Her Passionate Need Page 7

  Determined to counter his firm grip with as much gentleness as she was capable of, given her hungry body's heat, she washed his balls and the underside of his hard, erect penis. This—this stranger and she—on the brink of sex! The texture of his cock fascinated her. Before long nothing else mattered. She felt like an artist, an explorer intent on learning everything there was to know about ridges and valleys, silken skin over the thick, rigid shaft underneath.

  This, she told herself, was her man. Their time together. A cock designed for pleasure, a gift. She stroked and dampened, laid her lips over him and sucked him into her, felt need burn in her hot, drenched cunt. Alive! Finally, alive!

  Letting up on her mouth's grip, she pushed enough of him out of her that only his tip remained in the cave she'd created. She ran her tongue over the ridge and then around to the underside. The moment she touched there, he jerked and muttered something she didn't catch. She remembered hearing that that was the most sensitive part of a man's penis and wondered if she, a novice in such things, could bring him to climax that way.

  But if she did, she'd deny herself, and she was desperately in need of release from something she didn't quite comprehend—something that now ruled her.

  Pulling back, she let him slip out of her. Not yet ready to end what she'd never done before, she ran her tongue over the slit at the top of his penis, his cock. His fluid filled the narrow opening, and she sucked it into her mouth, tasting salt. She could drink him, manipulate him to the point of climax and swallow him, make him hers in a way that was new and exhilarating and frightening to her. But if she did. . .

  "Not like this." She kissed his cock, then reared back and onto her shaky knees. Her breasts, heavier and fuller than they'd ever felt before, dangled from her rib cage. The contrast between their blood-heat and the chilled air caught her attention, and then Devin reached out and blanketed them inside his hands. She hung over him, gave him full access, offered her breasts up as a gift. He took her up on her invitation by massaging them almost as a farmer milks a cow. But unlike a farmer, there was nothing mechanical about what he was doing. Instead, he pressed and released, glided and stroked, sometimes pinched. Whenever he did that, he followed up the short pain by fondling the abused flesh.

  She took his offer, his treat, and rocked back and forth to increase her awareness of her breasts. They swung in time with her movements, and she recorded the sensation from the top of her head to her toes. Then, because her clitoris felt both swollen and throbbing, and if she didn't do it now she might never again have the courage, she straddled him, took hold of his penis and guided it into her. It fit, fully, intimately, as if made for the home she'd been born with but had never fully utilized—until now.

  For a moment, a precious moment, Devin remained still inside her, maybe learning her contours and making them part of his knowledge, like her making sense of what was happening.

  "You want this?" he asked.

  "Yes. Yes!"

  He pushed into her, testing the boundaries of her cunt. Yes! Yes! She could say that word, too! She lost touch with the rest of her body. Everything tunneled down to that one place, became clear and intimate. She swore she felt her clit throb and ache and grow. Her labial lips had been pushed aside as he entered her. Now they'd settled back into place, spread over the base of his shaft, fusing her sex organs with his.

  On his back the way he was, his movements were limited. He could thrust and withdraw to a certain degree, and was proving himself capable in that department, but much of the work would have to be hers.

  A virgin to anything except the missionary position, she embraced her new role. She became the gift-giver by pressing herself down and around him and then retreating just enough to create a friction that heated her. . .her pussy more than she believed possible. She rode him, matched her movements to his, grunted and sweated and knew nothing except the incredible feel of him buried in her, his balls slapping her ass, building…building...

  Fire. Flame. Her cunt spasming, heat radiating out from it to ignite her belly, butt, legs, breasts.

  "Oh God, oh God!"

  Frightened of what was happening to her, she dug her nails into Devin's chest, then lost control of the act as a rolling, lightning-spawned wave spread throughout her. Mindless, she dove down into the middle of whatever it was and buried herself in the flames, became one with it. On the brink of losing herself, she felt him ejaculate inside her, his penis pumping, pumping.

  "Oh God!"

  Chapter 7

  Devin straightened his legs. Bit by bit he became aware of his body. His right arm was cold. By concentrating, he came to the not too intelligent conclusion that it was outside the sleeping bag. He'd started to tuck it inside when it belatedly hit him that his left arm was numb.

