He cupped her bare bottom with his hands, then began to move against her in earnest — rhythmic thrusts against her parted center. She wanted him so much. She couldn’t seem to get enough.
Through the fog of his bone-melting passion, Rafe became aware that Helen was kissing him back, with abandon. Licking his lips, nibbling, sucking, inserting her tongue into his mouth, grinding her lips against his.
Tears were streaming down her face and incoherent pleas came out as whimpers into his own mouth.
He turned and lowered her to the bed, following on top of her. His lips never left hers. He wasn’t taking any chances.
“Please,” Helen pleaded against his lips, then broke contact, jerking her head to the side. Her chest was heaving and she panted, writhing from side to side.
“Hold on, babe, hold on,” he promised, running a hand up her leg to her inner thigh. At the first touch of her wetness, he almost came. “Oh, sweetheart, you feel so good.”
She raised her hips up off the bed and parted her bent legs more. He could feel the muscles in her arms and legs grow rigid.
“Relax, sweetheart. Just relax.”
“Relax?” she choked out incredulously.
He smiled. “Do you want me to touch you again?”
“No!” Then, more weakly, “Yes.”
His thumb strummed her slickness.
She distended and pulsed.
He could barely breathe.
“O-o-oh, Rafe.”
“I told you I would teach you how to say, ‘Oh, Rafe!’ ”
“Shut up,” she ground out with a laugh.
“I want to look at you.”
“Not now,” she asserted, holding his hand in place with one of hers. The other hand reached down and caressed the length of his erection through the fabric of his slacks.
He saw stars.
With a guttural, animal sound of surrender, he placed himself against her, arousal against arousal. Bracing himself on straightened arms, he simulated the act of love — a hard rhythm, up and down.
And she met his every thrust with an opposing thrust, a sweet, tantalizing counterpoint.
“Oh, God, oh, Rafe, oh my, oh-h-h-h,” she screamed exultantly, arching high off the bed, knees bent and bracketing him, feet planted on the bed linens.
He came against her in a searing gush of pleasure, so powerful his body shuddered for several long minutes afterward. Decreasing spasms continued to ripple through him. He’d never had such a satisfying orgasm, even when inside a woman.
He let himself rest on her, heavily, for several moments, trying to get his heart pumping back to normal again. When he finally raised himself on his elbows, he saw that Helen was trembling, too, gazing up at him with awe.
He shared the feeling.
And this was just the beginning. What would it be like when they really made love? When he was imbedded inside her welcoming folds? When she climaxed around his erection?
He stifled a groan.
Grazing a thumb across her kiss-swollen lips, he said in a hoarse voice he barely recognized, “That was some kiss, babe.”
She nodded. “This is probably par for you, but I never — ”
He pressed his fingertips against her lips to halt her next words. “No, it’s not par for me. Believe me, what just happened to us was different… special.”
“Rafe, don’t say things you think I want to hear. It happened. That’s all. I don’t expect anything from you.”
He gritted his teeth. For some reason, he wanted her to expect things from him. And he wanted her to admit it was special for her, too. “I want to look at you,” he said huskily, and began to tug on the hem of her gown.
She covered his hand with hers, stopping the hem at mid-thigh. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” she replied nervously.
“Don’t go shy on me now, honey.”
He pushed the rest of her gown over her head and flicked it off the bed. “Well, I’ll be damned!” he exclaimed, surveying her body. “I was right. You do have Vargas breasts.”
She tried to cross her arms over her chest and close her legs with belated modesty. Before she had a chance to curb her tongue, she blurted out, “What are Vargas breasts?”