You Belong to My Heart by Nan Ryan Page B

I’ll never ask again.”
    Mary Ellen’s dark eyes slid closed and her fingertips danced nervously atop his bare brown shoulders as Clay’s hands dragged down the pantalets. She felt the fabric’s softness slip over her buttocks, slide down her tensed thighs, fall from her knees to her ankles. Felt Clay’s strong fingers encircle her left ankle, lift her foot to free it of the garment. He did the same thing with her right foot.
    Mary Ellen didn’t dare open her eyes. She was now totally naked. Her face burned like fire, and she suddenly wondered if he would find her ugly. All the breath left her body when, still on his knees before her, Clay’s arms come around her and he laid his cheek against her bare belly.
    Mary Ellen’s eyes flew open. She looked down on the dear dark head bent to her, released a soft whimper of pent-up emotion, grabbed handfuls of his midnight hair, and pressed his handsome face closer.
    Once again, for a long silent moment they stayed just as they were. She standing naked in the sunlight, her hands in his hair, her eyes shining with love and excitement. He kneeling before her in his white linen underwear, his hot cheek laid against her flat stomach, the restless flutter of his long thick eyelashes tickling her sensitive flesh.
    Young and naive though she was, Mary Ellen knew that right now, right here, this minute, on this sweltering Sunday afternoon, she had measureless power over Clay Knight. For the first time she perceived fully the fierce intensity of his total devotion. With a flash of stunning clarity, she understood that he not only loved and desired her, he idolized her, would do anything for her.
    Anything at all.
    She knew beyond a doubt that if she commanded him to stay on his knees and worship at her feet, he would do it. She knew as well that if she forbade him to touch her, he would obey. The newfound knowledge filled Mary Ellen with a mixture of great joy and greater fear.
    Even naked as she was now, she knew she was as safe as a helpless infant in Clay’s care.
    If she wanted to be safe.
    If that safety were forfeited, if Clay made love to her here by the river today, she would have no one to blame but herself. Clay would never take advantage of her; that’s how much he loved her.
    As if he knew what was going through her mind, Clay’s dark head slowly lifted. He looked up at her, and there was so much love and tenderness shining from the depths his beautiful silver eyes, she would have given him anything he asked for.
    He said softly, “I love you more than anyone or anything on this earth. I want you so much I hurt, but I won’t lay a hand on you if you don’t want me to.”
    Trusting him, wanting him, loving him with all her young heart, she said, “Make love to me, Clay.”
    “Mary. My sweet Mary,” he murmured. He cupped her hips with his hands and drew her down to kneel before him.
    Clay put his arms around her, gathered her into his close embrace, and kissed her. When their lips separated, he said, “I’m a virgin just as you are, sweetheart.”
    “I’m glad,” she said, and meant it.
    “Me, too. But I don’t know how to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”
    “We’ll learn together,” she told him sweetly, “just as we learned to kiss.”
    And so they did.
    Clay reached around Mary Ellen, tugged the red-and-white tablecloth off the picnic hamper, and spread it out on the grass. They lay down on the cloth. Mary Ellen stretched out on her back, Clay lay on his side, turned to her, his weight supported on an elbow. There in the hot, blinding June sunlight they kissed and touched and murmured sweet words of love.
    Neither was quite sure when Clay’s white linen underwear came off; all they knew was that it was twice as thrilling to kiss and hold each other close when he was as naked as she.
    As hot and excited as he was, Clay was nervous, anxious. More afraid than he’d ever been in his life. He wanted desperately to please Mary, to give her