He tore his mouth from hers and gave himself only the briefest moment of satisfaction at seeing her sex-hazy eyes and kiss-swollen lips. Bending his knees, he hunkered down a bit so he could take between his teeth the nipple of one breast, clearly delineated through her silk blouse.
She whimpered.
That was all the signal he needed. Luc opened his mouth onto her breast and suckled deeply—an unrelenting, rhythmic pull on that erotic zone.
Then, with barely a break, he gave equal attention to the other breast.
Sylvie, whose legs had apparently turned to rubber, was holding on to two low-hanging branches with arms stretched out and over her head. A continuous keening came from between her gritted teeth. Her neck was arched back with the intensity of her arousal.
Forget about love potions and aphrodisiacs. In Luc’s opinion, there was nothing more enticing than the sight of Sylvie aroused.
Luc couldn’t help himself then. He put a knee between her legs and nudged her thighs wide, allowing her to feel his erection against that most sensitive part of her.
Her eyes shot open.
Please, God, don’t let her panic now. He put a palm on each of her buttocks and lifted Sylvie till her toes barely touched the ground. They were perfectly aligned now.
Arranging her legs around his hips, he began to pound himself against her. Slowly, at first, then faster and faster. The whole time, he held her eyes, wanting to see the moment she began to come.
When her legs tensed, he stopped.
“No,” she cried out. “Don’t stop.”
He smiled and rubbed himself against her from side to side.
“Aaaaaaarrrrrgh!” she ground out.
He spread her legs wider, and resumed his thrusts.
She began to scream.
He caught her scream with his mouth.
Sylvie’s hips were rolling frantically now, and undulating against him with a feverish pitch.
She became wild.
He became wilder.
Finally, he could feel Sylvie spasming against him, and he lost it himself, pounding, pounding, pounding away against her till they were both moaning into each other’s mouths and his knees gave way, taking them both to the ground, where he continued to thrust against her, even when he’d reached his mind-blowing orgasm, even when she had come at least three equally mind-blowing times.
Short minutes later, as they lay in each other’s arms, Sylvie practically purred as she rested her face against his chest, one leg thrown over both of his. He felt supremely satisfied, and unsatisfied at the same time. When she kissed his chest, ever so gently, he kissed the top of her hair.
This was the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
It was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
“Sonofabitch!”
The single expletive came from the mouth of a long, tall man in dusty boots and a sinful length of faded jeans, denim shirt, and battered cowboy hat. He was staring down at them from a height of about six feet two inches, shining an industrial-sized flashlight in their faces.
“Get that freakin’ light off of me,” Luc snarled.
” ‘Scuse my language, ma’am,” the cowboy drawled, tipping his hat in Sylvie’s direction. “And Luc’s, as well.” To Luc, he just shook his head hopelessly and made a tsk-ing sound of dismay as he turned the flashlight to some spot over their heads.
Meanwhile, Sylvie and Luc were still lying on the ground, wonderfully/horribly sated… she would decide which later when her sanity returned… which it was, by humiliating leaps and bounds. How could I? How could I?
Luc mumbled some obscenity about getting his rocks off like a teenager as he scrambled to his feet, then extended a hand to help her up, too. Apparently, he was having the same regrets about their reckless almost-lovemaking.
The cowboy leaned against the tree casually, legs crossed at the ankles, while he waited for them to adjust themselves. “Everyone and his brother, from one end of Looz-i-ana to the other, is searching for you. And not to say ‘Howdy,’ that’s for sure,” the cowboy told Luc, who was dusting off the back side of his jeans. “And here you are, engagin’ in a little early mornin’ delight. Are you crazy?”