Her Man Friday(58)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

"Why, Mr. Freiberger," she said, "I didn’t know you had it in you."

His salacious grin faltered a bit at her teasing comment, but he regrouped easily. "Yes, well, Miss Rigby, I’d rather have it in—"

She halted him with a chuckle and a kiss, pushing herself up on tiptoe, claiming his mouth in the most intimate way she knew how, tasting him as deeply as she could. He responded in kind, wrestling her for possession, pushing her body against his. To defend herself, she dipped her hand inside his trousers, beneath the waistband of his briefs, and cupped him lovingly in her hand.

He uttered a feral sound in response, then moved one of his hands to join hers, covering the back of her hand entirely with his palm. Slowly, he urged her hand lower, to the base of his stiff shaft, then moved both upward to the head again. Lily felt the first traces of his desire dampen her palm, and their next trip down his length was slick and warm. And this time, instead of encouraging her to move her hand back up, he pushed her fingers lower still, until she filled her hand with the rest of him and curled her fingers lightly closed.

"Oh," he said, pulling his mouth away from hers. "Oh, Lily."

He let her have her way with him for another moment, and she enjoyed another leisurely, thorough, damp exploration of him. Then with a sudden, quick gesture, he moved himself away. With one swift action, he shed his trousers and socks, then hauled her up and into his arms and carried her toward his bed. With one hand, he jerked down the spread and blanket and sheets, then he lay her on her back in the middle and followed her down. Before she could say a word—not that she necessarily wanted to say anything at all—he covered her mouth with his in a heart-stopping kiss. She circled her arms around his neck and to pull him closer, and he nestled his big body alongside hers.

He nestled one of his legs between both of hers as he kissed her, pressing his chest against her br**sts. His soft hair tickled her sensitive br**sts, and the heat of his entire body seemed to surround her. Instinctively, Lily arched her body against him, an action that pushed her against his leg. She gasped at the contact, then repeated it, again and again, until his leg was damp with her desire.

With one final kiss, he turned her onto her side, facing away from him, and spooned himself against her. She started to object, but he began kissing her along her shoulder and covered her breast with one big hand. Then she felt the hard length of him nestling into the cleft in her fanny, and she couldn’t quite form the words to say anything at all. He caught her nipple in the V between his index and middle fingers, rolling the taut little pebble as he squeezed her tender flesh hard. His other hand had flattened against her belly, but now crept lower, down to the dewy curls between her legs.

She caught her breath as he furrowed her, dragging his fingers through her damp, heated folds, penetrating her with one long finger over and over again. Lily moved a leg backward, hooking it over his calf, and a second finger joined the first, plowing deeper and more insistently than before. She reached behind herself, cupping her hand over his head again, and for a moment could only lie there as burst after burst of heat shot through her. Then, without warning, a white-hot explosion of sensation rocked her.

Before her orgasm could even begin to ebb, Leo turned her so that she lay on her back beneath him, then he knelt between her legs. In the next moment, he was sheathed in a condom and thrusting deep inside her, and the explosion that she had thought was ending doubled in its intensity.

Again and again he pumped inside her, and again and again she crested that wave only to ride it once more. Finally, when she thought she would die from the wanting, the craving, the needing, he lunged one last time against her, propelling himself deep, deep, inside her. As one, they cried out when he arched his back and emptied himself inside her. For one long moment, it was as if the two of them were suspended in space, unburdened by gravity or obligation or time. Then, slowly, Leo relaxed against her, withdrawing from her and rolling onto his back beside her.

All Lily could do was lie there motionless, with her eyes closed, wondering what had happened and why she suddenly felt as if she had no body, no mind, no soul. Then she remembered that she had just given all of them to Leo. Instead of alarming her, however, the knowledge of that comforted and gladdened her. Because she knew he had given freely of those things himself, to her, as well.

He turned his head and brushed a chaste kiss along her temple. "I’ll be right back," he said before rising and making his way to a bathroom that adjoined his bedroom.

Lily wondered where he found the strength to move. She was overcome by a languid sense of peace and lethargy, and she never wanted to leave this place again. Never before had she made love to a man and felt so utterly full, so completely sated, so wonderfully right afterward. Yes, there were still things that she and Leo needed to work out, she thought vaguely, things she had to tell him and make him understand. But somehow, she was confident that he would understand. No two people could make love the way they just had and not be willing to make allowances for things they might not comprehend.

It was going to be okay, she thought. Whatever Leo was hiding from her, and whatever she was hiding from him, they would talk about it, and they would work through it. Whatever it took to make sense of things, whatever it took to forgive and move on, she was confident they would be able to manage it. They would both be honest with each other, and they would both understand. Of course they would.

Of course they would.

Leo propped himself up on one elbow to watch Lily as she slept beside him in his bed—in his bed, he marveled yet again—and couldn’t help reaching out to touch her. With the index finger of one hand, he lightly traced her bare shoulder, drawing his fingertip along her collarbone, dipping into the elegant hollow at the base of her throat. She murmured something quiet and incoherent in her sleep, but didn’t awaken. Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand, so that she would continue to sleep, so that he could continue to gaze upon her.

He would have thought that by now, he would have had enough of touching her, at least enough to get him through the night. They had made love twice, after all, the second time even more urgent than the first. But he simply could not resist reaching for her again, thumbing with feather-like lightness the fringe of dark bangs that brushed her forehead.

She lay on her side facing him, one hand loosely gripping his pillow, the other folded over her bare br**sts. The sheet dipped low on her body, riding on the highest curve of her hip, and her skin shone like ivory in the pale light of the moon that filtered through the window beyond the bed. Her hair was a heavy black curtain of silk that spilled across her pillow and onto his, and, as if they couldn’t quite help themselves, his fingers wandered into the dark tresses, sifting carelessly through them, threading lightly among them.