her head so he could kiss her cheekbone, and then he pulled her back, out of sight of the crowd below, and turned her so that they were face-to-face, six inches apart, the air between them pulsing with the need to touch.
They looked long and deep into each other’s eyes, seeing how long they could go telling the truth, revealing exactly how they felt about each other. Waves of heat and telepathy vibrated between them. When she couldn’t bear it any longer, Sailor moved closer until she couldn’t see him clearly, until there was nothing to do but close her eyes and find his mouth. And then his tongue. His teeth. He bit her lip and she bit him in return, and then the pent-up feelings of the day overcame them both and their hands took over, gripping, feeling the heat through their clothes, shoulders, backs, arms....
The craving for skin was too much. Sailor unbuttoned his white shirt until he grew impatient and pulled her hands away, then grabbed the hem of her black lace T-shirt and pulled it over her head. She pushed his hands away and pulled his shirt off without bothering with the last of the buttons. His bare torso was far more muscled than she had imagined, and she ran her hands over his shoulders and biceps wonderingly, hardly believing he was hers to touch. His abdominal muscles caused her to gasp. She’d never touched anything like them.
He seemed to be feeling the same way. His hands were on her waist, then her rib cage, his eyes on her body as he reached the black lace of her bra. Her own eyes closed, and she let out a sigh that turned into a shudder. And then she couldn’t stand it anymore.
She grabbed his belt buckle and undid it, then unsnapped his jeans and pulled down his zipper. He was about to be more naked than she was, and she could see him register that. He immediately slipped his fingers through her belt loops and pulled her close enough to unsnap her jeans. She tried to kick off her boots, but she’d forgotten about the ankle sheath and the knife. And then he’d apparently had enough of the vertical striptease because he picked her up and carried her across the office, into the darkness.
He had more strength than she had any idea he possessed.
Sailor was tall, and she hadn’t been lifted off the ground by a man since her childhood. She felt herself blush all over at the sensation of helplessness, and she resisted, her body tensing until he said, “Get used to it,” his voice low. She didn’t know how he could read her mind in the dark, but she did relax, and then she was being carried through a doorway into another room, lit by low, sultry lights. The next thing she knew she was on a bed, on her back, looking up at the ceiling, the voice of the Portuguese singer giving way to a saxophone.
He pulled off her boots, one by one, tossing them on the floor. Pulled out the knife and placed it on the bedside table. Ripped off the sheath and tossed it alongside the boots.
Pulled down her jeans.
His hands were on her hips now, on the silk of her panties, and she put her knees up so he could slip them off. And then the bit of lace that was her bra was gone, and she didn’t even know how he’d done that, but she was naked now. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she watched him push his own jeans down and off, his swimmer’s body naked now, too, as he moved onto the bed, straddling her, that gorgeous chest above her. She reached up and pulled him down to her, and the whole of him covered her with warmth and skin and muscle.
His arms tightened around her and crushed her to him, and they were as close as it was possible for two people to be. In a moment she felt him between her legs, the hardness of him, and she snaked her legs around his back and reached down to guide him into her, gasping as she found him and felt his answering gasp. And then he was deep inside her, and her gasp turned to a cry. She didn’t recognize her own voice.
He stayed silent, looking at her, moving rhythmically inside her, and she knew he loved making her cry out with pleasure at the