Heart Craving by Sandra Hill

and forth with exquisite care, teasing, barely touching, just sliding over the wet surface, coaxing.
    Finally, she could stand no more. Putting her hands on either side of his face, she held him firmly still and pressed her lips to his.
    At first, he made a low chuckling sound deep in his throat, mumbling something about chalking one up for slide kisses. Then he growled and proceeded to take charge of the kiss.
    His teeth nipped at her bottom lip. When she opened her mouth to protest, his tongue plunged deep, then withdrew. He devoured her lips in ever-changing kisses—soft, gentle, coaxing caresses, alternating with hot, bruising promises of searing passion.
    Waves of longing swept over her, turning her skin hot. Her breasts grew heavy, and the vee between her legs felt molten and damp.
    She moaned around his tongue.
    He moaned back.
    Once, he pulled away, gasping for air. “We’re not going to make love,” he assured her. “I’ll keep my promise.”
    She nodded, wanting to tell him to forget his promise.
    “Just a little necking,” he assured her, nuzzling her cheek. “Like two teenagers after their senior prom. A little horny, but not ready to go all the way.”
    “Are you saying I’m horny?” she asked, trying to sound insulted.
    He chucked her under the chin and grinned. “I know I’m horny as hell. Maybe you’re just turned on.” He put his mouth near her ear and played tongue games with its delicate crevices, whispering, “Are you turned on, babe?”
    She thought about lying, then admitted, “Like an oven.”
    He laughed and, in one expert move, put his hands on her waist and lifted and turned her so that she lay across his lap, breast to chest. Her legs were bent and draped on the passenger seat, and her back pressed into the steering wheel, but she hardly noticed the discomfort because Nick had unzipped the back of her dress and was lowering the bodice of her strapless gown to her waist.
    She objected feebly.
    He inhaled sharply, and in the bright moonlight, she could see the hazy mist of want in his half-closed eyes. His parted lips looked thick and swollen from her kisses.
    “Oh, Paula, honey . . .” His voice was choked with emotion as he gazed down at her, then touched her nipples lightly with the fingertips of both hands. She keened softly as ripples of intense, almost painful pleasure shot out from her breasts. She threw her head back and arched her chest forward, inviting.
    “Show me,” he whispered huskily.
    And she drew his mouth down.
    He cradled the underside of one breast in one hand, pushing upward, then took her hardened nipple, openmouthed, flicking it with his tongue until she mewled with yearning. Only then did he suckle her in earnest, hard, his cheeks flexing with the rhythm. By the time he gave equal treatment to the other breast, she was gasping for breath.
    Nick seemed to have trouble breathing himself.
    “So, this is necking, huh?” she teased when he finally looked up at her.
    “Well, maybe we’ve progressed to petting,” he admitted, smiling sheepishly.
    “Do you suppose teenage girls do this, as well?” she asked, reaching between their bodies and running her palm over the ridge of his erection. She wanted to give as much enjoyment as he was giving her.
    He groaned in sweet agony, flinging his head back against the seat, as she continued to fondle him in the way he liked best. Suddenly, he stiffened and set her back in her own seat with an abruptness that startled her.
    Jerking the car door open, he walked onto the beach and bent over at the waist, clasping his thighs, inhaling and exhaling with labored breaths. Finally, he stood and just stared out over the ocean, a bleak, lonely figure.
    Confused, Paula adjusted her gown and stepped out of the car. Putting her hand on his arm, she asked, “Nick, what’s wrong?”
    “I promised I wouldn’t jump your bones tonight.”
    “Well, maybe . . . well, maybe I changed my mind.”
    “About the divorce?” he