Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [132]
“Maggie,” he whispered as she, scooting lower on the bed, forced the jeans over his slim hips and down long, rock-hard thighs. His skin sheened with perspiration, and, as she ran her fingers along the length of his spine, he sucked in his breath. She kissed the soft hair on his thighs, traced the dark line of down that arrowed from his waist to his crotch, then gently, looking up at him with eyes she knew were luminous, touched his erection with the tips of her curious fingers. “God, Maggie…” He kicked the Levi’s to the carpet, dragged her upward, and spread her legs with his knees. “You make me crazy,” he growled, propped on his elbows, staring down at her with lust-glazed eyes. “You know, woman, you always have.”
“That…that works two ways, cowboy.” Oh, Lord, she wanted him, more than she’d ever wanted a man, more than any woman should want a man. She trembled with the wanton need that awakened in the deepest center of her womanhood and licked, like flames on dry kindling, through her blood.
He glanced at her mouth, leaned down to kiss her again, and then, as his arms entrapped her, he closed his eyes and swore under his breath. “Maggie, I just don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then don’t,” she said, desire throbbing through her. “Don’t—” Just love me, Thane. For once, love me. Not my sister, but me!
“Christ, I should be hung for this,” he growled, before his lips claimed hers again, strong arms held her hard and possessively. His entire body tensed and he groaned savagely, thrusting deep, penetrating the deepest part of her. She gasped, he withdrew, then delved again with a desperate surrender that brought tears to her eyes. “Maggie, sweet, sweet…oh, God.” His voice was ragged, his breathing raspy, his hair dark with sweat. Eyes held hers as his tempo increased, and the veins on his neck bulged. She moved with him, danced the intimate dance of lovers, her fingers digging into the flesh of his back. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, saw only the man above her in a cloudy haze. Faster and faster—the room spun wildly until she bucked upward, convulsing, hanging on to him as he tossed back his head and stiffened, pinning her to the bed, claiming her as his own, joining with her as man and woman have joined for millennia.
“God help me,” he breathed, spilling into her before collapsing and drawing deep, irregular breaths.
God help us both, she thought, as he held her. Exhaustion and frustration had taken their tolls. She closed her eyes and told herself it didn’t matter that she’d made love to him, that whatever happened they needed this time together, and she refused to give in to the dark doubts that crowded around the corners of her mind. Instead she snuggled against Thane and relaxed, sighing as he drew the cover over her. Snuggling close, she listened to the steady, comforting beat of his heart. There was enough time for recriminations tomorrow.
“Cover for me, would ya?” Jenny begged as she pulled her hair through the neck of her turtleneck. The lights were out, Uncle Jim and Aunt Connie had gone to bed, and Jenny was planning to sneak her car away from the house to meet her boyfriend, Kevin, a twenty-two-year-old with hair dyed black, several nose rings, a goatee, and a permanent scowl. Becca thought Kevin was cool; he even played drums in a local band, but she didn’t like having to do the lying for her cousin. From the moment Becca had dropped her duffel bag in Jenny’s closet, Jenny had been asking her to do a lot of “covering” for her, and Becca had the vague suspicion that she was being used.
Jenny’s clock was a wooden Elvis, painted to look like the King. The face of the clock was inserted into Elvis’s torso, but his hips swung free, keeping time to the seconds that were ticking away. Right now, the clock didn’t seem quite so whimsical and cool, but it did tell Becca that it was nearly midnight. Uncle Jim, a businessman who woke up at 5 A.M. so that he could jog five miles before driving to work, had been in bed since