a physical response to the fantasy.
Claire tried to scrounge up a mental shield.
In her mind, Venturo flipped her, caressing her back, sliding his hands around her to cup her breasts, his fingers teasing her nipples, sending tiny electric shocks through her. A hungry yearning began to build inside her, a kind of emptiness that insisted on being filled. She felt the steel ridges of his stomach against her back and the thick length of his cock against her butt. Her head swam, as if she were drunk on pink wine.
His hard thigh nudged her legs open...
"Stop!"
"Why?" Venturo's thoughts rolled through her mind. "I'm only showing you what I found in your head."
"You were never meant to see it."
"Why not? I'm the object of your fantasies. I should be able to see them."
In her mind, Venturo nuzzled her neck, stroking her breasts. The air turned too hot. Every nerve inside her hummed with pleasure. She felt the heat drain down, focusing between her legs, building into a thrilling ache. His right hand grasped her hip, his fingers hot on her skin. He pulled her closer and she felt him between her legs, stopping just short of thrusting into her.
"Stop..."
"You don't tell me you are a psycher. You meet me on the bionet and then you let me look for you for days like a complete idiot. You fantasize about me, but you don't let me know. You're terrible at sharing."
She had survived over eight hundred combat missions, yet she was terrified to open that door.
"Did you touch yourself while you thought of me, Claire?"
In her mind his hand slipped down, over her hip, tracing the sensitive curve of her stomach, down, lower, slipping between her lips. His fingers dipped into her, into the center of the ache, and came away slick with moisture. He flicked his fingertips against the sensitive bud of her clitoris.
Pleasure shot through her. She cried out.
"What's the matter? Am I not doing it right? Open the door and show me."
In her mind, the phantom Venturo leaned to her ear and said a single word. "Coward."
If she didn't let him in, she would regret it for the rest of her life. "Open," she said.
The door slid aside, and he came through, pulling off his shirt as he walked, revealing the bronze skin of his muscled chest. He kicked off his shoes. His pants followed. She just watched, unable to move.
He stepped toward her. His arms caught her, pulling her to him. She saw his green eyes, dark with need, and he kissed her. She tasted him - the slight saltiness and spice - and smelled the exhilarating scent of his sweat mixing with a hint of his cologne.
His tongue slid into her mouth and found hers. Desire swept through her, melting the last remnants of inhibitions. His tongue licked hers, and in her mind, she was picturing him thrusting inside her. Their thoughts tangled in a glowing whirlpool and she saw herself in his mind, golden and beautiful, moaning in pleasure. His pride still stung. He was still hurt she did not tell him. But none of it mattered. He needed her, not just her body, but all of her, her mind, her soul, her love.
"I want you," he said, his voice ragged. "Do you want me?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes," her mind sang, "Yes, yes, yes..."
He unzipped her dress, slipped it off her shoulders, and it fell down. His hands eased her out of her bra. Her panties followed. She wound her arms around him. Her fingers touched the hard muscle of his back. She had wanted this for so long. She caressed him, no longer caring about being ashamed. She slipped her hand lower, stroking the smooth skin of his shaft, squeezing, sliding, wanting.
He made a deep male noise and kissed her neck, turning her around. She put her hands against the wall.
He thrust into her, straight into the center of the aching pressure. She gasped, and he kept thrusting, each stroke sending quakes of pleasure through their bodies and their minds. He kept pumping, moving in a steady powerful rhythm. The happy quakes collided inside her, building stronger and stronger, until her muscles contracted and the ache inside her broke into intense shudders of pure bliss. She cried out and sagged against him, supported by his arm around her waist.
"Did you like that?" He grinned, masculine and possessive, and very happy with himself.
"Yes," she told him.
"Good. Now we reenact mine." He picked her up and carried