Janelle Denison - Private Pleasures

He casually picked up new tile squares. "Sure it is."

"Prove it. We need a dictionary. I'm issuing a challenge." She started to her feet, a woman on a mission. No way was she going to let him get away with this one.

He snagged her wrist before she could stand. "I don't need a dictionary, and I'll gladly meet your challenge."

Her pulse raced beneath the thumb stroking the inside of her wrist. "You expect me to go on your say-so?" Her voice was breathless. At the moment she feared she'd believe anything he said.

"Absolutely not." Purpose glittered in his eyes, primitive and wholly sexual. "You want proof that liplock is a word, then I'll give it to you." With a gentle tug on her wrist he brought her to her hands and knees, the game still between them. Taking advantage of her surprise, he released her wrist and slid his fingers through her hair, cradling the back of her head in his palm.

Oh, God. She struggled for strength to stop this madness, damning the wine that had slowed her reflexes. She was in trouble. Big trouble.

Leaning forward, he brought their faces inches apart, his expression full of satisfaction. "Take note. In a second our lips are gonna lock, sweetheart," he murmured huskily. Making good on his promise, he settled his mouth firmly over hers, stealing her breath with exquisite mastery and the slow, erotic glide of his tongue past the seam of her lips.

A shudder rocked through her, and she groaned. Tentatively she let their tongues meet, and they tangled and swirled like long-lost lovers reunited. Then deeper strokes. Bolder forays. She returned the kiss like a woman starved for the taste of her mate, ignoring the warning in her mind to stop, and the melting of her body, priming her for a more intimate act. All that mattered was Grey and the ultimate pleasure of his touch, his kiss.

Closing her eyes, she surrendered to the mindless warmth weakening her limbs. The hand tangled in her hair tightened and the tenor of the kiss changed from slow seduction to the basic, raw heat of passion. She felt his need, sensed his desire in the sudden, urgent way he slanted his mouth over hers and took complete possession.

Without breaking the hot kiss he moved closer, hitting the playing board with his knee and scattering the letter tiles. Mariah no longer cared about the game. No longer gave a thought to the silly word that had ignited such a wild hunger in the both of them. All that mattered was the hand he'd fitted so snugly over her breast and the emotion she tasted in Grey's kiss, the wanting. The pure need.

Mariah's head spun, and she clutched his shirt, holding on as the dizzying sensation threatened to consume her, right along with Grey's delicious kisses. His fingers fumbled with the burtons on her blouse, and she felt a whisper of cool air on her chest as the material parted. He lifted his head, breaking their kiss, and stared at the breasts nestled in satin-and-lace cups, his hands clenching at his sides. The mounds swelled and her nipples tightened beneath his gaze. For weeks she'd resisted him. After what they'd shared today, she wanted to make love with him.

Slowly she reached up and unsnapped the front hook of her bra.

A blunt curse reached her ears. With an impatient sweep of his arm Grey pushed the game board and pieces out of the way then gently eased her down onto the rug in front of the fireplace. He yanked off his shirt, tossed it aside and followed her down, stretching his body over hers.

"God, what you do to me, Mariah," he groaned helplessly, then fitted his mouth to hers once more while his hands tugged her blouse and the straps of her bra over her shoulders. The material bunched around her upper arms, and he left it there, restricting her reach. She moaned as he rubbed his chest against hers, the friction of hard muscle, a sprinkling of hair, and heat melting the last of her resistance.

He gentled the kiss, giving her slow, drugging strokes of his tongue that tapered into playful bites along her damp lower lip. She tried to touch him, but her hands only reached his sides. A frustrated sound escaped her.

"Shh, baby," he murmured, trailing soft kisses along her jaw and down her neck until, finally, his tongue swept over a taut, aching nipple. Then he drew the pearled tip into his mouth and suckled her deeply.

She cried out, straining against the bonds around her arms until her fingers sank into his thick hair. She held him there while he paid equal attention to each breast. Shifting restlessly, she twined her legs over the back of his thighs and urged him forward. He obliged, burying his face in her neck and rocking his hips against her. She welcomed him, complaining of the clothes separating them. He arched rhythmically and groaned, low and deep. She clamped her legs around his waist, tossed her head back, and gave a great big shudder of need.

