There… that whiff of musky aftershave. It had been so long since she'd touched a man like this.
He stirred, shifted, muttered something as if he were dreaming.
The shriek of the fire alarm grew louder. She slid her arm around him and stroked his chest.
Only for a minute, she told herself. And then she'd leave.
Kevin felt his old girlfriend Katya's hand on his chest. He'd been standing in his garage with the first car he'd ever owned and Eric Clapton. Eric had been giving him a guitar lesson, but instead of a guitar, Kevin kept trying to play a leaf rake.
Then he looked up, and Eric was gone. He was in this weird log room with Katya.
She kept stroking his chest, and he realized that she was naked. He forgot about Eric's guitar lesson as blood rushed to his groin.
He'd broken it off with Katya months ago, but now he had to have her. She used to wear bad perfume. Too strong. It was a stupid reason to break up with a woman, because now she smelled like cinnamon rolls.
Good smell. Sexy smell. Made him sweat. He couldn't remember being this turned on by her when they were together. No sense of humor. Too much time putting on makeup. But now he needed her right away. Right that moment.
He rolled toward her. Curled his hand around her bottom. It felt different. Fleshier. More to squeeze.
He ached, and she smelled so good. Like oranges now. And her breasts were full against his chest—warm, soft, juicy oranges—and her mouth was on his, and her hands were all over him. Playing. Stroking. Finding their way to his cock.
He groaned as she caressed him. He smelled her woman's smell and knew he wouldn't last long. His arm didn't want to move, but he had to feel her.
She was slick, wet honey.
He moaned and rolled over. On top of her. Pushed inside her. It didn't happen easily. Strange.
The dream began to fade, but not his lust. He was feverish with it. The smell of soap, shampoo, and woman enflamed him. He thrust again and again, dragged open his eyes, and… couldn't believe what he saw!
He was buried inside Daphne Somerville.
He tried to say something, but he was long past talking. His blood pounded, his heart raced. There was a roaring in his head. He exploded.
At that moment everything inside Molly went cold. No! Not yet !
She felt his shudder. His weight crushed her, driving her into the mattress. Much too late, her sanity returned.
He went slack. Dead weight on top of her. Useless dead weight.
It was over. Already ! And she couldn't even blame him for being the worst lover in history because she'd gotten exactly what she deserved. Nothing at all.
He jerked his head to clear it, then pulled out of her and erupted from the covers. " What in the hell are you doing ?"
She wanted to yell at him for being such a disappointment, wanted to yell at herself even more. Once again she'd been caught pulling the fire alarm, but she wasn't seventeen any longer. She felt old and defeated.
Humiliation burned through her. "S-s-sleepwalking?"
"Sleepwalking, my ass !" He vaulted out of bed and stalked toward the bathroom. "Don't you dare move!"
Too late she remembered that Kevin had a reputation for holding grudges. Last year it had turned a rematch against the Steelers into a bloodbath, and the year before that he'd gone after a three-hundred-pound Viking defensive tackle. She scrambled from the bed and looked frantically for her nightgown.
A stream of obscenities erupted from the bathroom.
Where was her gown?
He shot back out, naked and furious. "Where the hell did you get that condom?"
"From your—your shaving kit." She spotted her linen gown, snatched it up, and clutched it to her breasts.
"My shaving kit?" He rushed back into the bathroom. "You pulled it from my—Shit!"
"It was… an impulse. A—a sleepwalking accident." She edged toward the hall door, but he reappeared before she could get there, charging across the carpet and grabbing her arm, giving her a shake.
"Do you know how long that thing was in
He stirred, shifted, muttered something as if he were dreaming.
The shriek of the fire alarm grew louder. She slid her arm around him and stroked his chest.
Only for a minute, she told herself. And then she'd leave.
Kevin felt his old girlfriend Katya's hand on his chest. He'd been standing in his garage with the first car he'd ever owned and Eric Clapton. Eric had been giving him a guitar lesson, but instead of a guitar, Kevin kept trying to play a leaf rake.
Then he looked up, and Eric was gone. He was in this weird log room with Katya.
She kept stroking his chest, and he realized that she was naked. He forgot about Eric's guitar lesson as blood rushed to his groin.
He'd broken it off with Katya months ago, but now he had to have her. She used to wear bad perfume. Too strong. It was a stupid reason to break up with a woman, because now she smelled like cinnamon rolls.
Good smell. Sexy smell. Made him sweat. He couldn't remember being this turned on by her when they were together. No sense of humor. Too much time putting on makeup. But now he needed her right away. Right that moment.
He rolled toward her. Curled his hand around her bottom. It felt different. Fleshier. More to squeeze.
He ached, and she smelled so good. Like oranges now. And her breasts were full against his chest—warm, soft, juicy oranges—and her mouth was on his, and her hands were all over him. Playing. Stroking. Finding their way to his cock.
He groaned as she caressed him. He smelled her woman's smell and knew he wouldn't last long. His arm didn't want to move, but he had to feel her.
She was slick, wet honey.
He moaned and rolled over. On top of her. Pushed inside her. It didn't happen easily. Strange.
The dream began to fade, but not his lust. He was feverish with it. The smell of soap, shampoo, and woman enflamed him. He thrust again and again, dragged open his eyes, and… couldn't believe what he saw!
He was buried inside Daphne Somerville.
He tried to say something, but he was long past talking. His blood pounded, his heart raced. There was a roaring in his head. He exploded.
At that moment everything inside Molly went cold. No! Not yet !
She felt his shudder. His weight crushed her, driving her into the mattress. Much too late, her sanity returned.
He went slack. Dead weight on top of her. Useless dead weight.
It was over. Already ! And she couldn't even blame him for being the worst lover in history because she'd gotten exactly what she deserved. Nothing at all.
He jerked his head to clear it, then pulled out of her and erupted from the covers. " What in the hell are you doing ?"
She wanted to yell at him for being such a disappointment, wanted to yell at herself even more. Once again she'd been caught pulling the fire alarm, but she wasn't seventeen any longer. She felt old and defeated.
Humiliation burned through her. "S-s-sleepwalking?"
"Sleepwalking, my ass !" He vaulted out of bed and stalked toward the bathroom. "Don't you dare move!"
Too late she remembered that Kevin had a reputation for holding grudges. Last year it had turned a rematch against the Steelers into a bloodbath, and the year before that he'd gone after a three-hundred-pound Viking defensive tackle. She scrambled from the bed and looked frantically for her nightgown.
A stream of obscenities erupted from the bathroom.
Where was her gown?
He shot back out, naked and furious. "Where the hell did you get that condom?"
"From your—your shaving kit." She spotted her linen gown, snatched it up, and clutched it to her breasts.
"My shaving kit?" He rushed back into the bathroom. "You pulled it from my—Shit!"
"It was… an impulse. A—a sleepwalking accident." She edged toward the hall door, but he reappeared before she could get there, charging across the carpet and grabbing her arm, giving her a shake.
"Do you know how long that thing was in
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