She wasn’t prepared for Morgan to slowly slide up along her loins, wasn’t ready for the urgent, throbbing demands that suddenly surfaced, all but begging her for more.
And then, just like that, he was there, seemingly suspended directly above her, so close that their breaths mingled, forming a single entity.
Capturing her hands in his, Morgan laced their fingers together. And then, his eyes holding hers, he parted her legs with his knee. Moving almost achingly slowly, he entered her.
Krys drew in her breath quickly, her heart beginning to pound in anticipation. Morgan slowly began to move within her.
The rhythm was timeless and eternal, managing to grow stronger and stronger with each movement, each forceful thrust.
As every second passed, she felt the rhythm between them grow more and more forceful, increasing in its demands. Her hips moved more urgently, matching his, which then in turn matched hers.
It built like this, one movement surpassing the other, until they could barely keep up with one another. Barely keep from gasping for breath.
And then, their lips sealed to each other’s, Morgan and Krys raced for that one final culmination, that final joyous, all-encompassing explosion that wound up raining over both of them.
When that final moment came, there was nothing else but that, nothing else but them and the wild, erratic pounding of their hearts that beat so hard, it felt as if they had become one.
Her chest was moving so fast, she could barely catch her breath.
She was convinced that she never would, but eventually, Krys felt herself freefalling to earth in slow motion as euphoria slipped away through her fingers.
Reality with the world in tow came back into the room.
It took Krys a few moments before she was able to form any coherent words. When she finally could, she murmured, “This was better.”
Morgan shifted his weight off her, moving as best he could into what little space was available beside her on the sofa.
“Did you say something?” he asked, not certain if he had imagined her voice or if she had actually said something to him.
Krys took in a deep breath and repeated herself. “I said ‘This was better.’”
Morgan still didn’t understand. Was she trying to compare their lovemaking to something? “Better?” he questioned. “Better than what?”
Shifting her head, she looked up at him and smiled. “This was definitely better than Casablanca.”
He didn’t know why that would strike him as funny, but it did and he started to laugh. Once he began, he couldn’t stop himself. Delighted at her assessment, laughing at her innocent observation, Morgan tightened his arms around her and kissed Krys again.
Any residual tension disappeared like a sprinkling of dust left in the spring rain.
Settling in and turning his face toward hers, Morgan deadpanned, “All right, so what do you want to do next?”
Her eyes sparkled as she suggested, “How about more of the same?”
“Lord, yes,” he wholeheartedly agreed, enthusiasm ringing in his voice. “But you’re going to have to give me at least thirty minutes to regroup.”
“Thirty minutes, huh?” she asked, rolling the directive over in her head and then raising her head to press a kiss to his neck.
He could feel the effect of her mouth against his skin, creating a warm ripple that grew in magnitude and desire. He could feel himself wanting her more quickly than he thought he was capable of.
“Well, okay,” he amended. “Maybe twenty.”
Krys shifted, raising her body so that she could reach the other side of his neck and then kissed that.
“Maybe make that ten,” Morgan corrected himself, finding that he was having some trouble trying to catch his breath.
“Ten?” she asked teasingly, feathering her fingers slowly down along his torso until she finally brushed just the very tips of her fingers along a swiftly growing part of him.
Morgan groaned again, then caught her hand with his, keeping her fingers still. She had definitely aroused him.
“You realize that you could definitely wake up the dead,” he told her.
The smile that curved her mouth was nothing short of pure mischief, and her eyes dipped down again to take note of the havoc she had just created with her lightly moving fingers.
“That, Cavanaugh,” she told him with pride, “is definitely not ‘dead.’”
With a gleeful laugh, Morgan shifted their positions and proceeded to make love with her for the second time that night, this time deliberately going so slowly that every single precious moment that followed burned itself into her memory.
When Krys woke up the next morning, she found herself alone on the sofa with only a light blanket thrown over her.
Startled, not knowing what to think, she sat upright, clutching the blanket to her. When it began to slip, she realized that she was still very nude beneath it. She grabbed the blanket and held it against herself. Then she did her best to wrap it around her like a less than fashionable-looking sarong.
Rather than calling out Morgan’s name, she decided to try to find him first.
Moving from one room to another, she refrained from giving in to the very strong urge to demand to know just where the hell he was. He couldn’t have run out on her during the night, could he?
No, he might have wanted to, she argued, but the man was all about duty and he had made it clear to her that he wasn’t about to leave her on her own unguarded.
So where was he?
At the end of her patience as well as growing slightly panicky at this point, Krys finally found him in the back bedroom.
He was on the phone.
Morgan looked up when she entered. “Gotta go now,” he told the person on the other end of the call. “Something just came up.”
With that, Morgan ended his call and put his phone away.
Unlike her, Krys noted, Morgan was completely dressed. “Going somewhere?” she asked him, hiking up her drooping blanket and holding it closer to her.
“Eventually,” Morgan answered,
