Lacy by Diana Palmer Page B

her,
watching her breasts swell and tauten even more, watching the restless
movements of her long, elegant legs, hearing sweet, whimpering sounds that
aroused him unbearably.
    He was hurting. Worse. Dying. He grasped one of
her hands and pushed it against his swollen flesh, wrapping it around him,
holding it there when she would have jerked it away.
    "God, I hurt," he whispered, his voice
tormented even as his hand grew more bold where it touched her. "Like
this... Help me!"
    He taught her the movement, whispered explicit,
embarrassing instructions that she was too aroused to protest. She touched him,
stroked him, closed around him, and felt him throb. Her eyes looked up into
his, and he saw her pupils beginning to dilate.
    "Turk!" she cried out, her voice
frantic, rasping.
    His free hand was behind her neck, holding her
still, his other hand feverish, his eyes shockingly thorough as he held her
wild gaze. "Now," he whispered roughly. "Feel it, Katy. Feel it.
Feel it, and let me watch!"
    Spasms of hot lightning shot through her
virginal body. She arched up against that tormenting hand and cried out,
forcing him to fulfill her. Her body went into convulsions, and he watched,
feeling them as his hand probed gently past the maidenhead. He shook all over,
and in that moment of feverish arousal, forgot caution.
    "To hell with this!"he groaned. He
forced her back into the hay with the hot pressure of his open mouth. His body
rolled onto hers and he thrust her legs apart with his hand. He went into her
with rough, piercing motion, burying himself, and she was so involved in her
own culmination that she didn't even feel pain. She welcomed him, arching up to
his hard, hot body, her hands finding his hips, her nails digging in.
    He rocked furiously above her, his breath
dragging out in gasps, his thighs shuddering as he arched down again and again,
his eyes on her, his jaw clenched with the most exquisite pleasure he'd ever
had.
    "Take me inside," he whispered, his
voice strained, deep with mingled arousal and passion. "Take me,
Katy!"
    It happened to her again. The whispered words,
the rough motion of his body, the feverish rhythm with which he drove into her
made it happen again.
    She closed her eyes and arched her head back
with a peculiar little cry, her nipples hard and pointing. One of his hands
swallowed one of them roughly. His mouth forced hers open and penetrated it in
the same motion, with the same rhythm, as his body. She heard the noise of the
sliding hay under them, smelled the hot, pungent smell of their union, heard
his heart slamming in his chest, felt the wiry roughness of his body hair
against her soft skin. And then he cried out, with such achingly wild pleasure
that her eyes opened and she looked up, seeing him arched above her, his neck
corded with muscle, his face violently red, his eyes closed, his teeth
clenched. He convulsed again and again with rippling muscle, and she looked
down to where they were locked together and watched as he suddenly drew back
and covered her body with his. She felt a wetness on her belly after his body
shuddered and then collapsed on top of her, gasping for breath. "Oh,
God," he breathed unsteadily. "I hope it was in time! I couldn't
stop...!"
    Her hands touched him with wonder. He'd said
that he wouldn't and then he had, suddenly, as if he hadn't been able to hold
back. Her eyes closed as she drifted in the soft aftermath, a little sad
because she knew that this would be the last time, the only time. Because she
loved him, and would lose him. He had no heart to give her, only a body that
knew no emotion past fulfillment; any woman would have done.
    "Are you all right, Katy?" he asked,
lifting his sweaty head to look at her with soft concern.
    "Yes, I'm all right," she replied,
with the shreds of her pride. She even managed a smile, but she couldn't quite
look at him.
    "And this is why I wouldn't touch you
before," he said gently, watching her move slowly away and start putting
her