Grey clenched his jaw, suppressing the instinctive urge to free the erection straining the fly of his shorts, strip off Mariah's clothes and take her, fast and hard. He'd never meant for things to get so out of control. He'd meant to seduce her, yes, but never had he expected her to be so willing, so eager, not after she'd demanded they not make love this weekend.

But that's exactly what she wanted. He could feel it in the softening of her body, hear it in the panting of her breath. He lifted his head and peered at her flushed face. He could see it in her eyes, smoky with passion.

He swore. This wasn't the romantic reunion he'd envisioned for him and Mariah. True, they'd formed a special bond today, and as much as he wanted her, he didn't want to take advantage of the situation and jeopardize their fragile truce. Or have her regret making love later, when desire cleared and reality intruded.

"Grey?" she questioned huskily.

Her dreamy and aroused expression threatened his resistance. "We made a deal, remember?" He choked on the words. Damn, she should be reminding him of that!

She either didn't remember their pact, or she didn't care. Her fingers found the loops in the waistband of his shorts and tugged impatiently. Thank God she couldn't reach the snap and zipper, or he'd be a goner for sure.

Lifting her head, she nuzzled his throat, sank her teeth gently into his neck, then soothed the love bite with her tongue. He sucked in a quick breath at her brazen display, his heartrate accelerating off the scale. He attempted to move off her, but the fingers caught in his belt loops, the legs tangled around his, held him secure.

A hoarse, helpless laugh erupted from him. "I'm trying real hard to be good here, Mariah, but I need your help."

She whimpered. The softness of want and need in her gaze nearly killed him. He had her right where he'd been trying to get her for over a month. He was a fool to let her go, but he'd be a bigger fool to risk losing her trust. And that meant keeping a promise he'd made. No making love.

He brushed her hair away from her face, feeling the quiver of her body beneath his. A quiver from being strung too tight and needing release. He might not be able to slake his own lust, but that didn't mean he couldn't take the edge off hers.

He skimmed a hand over her hip and along the length of silken thigh. "Let me take care of you," he murmured. He knew all it would take was the intimate glide of his fingers between damp folds of flesh, the heat and touch of his mouth, the soft stroking of his tongue, to give her body the pleasure it sought.

She shook her head and drew a deep breath as if to gather her composure. "No. When we make love, I want you with me all the way."

His pulse stilled. When, not if. Dare he hope?

She touched his jaw lightly, a tremulous smile lifting her lips. "But for tonight, will you just hold me in your arms?"

Turning his head, he placed a kiss in her palm. "Yeah, I'd like that." He certainly didn't want to spend another night alone.

Moving off her, he gave a grimace as he stood, his aroused body screaming with frustration. He helped her up, adjusted her blouse so he wasn't tempted by her lush curves, and let her have the privacy of the bathroom first.

Ten minutes later, after they'd both changed and their earlier passion had time to cool, Mariah climbed into bed beside Grey and snuggled into his embrace. With a deep sigh that feathered across his chest, her arm draped over his waist, she drifted off to sleep.

Grey remained awake. Stroking Mariah's hair, he reveled in the contentment ribboning through him, a feeling unlike anything he'd ever experienced. One he'd only shared with Mariah.

One thing was for certain. He never wanted the warm, comforting feeling to end.

"What time are we leaving today?" Mariah asked Grey as he helped her make the bed the following morning. Sunshine streamed through the lace curtains framing the bedroom window, warming her as much as being wrapped in Grey's arms during the night had. She'd missed the intimacy of sleeping with Grey, the way he curled his body around hers from behind, and the possessive way his palm always seemed to find the curve of her breast.

Smoothing her hand over a wrinkle in the quilt, she smiled at the memory of his sweet, nuzzling, good-morning kiss against her neck and his admirable restraint. She'd awoken to the feel of his arousal pressing against her bottom. It would have been so easy for him to shimmy up the nightgown he'd bought her, ease her panties down and slide deep inside where she'd wanted him last night. Where she'd ached for him that morning still.

Sighing, she glanced up at him, wondering if he'd heard her question. He stood at the opposite side of the bed, wearing khaki shorts, a red polo shirt and a determined look. "Grey?"