And the Desert Blooms by Iris Johansen

want to watch your silver hair flying around your face as I move in you.”
    She laughed shakily. “Then you’d better hurry. I don’t know how long this light will last.” She bit her lower lip. “I don’t know how long I will, either. Do you want me to undress you?”
    “I’ll do it. It’s faster.” She watched him as he stripped with efficient swiftness. He had a beautiful body, she thought dreamily. Lean and tough, with tight, hard buttocks and a horseman’s strong, muscular thighs. The cloud of dark hair on his chest looked soft and inviting to touch. “And that’s the last hurried action we’re taking tonight. Slow. Every move slow and easy.” He was drawing her over to the wing chair by the French doors. “I want to play with you, get to know your body. I don’t know how long I can stand it, but I want to try. Would you mind?”
    “Not at all.” She didn’t know if he heard. Her assent had been a mere breath of sound. She was surprised the words came out at all.
    “Good.” He dropped into the chair and pulled her down on his lap, facing him. She gasped. The masculine hardness of his bones and sinews was a sensual shock against her softness. She had never felt so womanly before in her life. She was conscious of the pliant softness of each curve, the ripe fullness of her breasts, the slight swell of her buttocks against the hardness of his thighs. Good heavens, the differences between their bodies! He rubbed his chest lightly, teasingly, against her breasts, the soft mat of hair tickling the sensitive tips. She made a low sound deep in her throat and arched against him. “Philip.”
    “I know.” He was undulating like a cat against her, his eyes closed with an expression of pleasure so sensual that it was an arousal in itself. “It’s too much, isn’t it? It’s killing me too. I feel as if I’m going to explode any moment. Just a little more. Lord, you feel good against me.” His eyes opened and they were clouded with a smoky intensity. His entire body was hardening against her, muscles taking on a tension that was unbearably exciting for her to feel. He kissed her temple. “Be very still. I want to pet you a little. It won’t be long.”
    Then his hand was running over her with a skilled sensitivity that caused tremors to rack her with every deft stroke. His long, tanned fingers were lifting her breasts, rubbing the undersides with smooth gentle rhythm. She could feel the muscles of her stomach clench. The tension was rising within her until it was painful.
    “So pretty.” His hand moved down to her stomach. He laughed softly as he felt the tautness beneath his palm. “You’re wanting me, aren’t you? Do you know how wonderful that makes me feel? How much do you want me?” His fingers moved exploringly down between her thighs, and she gasped as they entered with one smooth stroke and began to move. She buried her head against his chest, her breathing coming in little pants. Unbelievable. It was unbelievable. “I think you want me quite a lot,” he said thickly. His other palm was stroking the soft nest of curls, pulling, probing, tugging gently. “But not as much as I want you. It’s a physical impossibility. I’m going to go up in smoke in another second. I’ve never wanted a woman like this before. It’s tearing the guts out of me.”
    Even through the haze that was enveloping her she was conscious of the thread of anger beneath the hoarseness of his voice. Poor Philip, she thought vaguely. He always liked to be in control, but he was caught in the same sensual web that she was. Her lips moved lovingly on his shoulder. “It’s all right, Philip. Everything will be fine.”
    He glanced down at her in surprise. Then, for a moment, there was an expression of exquisite gentleness that transformed the taut hardness of his face. “Yes, everything will be all right,” he said huskily.
    His arms shifted and tightened, and suddenly he was standing, carrying her toward the bed.