Prey

He snorted. “No shit. What gave me away? The three thousand comments I’ve made about your ass, maybe?”

“Men usually like boobs, that’s all. I’m surprised.”

“I like boobs. Yours are pretty, but your ass is a work of art.” He sat down on the mattress and began unlacing his boots, set them aside. He turned off the heater and the lantern and in the darkness lay down beside her, curling his heat and strength around her like before. Once again she felt his mouth on the back of her neck, then his arm tightened around her waist and he tucked her in tight against him.

“Good night,” he murmured, his rough voice low.

She put her hand on top of his, replied “Good night,” and closed her eyes, but she didn’t think she would be sleeping any time soon, not with her thoughts churning the way they were.

He didn’t go immediately to sleep, either. He was relaxed, but he wasn’t asleep. She could feel him waiting for her to make a decision she hadn’t, until now, realized was so immediate. He wasn’t forcing the timing in any way, if she wanted to go to sleep he would, too, without a word.

But tomorrow, if she could get her boot on, they’d be leaving here. Circumstances would be different. The world would intrude again.

Did she really need to decide, or just trust the decision that had already been made?

Temptation beckoned, a lorelei that was as much emotional as physical. She was at least halfway in love with him, and she shouldn’t take this final step unless she was willing to commit herself to what loving him could mean. Everything wouldn’t suddenly become all sweetness and rose petals. A relationship with him would inevitably include some rocky portions, because he wasn’t and never would be an easy man, but neither was she a smiling Stepford, so she couldn’t expect him to be what she herself wasn’t. The legal issues could be worked out, whether or not their relationship was temporary or permanent. All she had to do was take that step.

Was it a matter of trusting him, or of trusting herself? More than anything, she had to trust herself, trust that she had chosen the right man this time. Todd hadn’t done anything heinous; Dare was right about that. If she’d truly loved Todd, she might have kicked him in the shin, but in the end she would have forgiven him for not understanding, for not being as perceptive as he could have been. If he’d truly loved her, he’d have kept his word. What they’d had together had been Love Lite. Whether or not it would have grown into more was something she’d never know.

Because, now, there was Dare-Dare, who had come searching for her in the middle of a horrendous storm, who had carried her for miles on his back, then continued taking care of her, in ways that hadn’t even occurred to her. Dare had done something that even her friends hadn’t done: He’d taken her side. He trusted her judgment even when she herself didn’t.

Angie opened her eyes and lay staring into the darkness, which wasn’t as absolute as it had been, with starlight now filtering through the windows. Things were changing, time was moving on; she sensed that she needed to reach out and grasp life now, or lose this opportunity perhaps forever.

She could hold herself apart, not take a chance, but it seemed to her that not taking the risk, not trusting both Dare and herself, would be a far greater mistake than taking the chance and perhaps striking out again. It might not work out; if it didn’t, she would still have had the experience of loving him. If, in the end, he didn’t love her enough to want more, well, that would be his mistake, not hers.

Before she lost her nerve, she shifted in the darkness, turning over and putting her arm around his neck, and pressed her mouth to his.

No words were needed, not when they had touch, and need, and desire. He slipped his hand around the back of her neck, his long fingers sliding under her hair and clasping her skull as he took control of the kiss, angling his head and deepening the pressure. The warmth and taste of him filled her, easing a hunger that needed to be fed.

In the darkness there didn’t seem to be any hurry. They kissed and touched, exploring, and Angie lost herself in the tactile magic of it. His hands were on her, sliding over every curve, and her hands were on him. The differences of his body from hers both shook and thrilled her to the core: the heavy muscularity of his shoulders, the hardness of his chest and abdomen, the spinal groove down his back and the thick pads of muscle that laced each side. One at a time, they shed their garments. Her shirt went first and then she was lying with her bare breasts nestled against him, the sensation making her move and slide so she could feel more of the electrifying friction of skin against skin. Her nipples ached and throbbed from just that, then he added the abrasion of his rough hands, the hard pull of his mouth.

He unsnapped, unzipped his fly, and pushed both jeans and underwear down and off, kicked them aside. Angie eagerly reached for him, found his penis already iron hard and heftier than she’d expected, even though she’d already known he’d been lying about having a little dick. Reaching down, she cupped his heavy testicles while with her other hand she began a slow stroke that wrung a groan from deep in his chest.

He stopped her almost immediately. “Uh uh, that’s not the way we do this.”

Because his voice was guttural with pleasure, she smiled against his chest. “It isn’t? Are you sure?”

“Next time, maybe. Not this time.”

“Why not?” Was that sultry voice actually hers? She found one of his nipples, dipped her head to give it a slow lick. “I think you like it.”

“Fucking love it, and that’s why not this time. My fuse is too short.” With a lithe movement he flipped her to her back and pinned her hands above her head while he licked and sucked and slowly fanned the heat that was growing inside her.

She liked sex. She liked the way it felt, liked the anticipation, the closeness, the pleasure. The fact that she’d never had a climax from intercourse itself annoyed her, because she felt as if she were missing out on something that was probably fantastic, going by the way her friends had talked. After she’d broken up with Todd, she hadn’t wanted another relationship, especially not one just for sex, and gradually her need for sex had kind of gone away, and that had bothered her, too. Had all the romance in her, both emotional and sexual, just withered away?

The more Dare touched her, the more emphatic the answer to that question became. No.

Then he tugged the thermal bottoms down and off, and they were lying together naked, kissing as if the slightest distance between them was intolerable. She loved kissing him, loved everything about it, the taste, the way his lips felt, the hot smell of his skin. He kissed his way down to her breasts, where his beard stubble scraped across her sensitive nipples and startled a cry from her, not in pain, but in a sharp, exquisite pleasure that took her by surprise.

His hand dipped between her legs, his thumb finding her clitoris and lightly stroking, circling, until she felt as if it had engorged beyond bearing, needing more, feeling empty and wanting him to fill her. Her legs were open, her back arched, everything in her straining and desperate for release.

“I want to see you when you come,” he growled, lifting away from her and stretching out a long arm to turn on the lantern.

Angie instinctively flinched from the light; she made an aborted movement to reach for the sleeping bag, but then Dare was there, covering her with his body, settling between her legs and reaching down between their bodies to guide the thick head of his penis gently to her opening.

He didn’t enter her, not right away. Instead he slowly, gently rocked, putting just enough pressure behind the movement so that he dipped into her a little, then out, then back in. She caught her breath, her fingers digging into his shoulders, but even though she was holding on for dear life she couldn’t stop her body from writhing beneath him, searching for more, for the completion promised by his penetration.

“More?” The single word was hoarse; his face was set in the hard, strained lines of a man who was holding himself under ruthless control.

She couldn’t answer; even that one word was beyond her. Instead she hooked her left leg around his waist and lifted herself, blindly taking more of him in. The physical shock of the intrusion was uncomfortable, verging on pain, but she didn’t care. The feel of him sliding deep was exquisite and shattering, and she felt tears gathering in her eyes.

He was breathing so hard that every exhalation seemed to rasp from deep in his chest. His gaze burned down at her like blue fire, the color deeper and more intense than she’d ever seen it. “Now,” he said, sliding a muscular arm under her hips and lifting. He grabbed something, maybe his jeans, maybe part of the sleeping bag, bunched it up, and slid it under her to keep her hips tilted. Then he braced himself over her on his elbows and began thrusting, slow and steady, keeping the penetration fairly shallow at first and then going deep and hard. The gasp had barely