filled but only by him. “Please. More,” she said.
“How much more?” he said as he lifted his head.
“Everything you have. Everything you’re willing to give me.”
“Everything?”
She nodded. Then qualified, “For now. We can have this for now.”
It was the same thing she’d said before their first kiss and she could tell he didn’t like it. But she was trying to hold on to some semblance of reality. She wanted him, but she couldn’t lose herself completely. She couldn’t forget who she was and what she believed and how both those things would always conflict with who he was and what he believed.
She waited for him to protest. Or to agree. He did neither. Instead, he finished undressing her, undressed himself, swept her up in his arms and lowered her to the bed.
* * *
AS SIMON LAID NINA OUT on the bed, he told himself to be calm. Not to panic.
She was still talking about now. Still insisting that what they were about to do, with each other and to each other, wouldn’t last. Everything inside him screamed in protest and he wanted her to know it, but he had no right. And nothing he could say to try to change her mind would make sense anyway.
He just knew she was important to him. That as much as he’d run from caring about her, he couldn’t run anymore. Not from this.
She was in his arms. For now. And he would take it.
He would take her.
Even if he couldn’t keep her.
With that thought in mind, he framed her face in his big hands and kissed her with everything he was feeling—tenderness, affection, lust and yes...a hint of desperation. He wanted to kiss her for hours, but, mindful that their time was limited, he also didn’t want to miss out on touching the rest of her body.
Her breasts especially, he thought, remembering how sweet and right her nipple had felt in his mouth. Groaning, he pulled back and, pressing both of her breasts together, buried his face in her cleavage. Turning his head one way and then the other, he took turns sucking her nipples and simultaneously gave his hands the freedom to roam over her. From her silky-soft hair to her smooth rounded shoulders. Down her arms to her elegant fingers. Over her plush hips and then...God, yes...he clasped her thighs and pulled them up on either side of his hips, opening her so that her core pressed solidly against his upper abdomen, searing him with her heat. Between his own thighs, his erection throbbed with urgency and although he pressed it into the bedding, he found little relief.
He wanted her. To be inside her body. Encased by her wet, clinging heat.
Lowering his hand, he cupped her between her thighs and carefully inserted one finger into her. She was as wet and tight as he’d imagined.
She gasped and arched, her head thrashing back and forth wildly, prompting him to add another finger to the mix. This time she didn’t make a sound, but she grabbed his shoulders, her nails delivering a stinging pain that more than communicated her pleasure and ratcheted up his.
God, she was amazing. So responsive. So giving of herself.
In bed, their differences were only good ones. Two parts that looked and felt nothing alike, but fit together to create something complete and unique and good. In bed, the rest of the world disappeared, and there was no guilt, no fears for the future, just this heart-pounding pleasure that coursed through every part of his body. Invigorating and strengthening him.
After kissing each breast one last time, he slid farther down her body, stopping at her rounded belly and teasing her naval with several licks and bites, each making her squeal with delight. But when he kissed that place between her thighs, she seemed to go mute. With a silent exhalation, she surrendered to his touch, her body melting like butter into the bedding and her thighs falling to the sides.
He could feel her wetness against his face, smell the sweet musk of her womanhood, and he relished the knowledge that she wanted him. A quick glance up her body confirmed that her eyes were closed tight and that her fingers now gripped the bedsheets with every lick and thrust of his tongue. She pumped her hips against him, too, silently demanding he give her more. More of his fingers. More of his tongue. More of the blessed forgetfulness that drowned out everything but the heat and spark and push and