Masquerade by Janet Dailey Page B

sensations. When his tongue licked at a taut nipple, a curling started deep in the pit of her stomach. She moaned at the ache it produced and finally realized that he was doing to her all the things she had done to him. And it was wonderful. Wonderful.
    She arched her back, pushing her breast at him and trying to make him take more of it. When he did, a raw sound of satisfaction came from her throat. Cole stole a glance at her, watching her head roll from side to side, her eyes closed and her lips apart. At last he could stand it no more. He had to touch her. He released one of her wrists and slid his hand down her arm and onto her body.
    She was deceptively small and delicate, everything perfectly proportioned, from the narrowness of her rib cage and hips to the petite roundness of her breasts. But he knew the strength and power packaged in her delectable form. Not so much a physical strength as the mental one that came from a strong and indomitable will, a will that gave her boldness and the supreme confidence to be exactly what and who she was. And the power in her— she had the power to make him hunger, to make him ache, to make him vulnerable.
    Yet none of that mattered to him as he played with her breasts—with his hands, his mouth, and his tongue. He listened to her sighs, her whimpers, and her moans, expressions of the sexuality that lived within her.
    As he ran his hand up her leg to cup the soft swell of her bottom, she shuddered. "How could
    I have forgotten the way this feels?" she whispered achingly. "How could I, Cole?"
    He didn't have an answer for that, but he drew himself up and murmured against a corner of her lips, "Does it matter? Does it matter now?"
    "No," she groaned, and she turned to his mouth, carelessly commanding, "Love me, Cole."
    He kissed her and she was all motion beneath him, her hands, her lips, her body exhorting and demanding satisfaction. He knew she didn't understand the urgency that pushed at both of them. She didn't realize this might be their last time together. But he did.
    At this moment and in this place, she belonged to him and he was hers. That was the only certainty. It wasn't enough, but it was all he had, and he seized it.
    She sighed his name against his neck, then raked her teeth across his shoulder. "Don't make me wait anymore, Cole. Take me now."
    He couldn't resist her—not then and not now. He felt her shudder as he shifted onto her and spread her legs apart. Her breath caught on his name when he entered her. She was hot; she was tight; she was moist. Robbed of all thought by her, he could only feel as she wrapped her legs around him, her hips driving him even as he sought to drive her. The pressure built like the approach of a summer storm, all light, wind, and heat. Then the fury of it was upon them, and release came in a torrent that buffeted both of them and left them wrapped tight in each other's arms.
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    Nestled in the crook of his arm, Remy snuggled closer and rubbed her cheek against his chest. She wondered at this dichotomous reaction of hers that had her feeling both supremely content and oddly energized.
    She tilted her head back to look at Cole, then couldn't resist reaching up to trace the sharp outline of his jaw with her fingertips. "Is it always like that with us?"
    "Not always." There was a sexy laziness to the smile he gave her. "Sometimes it's even better."
    Mockingly skeptical, she retorted, "That is impossible."
    He caught her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips, a faintly mischievous glint in his gray eyes. "You're probably right."
    His response surprised a laugh from her, the admission so contrary to the typically male boast of sexual prowess that she'd expected to hear. "You amaze me."
    His look turned faintly serious. "Try not to forget that." There was a brief silence in which neither of them stirred, and then Cole said, "We'd better get up, Remy."
    She made a soft protesting sound. "Not yet.