For what? She wasn’t asking and neither was he. Because wonderfully, inevitably, Fergus was merging his mouth with hers. Her hands were cradling his face, brushing his cheek with her fingers, tracing the roughness of skin, and for this moment she was loving every inch of him.
He deepened the kiss, and the sensation made her want to cry out in pleasure. But she couldn’t, for to do that would be to break the moment. To take pause…
But he did take pause. He moved back then, just a little, so she could see the flare of desire in his eyes but could also read the sudden doubt.
‘Ginny, it is love-making.’
‘Yes, but only for tonight. Just for tonight,’ she whispered, knowing it was what he wanted to hear but suddenly no longer sure that her words held truth. She smiled up at him, forcing her smile to be that of a calm, sure woman, with the situation totally in her control. The fact that the situation was suddenly totally out of control was no fault of his and it was no less magical for that. For the first time in her life she was out of control, and glorying in it.
Please…
The word was no sooner formed in her mind before she had her answer. She was being kissed again, and it seemed she’d been waiting all her life for this kiss.
Her lips parted, joy surging through her body as she realised that hesitations were gone. For this moment things had indeed changed. He was her Fergus-the man who’d lain beside her and rescued a lamb and somehow changed the way she viewed her world.
She closed her eyes, aching with sensual pleasure as he deepened the kiss. His fingers were holding her, tracing the contours of her waist, seeking to know her. He was glorying in the smoothness of her skin, slowly, wonderingly, and each inch of movement sent shivers of sheer sensual pleasure through her entire body.
She let herself lean into him, letting her body’s weight be supported by his, seeking reassurance that he was real and not some romantic fantasy. Not some dream that would dissipate before it went further. That this was happening in truth and not in dreams. She was naked to the waist and he was still clothed, but that was of no concern. She could feel the strength of him underneath. The clothes would disappear in time and for now it seemed they had all the time in the world.
‘For tonight I love you, Fergus,’ she whispered. ‘This is indeed love-making.’
‘It is indeed.’ He held her at arm’s length. ‘Ginny, are you indeed sure? You know I make no promises.’
‘I want no promises. For now I just want you.’
He gazed down into her eyes for a long, long moment, questioning, probing, but her answers had already been given.
‘My beloved fool. We’re both fools.’
‘No. We’re a mature man and woman with a condom. Out to have a very good time.’ She smiled up at him, aware that her whole universe was centred in this one moment, and she caught his hand and held. She kissed every finger in turn while he gazed down at her bent head with wonder in his eyes.
He kissed her once more but it was different. Better. He kissed her as she needed to be kissed. As she ached to be kissed. Her neck, her lips, her eyelids.
She lifted his hand and led it to her breast. He slipped his fingers around the soft swell, cupping the smooth contours, tracing the nipples, making her cry out in a soft, low ache of need and desire and love.
He was still in his shirt and she needed him closer. She needed the fabric to be gone. The night was dreamlike and wonderful as she pulled away. The flickering rays of moonlight off the water were playing on their faces. There was no need of candlelight here.
Her Fergus. For tonight, this was her Fergus.
They didn’t speak. There was no room for speaking. There was no need. Her fingers were unfastening the front of his shirt. He watched her, his hands gently touching her face, and she could hear his breathing deepening as she made her way downward. Her fingers were feeling the warmth of his skin under the fabric. Her lovely Fergus. Her hero, wounded as she was, but for this night magically healed.
His breathing was becoming ragged as she ran her hands over his chest, feeling his hair between her fingers. Leaning closer, she kissed his neck, tasting the salt of him. Loving him. The shirt had fallen away and he was left with only his jeans.
Her Fergus. Hers.
She locked his arms behind him, then lifted her head to allow him to kiss her. He was tasting her neck, caressing her shoulders with his tongue and the sensation was so exquisite she thought she must cry out in pleasure. She could hardly breathe. She stood motionless, gasping her pleasure as he lowered his head and kissed between her breasts. Slowly. Slowly. His hands gently cupped each breast and his lips moved from one to the other. He kissed them in turn, tantalising, teasing the proudly upright nipples. Savouring.
His fingers moved, gently, whispering down her back, her arms, neck… And then he tugged her into him and their heated bodies moulded together.
Skin to skin.
Their mouths were joined again, her hands holding him in urgent, primeval need. His hands tugged at her hips and she felt her jeans slipping. Good. This was right. She searched for the zipper of his and tugged, and her hands kept on tugging. Away. Away. As his clothing disappeared, her hands stayed at his hips. She felt his body stiffen with shock as her fingers found what they were seeking.
And she found what for this moment she desired above all else. That which would link her to this man in a way she must be if she was to live.
She was under no illusion now. This night was changing her, hauling her out of a dark abyss that she could no longer bear to be in. The escape for her was in loving this man, whether he wanted her or not. But joyously he did want her. For this moment, and that was all that mattered. It was all that could be allowed to matter.
Their bodies were melting into each other. He tugged her closer, then swept her up into his arms and lowered her onto the ancient mattress. She heard herself cry out with dismay as they were momentarily separated, as he did what he needed to do to keep them safe. But it was done in an instant and then he joined her, his body melting against hers.
Slow. Tender. Inevitable. Their bodies curved against each other, and as they met, skin against skin, she felt herself growing dizzy with passion she’d never known. That she’d never realised she could know.
Oh, the feel of him. The joy. He kissed her neck, a rain of kisses, running his tongue over her smooth, soft skin, while his magic hands caressed the hot skin of her breasts, her navel, her belly and beyond.
He was so beautiful. This magnificent body, strong and virile, in full manhood. What right did he have to turn away from loving because he’d once been hurt?
Fergus.
They lay entwined on the mattress and the night air warmed their naked skin, creating an intimacy far greater than any closed bedroom door. The night was warm and still, and the tiny waves from the lake were slapping against the boatshed floor. There were plovers calling along the grassland on the shore, their calls eerie and wonderful. Every sense was aroused-she was aware of every nuance-she’d never felt so alive as she did at this moment.
‘Fergus,’ she whispered, her voice husky with passion, and he rolled on top of her in one lithe move. He was above her then, his knees holding her hips within the strong bounds of his thighs. She arched upward, aching to be closer, closer, kissing his chest, breathing hard, tasting the salt of him.
Fergus.
She was moaning now, kissing him, clutching his back, aching for him to be inside her, but he held himself still. His arms were hard and sinewy as he held himself up, drawing out the moment she so longed for.
She arched again, but he leaned forward and kissed her deeply, his tongue caressing, promising, giving a foretaste of what was to come.
‘My beautiful girl,’ he whispered. ‘My crazy fool. My heart.’
‘Come into me.’ Her thighs were aching with need, her body was creating a flame all of its own, but still he resisted. He lowered himself, but not where she most needed him. Instead, he laid his chest lightly against her breasts, brushing, over and back, over and back, until her breasts felt as if they were alive and her whole body was trembling with want and ache and love.
Still he brushed, over and over, and then he kissed her, every part of her, moving languorously from her lips to her neck, to her breasts, down over her belly, taunting the aching need within until she thought she could die right
