She was home.

He dipped down and licked her again, just to taste her and hear her sigh. Then he shucked out of his clothes and levered himself up her body.

“Oh.” Her eyes came open, and a warm smile teased her lips.

“Oh, yeah.” He grinned and wrapped her leg around his waist, and he pressed more deeply into her, feeling the sweet edge of pleasure course through his cock and galvanize his body. Sometimes he made love to her so slowly, their whole world became one hazily sensual hour after another, endless until they melted into each other. Other times the game moved faster and the loving took on a fierceness that stole his breath—up against the wall, laid out on the dining room table, lovely, lovely Jane slick and soapy in the shower.

It was all good, and God, she was gorgeous, her long, silky hair trailing across her breasts, every slender curve moving in rhythm with his thrusts. She was hot, and wet, and welcoming, and he filled her up, sliding into her again and again, covering her with his body, making her his.

This was love, to feel so complete with another person, with his woman.

He pumped into her harder, burying himself to the hilt, reaching deep inside himself, deep inside her, for the raw surge of release. At the end, he thrust faster, harder—and was caught. She tightened around him, and his world coalesced into a single stream of pleasure so intense, he forgot to breathe …

Until it was over, and he collapsed on the bed and drew her into his arms.

“Oh, baby,” she murmured, kissing his face, his ear, the side of his nose.

Oh, yeah. Oh, baby. He’d found heaven, and, safe within her arms, he drifted to sleep.

An hour later, when he woke, she was curled on her side, watching him, her hand slowly stroking his chest, her fingers running through the dark hair that covered him down to his groin.

He smiled and rolled over to kiss her mouth, and she tasted so good, felt so fine, he kissed her again—and some days, that’s the way it went all day long, the two of them in their private world.

Today was shaping up to be that kind of day, at least that’s what he was hoping.

“Do you have any big plans for this evening?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Eat, maybe, if we run out of cupcakes and you’ll do the cooking.”

Ah, cupcakes. He kissed the curve of her grin and reached across her to snag the box, and then he reached a little farther and grabbed his swim shorts. After handing her a mango mousse cupcake first, he unzipped the pocket on his shorts and pulled out a small, ribbon-wrapped box.

She stopped in midbite, frosting on her lips.

“This is it, babe,” he said, holding the box up between them. “This is the forever ever I want with you.”

She was ready, so ready, sitting perfectly still, perfectly naked in a pile of white sheets with the brightly colored quilt swirling around her, and if he hadn’t been so damn nervous, he might have grinned.

He pulled the ribbon off the box and opened the lid, and offered her his heart along with an emerald to match her eyes.

“Will you marry me, Jane?” Wild Thing, he wanted her for his own.

He saw the emotion rising inside her, the flush coloring her cheeks, the tears welling up in her eyes—and then she was on him, kissing him, a kiss of mango mousse and pineapple frosting, with her arms around him, her mouth everywhere on his face.

“Yes,” she sighed. “Yes, yes, yes.”

A weight he hadn’t even known he was bearing lifted off him at her answer.

She was his, for forever, for however long forever lasted, and he was home.