Page 106 of Flirting with Forever

Her experience was broad. There wasn’t a position or surface she hadn’t tried, but to luxuriate here in his adoring gaze, while he rolled the tiny seed pearls of her bra between his thumb and her tender flesh, was beyond any pleasure she had known.

His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes held hers, unblinking. She didn’t want to think about what would come next. Whatever they could have, she would have here, now.

He found the hook of her bra, and in an instant her breasts were loose. She felt him thicken as he brushed the lace and boning away. With a groan, he jerked his hips and the weight of her flesh bounced against her chest. He caught each nipple between knuckles and tortured her, plucking the burning flesh until fire scorched a path between her thighs.

Then his hands left her chest. He brought them to her shoulders and down her arms. He drew his thumbs along her chin and over her cheekbones. She closed her eyes to hold on to the moment, but it was flying too far in front of her to catch.

“No,” she whispered, and he stopped.

“No, no,” she cried, and began to ply her hips on her own. Each circuit brought the cool metal of his loosened belt under her overheated flesh. He stroked her knees, bringing his hands up her straining thighs until at last he palmed her buttocks. She could feel the panties’ crystals as they swayed, and she knew he could feel them too.

“Harlotry,” she said, smiling.

“Yes. I shall never forget you.”

They were rocking in tandem now, feverish, long sways that filled her with a heartbreaking joy. It was as if he were trying not so much to possess her as disappear into her, and she opened her arms and legs to offer him safe harbor.

She wanted to stop time, to hold him here, safe in her arms forever. She closed her eyes, and he brought her down his length, again and again, in a thumping staccato, and kissed the valley between her breasts. He held her there, filling her with his desperate hope, until there was nothing but two hearts, wedded in a fire she could no longer contain.

“Oh, oh,” she cried.

His thumb found her bud and he held her at the peak, twitching her higher and higher until her breath stopped and her lungs burned and the conflagration between her legs consumed her.

A long, shuddering moment later, she realized he hadn’t finished and she brought him close, losing herself in his thick brown-black waves. She moved reverentially, stretching out each moment like taffy. Only when she laid a hand on his cheek did she feel he was crying.

“Oh, Peter. I’ll never forget you, either.”

He brought himself high into her, pressing her almost to standing with his need, and his groan echoed in her ears.

His body jerked reflexively, once and again, but his shoulders, cool and damp under her touch, did not relax. “Don’t move,” he said. “Don’t move.”

She saw their reflection in his mirror, his back as straight as a castle wall, his lips on her glistening breast, and her long white skirt streaming from the couch. It was a wedding night fantasia, and she tried to capture it in her mind’s eye to hold as a replacement for the wedding night they would never have.

With an easy heave, he moved her from his lap to her back on the couch, where he found purchase in the midst of the silk. He laced his fingers in hers, their rings touching, and looked in her eyes.

“Tell Jacket he is to have you, but not until I’m done. For now, for today, until I am gone, I will have you for my own.”

Her breath caught, and he kissed her.

I have Peter now was the only thought she registered.

Forty-seven

She smoothed her skirt and gazed at her reflection. Peter had insisted she wear the sweater without the bra, saying no woman would be tortured by whalebone on his account, but she suspected more than general bonhomie at work as she’d twice caught him stealing sidelong glances at her since she’d re-dressed. With hair streaming in uncombed waves down her shoulders, spots of pink on her cheeks, a button missing from her sweater, and a skirt that looked like she’d just crawled through the climbing tower at McDonald’s, the lack of bra was pretty much in keeping with the theme. She supposed she should just be glad there were no teeth marks on the wool. Ah, well, self-confidence, right?

“I won’t be too long,” she said, giving him a kiss. “Three hours of forced smiles, air kisses, and wine spritzers is about all I can take. I don’t want to miss a minute with you I don’t have to.”

Peter’s pencil stopped on the words air kisses—he had retreated to his desk and was sketching her—but he continued on with a shrug. “You won’t miss a minute with me. I am invited. Ball’s guest.”

“Oh.” This threw a slight wrench in the evening because Cam knew she had to talk to Jacket, and Peter’s presence would make things more awkward. “I, um—”

“Fear not, fair lady. I shall make myself scarce. You need to focus on filling the room with the confidence of a sultan, er, sultaness, and in any case, I shall not be the cause of any further embarrassment for you and Jacket.”

“Thank you, Peter. But after, can we—”

“Aye.” He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “After. And for as long as we have.”

She looked at the clock. Time was her enemy. “Are you ready? My car’s around the corner.”