Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [62]
“I should be shot for this,” he whispered, then, with a hand to the back of her head, he pulled her forward, slanted his lips over hers, and lost himself in her kiss.
Maggie closed her eyes. She told herself not to panic as each warm, incredible sensation swept over her. Her blood was on fire, her lungs constricted, and when she felt his tongue press against the seam of her lips, she sighed, parting to him, thrilling to the feel of his tongue as it slid past her teeth, slick, wet, searching, flicking against each sensitive recess.
Warm heat, like tallow running down a burning candle, seeped through her extremities. His breathing was shallow. Ragged as the gust of wind that brought the scent of rain. He trembled as they fell back against the ground, and she moaned, unable to deny the pleasure that rippled through her. She lost sight of what was real and what was fantasy.
Somewhere a magpie cried, and a horse nickered softly, but it wasn’t here in this time and place. The here and now was filled with the scents of leather and smoke, the taste of salt on skin, the feel of callused, rough hands reaching beneath her tank top, of fingers grazing her nipples.
He kissed her hard, so hard her head spun, so hard she felt a desperate yearning deep in the most delicate core of her. She didn’t protest when he lifted her tank top from her shorts or when he bowed his head and pressed hot, wet kisses to the bare skin stretched over her breastbone. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and he nuzzled, gently at first, but harder and harder, his tongue dipping along the lacy edge of her bra.
Pulsing and hot, desire sped through her bloodstream. In the back of her mind she told herself that she should stop this now, before it was too late, but the words died in her throat, and all that escaped her lips were soft, anxious moans.
She sighed as he lifted one breast from its lacy cup to run a rough thumb across her already-aching, button-hard nipple.
“I want you,” he admitted, and the words sounded ripped from his throat. “I’ve wanted you from the first second I laid eyes on you.”
“No—”
“Shh, Maggie, it’s true, and I hate it.” He breathed across her bared breast, and she gasped, then, slowly, his eyes locked with hers, he took the nipple into his mouth and kissed it as if he’d never stop. Deep inside she started to throb. With his tongue, teeth, and lips, he tasted and teased, causing the world to spin and desire to thrum around her. The interwoven branches of the trees overhead became indistinct, the clouds farther up dark and sensual.
With deft, practiced fingers he removed her bra, his hands skimming her skin, his mouth following close behind. She smelled the scent of rain, felt the first drizzling raindrops as he buried his head in her naked abdomen, and she felt his breath on her navel.
“Is it all right?” he asked, slipping the button of her waistband through the buttonhole.
“Is—Is what—?” She couldn’t think, gulped back words, couldn’t stop.
He gave a tug. The button fly opened with a sharp report of snaps. She felt moist between her legs and knew somewhere in the deepest recesses of her brain that she was about to step over a line that could never be recrossed, that going any further was more than dangerous, it was playing with fire. But the feel of his tongue and lips caressing her skin, breathing flames across the sheer cotton of her panties, creating a swirling warmth deep in the center of her, made the words of denial die in her throat.
A part of her loved this man. Another part was curious about him. Another part was scared beyond reason, and the last, that very intimate part of her, wanted desperately to break down the walls of girlhood and embrace becoming a woman.
His teeth tugged at the elastic of her panties and she swallowed hard as both the tattered cutoffs that had guarded the scrap of cotton lace and the panties themselves were slipped easily off her body. Cool moist air caressed her skin while skillful hands parted her legs and a man she barely knew, a man she had fantasized