smoothed her eyebrows with his thumbs.
“Welcome home, sweetheart. I’ve missed you.”
“Take me home, Taylor, now, please, home.” He’d never heard her voice so low, nearly ugly in its hoarseness. He felt himself responding with a reck-lessness he didn’t know was in him. He grabbed her bag in his right hand, her hand in his left, and dragged her toward the exit.
They were nearly running, saying nothing. She focused on the utterly alien feelings shocking through her, but not hesitating, no, she wanted this—whatever it was—and there was no fear, no sense of revulsion. There was only Taylor and he would take care of her and give her what she wanted, what she needed. She was breathing hard, then harder still. His fingers tightened around hers.
She looked at his profile, saw the flush on his cheeks, saw his partially open mouth. Dear God, she wanted to touch him, feel all of him, stroke her fingers down his belly, stroke his penis and make him hard and harder still, and bring him inside her. Yes, yes, oh God, yes… .
Time suspended itself. Traffic went by the car in a blur of midnight sights and sounds. He was driving too fast, his hands, both of them, clutching the steering wheel, his knuckles white. There was nothing but her, there was nothing in the world but her.
Lindsay stared straight ahead. She felt the strange rhythms in her body, pounding deep and deeper still, and she didn’t question them, rather she breathed fast and harsh, feeling him next to her, smelling the man scent of him, her fingers clenching, wanting to touch him, to feel him touching her.
Suddenly, not more than a block from their apartment, she turned to face him and said only, “Taylor.” She swallowed; there was nothing else she could say.
“Yes, Eden. Not long now. Not long.”
They were breathless with their dash to the front door of their apartment. It took him too long to get the front door unlocked. He dropped her bag to the hardwood floor, kicked the door shut with his foot and grabbed her. She came fully and completely against him and he realized for the first time that they fitted perfectly together. But the clothes, the damned clothes. He wanted her naked flesh in his hands, pressed against him. All of her, this instant, heated flesh against him, smooth flesh, her flesh—
“Taylor,” she said again, and this time she grabbed his hand and together they raced toward the bedroom. She drew him on top of her on the bed and he was heavy and hard against her and Lindsay knew she’d never imagined anything so wonderful as this. He kissed her, not lightly as was his habit, but deep, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, feeling her surprise at the touch of him, knowing that she’d never done this before, never allowed it, but now, with him, she did.
He was trembling with the force of his feelings, the surging lust that was making his heart pound and his loins painful and heavy. His hands were on her breasts now, kneading them, caressing them, tugging gently at her through her clothes. “Too much,” he whispered. The clothes were too much. “Yes, oh yes.” Lindsay bucked him off her to his side and her fingers were frenzied on the buttons of his shirt, then with a whimper of frustration she began yanking futilely on the zipper of his pants.
All that she was, all that had lain buried so deeply within her, was in the open now, raw and painfully sharp, and she was whimpering with the frantic need that was driving her beyond anything she’d ever known, beyond anything she could have ever believed existed.
Taylor couldn’t bear it any longer. He reared back off the bed, thrust his hands beneath her sweater to her slacks, and nearly ripped them open. He jerked them down her legs, bringing her panties with them, and her knee socks. He’d forgotten her boots and cursed, then yanked them off. In an instant she was naked to her waist and she was sitting up, grabbing at his pants and watching him as he jerked off his coat and his sweater.
“Taylor, please.”
He couldn’t stand it for another moment. He unzipped his pants and freed his sex. She stared at him and there was such hunger on her face that he moaned. He came down over her, parting her legs wide.
“Eden, oh sweet Jesus, now.” And he parted her with shaking warm fingers and came into her, powerfully, in one long sure thrust.
She yelled, arching off the bed. At the same time her arms were around his back and she was pushing upward, helplessly, not knowing what to do, but allowing the sensations to pour through her, and she felt him so deep inside her. She was pulsing and breathing so hard she thought she would die of it, but all she could think of was the power of him, the heat from him, the depth of his sex, pumping hard inside her, and she moaned and moaned, not ever wanting it to stop, but wanting something, something, that was building and bloating inside her, pushing hard at her, pushing—
He was over her, his face flushed with his passion, and then he came down with all his weight now, so very deep inside her, and he began kissing her hard, then shuddering and pulling back, and kissing her with a tenderness that made her arch upward against him, drawing him deeper and deeper. And it was simply too much. “Come now, Eden, come to me.” In the next instant, his fingers were between their bodies and he’d found her and she was wet and swelled and he thought he’d die with the wonder of it. He caressed her flesh and she was crying now, her chest heaving, her raw moans filling the silent air, and he said again and again, “Come to me now, sweetheart. Yes, come to me. Give it up. Yes, come, come, come—trust me, trust me.”
She did with a soul-deep shudder. Her eyes went blank and glazed. “Taylor!” She arched upward, her hips moving wildly against his fingers, drawing him even more deeply into her, and her muscles were contracting and he knew that it was all over for him. When her screams burst over him, he let himself go and heaved and threw back his head, yelling his climax. He knew even as he exploded inside her that this was her first orgasm and that he had given it to her and that something had happened to bring her to him in this wild frenzy, but he wouldn’t think of it now, oh no.
And as he quieted, she said into his mouth, “My name is Lindsay, not Lynn. I hate Eden. Please, my name is Lindsay.”
“I love you, Lindsay,” he said and in so saying it, he offered her all of him, without reservations and forever.
“And I you,” she said, her voice hoarse and raw and dazed, her tongue warm in his mouth, and she was licking his upper lip, his tongue, nipping his chin, and she was tightening beneath him yet again.
“I want to feel all of you,” he said, and pulled out of her.
17
It was beating wildly inside her again, this need, this urgency, this all-consuming wanting of this man. The orgasm that had hit her hard had dazed her, leaving her shaking and hot and strangely fluid, and she hadn’t really understood what had happened but knew that it was going to happen again. This frenzy, it was building fast inside her. She didn’t question it, didn’t hesitate for an instant. She came up and began ripping off her clothes.
“Yes,” she said, all her concentration on getting her bra off, “I want to feel you, Taylor, I want to know everything about you, everything—to touch you, your belly is so beautiful and hard and—”
He paused an instant, his breath coming fast again and faster still as he listened to her. He didn’t question that he wanted her again, as fiercely as he had but minutes before. Blood was pumping through him, and his skin felt itchy and hot. He felt incredibly strong. He watched her tugging clumsily at her bra. He laughed and slapped away her hands. It was a front clasp and he slid it quickly open, and he pushed it back and stared at her breasts, just stared, gulping, his lips moving because he wanted her in his mouth, to suck and caress. His hands cupped them, weighing them, holding them, filling his hands with her, and he groaned.
“Hurry,” she gasped. “Oh, hurry, please, Taylor.”
And he did. When he came over her, her legs parted for him and he moved between them and he felt all of her, her breasts against his bare chest, her belly against his, the length of her legs against his, and he closed his eyes at the intensity of the feelings crashing through him.
“Ah, Lindsay, damn, I’d thought to make this time slow and sweet.”
“No,” she said, pushing at him, trying to touch him with her fingers. He pushed up on his elbows and felt her hands thrust between their bellies and close around him. His eyes closed and he felt himself pushing against her soft hands, his breath heaving, quickening, and he had to jerk away because in another moment or so he would
