Holly Lane by Toni Blake Page B

for something bigger, freer, the idea of taking life by the horns—and this, right now, felt like that, like living. So even now that she was coming back down to earth after their first sultry round of sex, even though she was feeling the wine less than before, she didn’t try to rein in her instinctive response—instead, she let herself go completely. And within moments she’d reached the pinnacle of ecstasy with him again and was crying out as— oh God —another powerful orgasm rushed through her like . . . well, like a blizzard. Except much hotter.
    Wow.
    And then she lay there basking in the afterglow, biting her lip, and once again thinking: Adam just did that to me? Really? Adam?
    When he rose up and their eyes met, she said, a bit timidly, “That was . . . nice.”
    He raised his eyebrows, his dark, sexy gaze pinning her in place. “Nice?”
    “Okay, would spectacular make you happier?” she asked with a grin.
    “Damn straight,” he said, the arrogance in his expression turning him even a little more handsome.
    She went a little sheepish then—not sure what came next. “Thank you.”
    “I . . . didn’t mind,” he said. Then he shut his eyes, looking like he might suddenly feel a bit weird, too. “What I mean is . . . I wanted to.” Then he shook his head, appearing slightly embarrassed. “I don’t know how to talk to you about sex,” he told her.
    “I know,” she whispered.
    “So how about if we just kiss instead of talk?”
    She nodded, liking that idea, and he moved up alongside her on the rug, lifted his hand to her cheek, and resumed giving her more of those delicious kisses that seemed at once pure yet . . . not, since now she tasted herself on his mouth.
    Soon, though, Adam disentangled himself from her and the afghan to silently rise up into the same chair he’d occupied earlier, and she wasn’t sure what that meant—were they done, taking a break, what? But from the looks of his erection—nope, there was definitely more to come, so she just knelt on the rug, waiting.
    Next, he reached for the bottle of wine she hadn’t quite finished with dinner and took a big drink from it, then handed it down to her. She followed suit with one sip, then another, before holding it back out to say, “Last drink?”
    “You finish it off,” he said, “and then come up here with me.”
    Oh. Okay. We’re just going to try a new position. I can get into that. So she drained the wine bottle, got to her feet, and eased her way into Adam’s lap, straddling him.
    And God—it felt . . . so personal to be that way with him, face-to-face without a shred of clothing. And sure, she knew sex was personal, but it was something about the nearness of his eyes right now, the unavoidability of looking at each other, of somehow acknowledging that they were really doing this, still doing this, quite a while after it had started.
    “Will you kiss me some more?” she requested without quite planning it.
    “Absolutely,” he said, his tenor deep, full of promise. And like everything else so far, once their mouths were moving against each other, Sue Ann stopped thinking so much and resumed just feeling it all, letting her soft breasts rub against his muscled chest, and letting the juncture of her thighs connect with the hard length arcing up between his legs.
    She heard her own breath then, turning labored, hot—his, too—and found herself reaching between them, curling her hand around his arousal, beginning to stroke it with a firm, rhythmic caress that forced a muffled groan from his throat between kisses.
    She didn’t know why she was suddenly getting aggressive, but— mmm —she liked being the giver of the pleasure suddenly; she liked the way he felt in her grip. And maybe those last few gulps of wine had something to do with it, but she suffered the desire to simply . . . follow her every impulse right now. Even when she was struck with a somewhat surprising one.
    Because this was the one