Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [113]
The room seemed to fade, shadows in the corner closing in. His hands reached under her sweater and she didn’t protest. He kissed her face, her neck, her eyes and she moaned, feeling the angora being tugged over her head, then cool air caressing her bare skin. He threw the unwanted garment toward the door, and Maggie’s legs threatened to give way. Thane’s mouth was everywhere, kissing, touching, hungrily feeding a desire that had been building for years. Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt, slid them through the holes, then scraped past the scar on his shoulder and moved anxiously down his sinewy arms as she shed him of the unwanted garment.
Don’t do this, her mind screamed. Maggie, this is only asking for more heartache. Be smart! Think of Becca! Remember Mary Theresa! Remember how much he hurt you.
But reason fled. It had been too long since she’d made love to him, and memories of their heat, the special passion that they’d shared, burned through her brain.
His lips found the curve of her neck and moved lower still to the circle of bones at the base of her throat while his fingers searched inside her bra, kneading her breast, toying with her nipple until need, hot and pulsating, seared deep in her soul.
Don’t! Don’t! Don’t! she screamed at herself, but didn’t listen. She, too, was exploring with anxious fingers, touching the rugged muscles of his chest beneath a mat of thick hair that hadn’t been there years before.
He sucked in his breath as her fingers skimmed his nipple, and she felt a washboard of muscles in his abdomen: hard, tight, rigid.
He unhooked her bra, and one long finger trailed the length of her spine as the lacy bit of clothing fell away. His mouth caressed her skin, nuzzling the tops of her breasts, lowering slowly until his tongue found her nipple and licked it in dizzying circles. Maggie’s knees crumpled, and he caught her. As easily as if she weighed nothing, he lifted her from her feet, carried her into his bedroom, and laid her on his bed. Cool silk caressed her bare skin as he settled against her and, stroking her breast, kissed her as if he’d never been with another woman, as if any other female was long forgotten, as if she was the only woman on the planet.
Her slacks and panty hose were removed quickly, rough, persuasive fingers stripping her of any scrap of clothing. He pressed his face into her abdomen, and she turned liquid inside. His tongue rimmed her navel as his fingers touched and teased her nipples. Perspiration dotted her skin.
Maggie closed her eyes, the room swayed, and she gasped as he kissed her even lower, in the most intimate of places. She couldn’t help the movements of her body as she writhed with anguished desire. It had been so long…she was so hungry and this…this was Thane…the only man she’d ever truly loved. The only one she wanted.
“Trust me, Maggie,” he said, reaching upward, taking her smaller hands in his and gently placing her palms over her own breasts. He shifted, breathing against her thighs. She tried to remove her palms, but he laced his fingers in hers and forced her hands to move in strong, circular motions on her body. Her nipples were hard buttons beneath her palms, her breathing shallow, desire causing her to writhe. “Come on,” he whispered, and he caressed with his fingers, stroking, feeling, playing with her nipples, encouraging her to do the same.
“But—”
“It’s all right, Maggie. Touch yourself. Feel good.” And then he slid into position, one hand cupping her buttocks, his fingers digging into the hard flesh. With his free hand, he opened her, gently delving and withdrawing until she thought she’d go mad. She wanted more. So much more. His breath fanned her, his tongue found that special spot that only lovers discover, and he touched and tasted of her slowly at first, then with more fervor, his breathing ragged, her body arching as the need increased. The room faded away; she was alone with him, moving to his rhythm, lost to everything but the feel of him, aching for anything