  Numb because Ana's head rested on his shoulder.

  Keeping his thoughts clamped down where he didn't have to deal with them, he shifted position so her head now lay on his chest. For some reason he didn't want to think about, he stroked her tangled, slightly damp hair. She was sleeping, her breathing soft and low as if trusting him to take care of her.

  They'd had sex. Sex. When she'd first entered his tent, he'd been caught in his nightmare's snare and slow to grasp her presence. She'd offered him a way out of that damnable dream, but although he should have jumped at her invitation and fucked her quick and mindless, she'd let him know that sex with her came with a price. The price had been honesty.

  That's why he'd told her about his parents and being lost and scared he'd die alone in the wilderness, so he could fuck her.

  Only, with her hair between his fingers and her breath warm on his flesh, he knew it had gone much deeper than that. Yes, she'd known what he needed physically—not that that had taken a rocket scientist to figure out. She'd been the initiator, he more passive when that had never been his nature. But he'd put himself in her hands, turned his body over to her, because he'd sensed she wouldn't give up until she'd gotten to the root of his nightmare.

  It had worked all right. Oh, maybe he'd never fully find his peace with that part of his childhood, but right now it didn't haunt him. It was simply there, a single element of the man he'd become.

  She'd done that to him, for him. Helped him break free of old guilt-scars and see the truth. He hadn't caused his mother to miscarry. He hadn't been responsible for the divorce.

  Feeling half sick, he slid out from under her and placed his pillow under her head. Naked but not caring, he slipped outside and stood up. The moon, maybe a night past half full, stood watch over the evergreens. There was very little wind, and it was cool enough that the sun-spawned aroma of pitch and pine had been tamped down.

  Had Aaron died at night, or had it been day and the sun had kept his body from cooling long after that damnable bullet had torn the life from him?

  That's what he had to focus on, somehow. No matter how he now felt about the woman sleeping in his bed, she might first and foremost be his key to learning how his best friend had been murdered.

  * * * * *

  Ana led the way down the moderately steep slope leading to the creek. Although she felt Devin's eyes boring into her back, she refused to turn around and confront him about whatever the hell his mood was about. She'd awakened to find herself alone in his sleeping bag. Disconcerted, she'd thrown on her pajamas and slipped outside to find the sun just making its presence known. There'd been no sign of Devin which had caused her heart to thump erratically. If she'd failed in pulling him out of his nightmare's grip. . .

  She'd found him sleeping in her tent when she went there looking for her shoes. Holding back the flap so faint light touched him, she'd studied his naked and motionless body. She'd tried to tell herself they'd had sex because she'd gotten more than a little carried away, no big deal; it happened all the time. But as fresh heat warmed her core, she'd forced herself to face the fact that there'd had been much more to it than a bump and grind. She supposed there were all kinds of gutter terms for what they'd done, but she
wasn't interested in them. Neither did she have the courage to ask what had turned her from the staid married woman she'd once been into a broad in heat.

  A broad who, last night, had had the first climax of her life.

  That's why she was glad Devin hadn't said anything about what they'd done— Why was it so damn hard to even think the word sex this morning? And that's why she was equally glad he'd been as willing to avoid eye contact as she'd been. Otherwise, he might have looked into her eyes and known.

  A climax! Mind-boggling! Something she could get addicted to.

  Something frightening.

  Did other people feel that way, shaken by the out-of-control sensation? She'd always dismissed what she'd read and heard about how awesome sex could be; from her own experience, making love was moderately pleasurable but nothing she needed all the time.

  She could no longer say that, but if Devin found out, if he knew out how vulnerable she'd become in the space of a single night…

  Stop it! Just don't think, all right! Do your frickin' job.

  As the isolated creek surrounded by several sharp, high peaks came into view at the edge of a long, narrow valley, it finally occurred to her that Devin hadn't taken a single picture since they'd left the ranch. That didn't make sense. He was here to document the political and physical climate for the potential return of wolves to the Siskiyous; at least that's what he'd told her. A chill chased down her spine, and she had to work at swallowing.

  "Any time you want me to stop, just say so," she told him over her shoulder. Did her tone sound natural?

  "What?"

  Hadn't he been paying attention? "I said…you specifically wanted to see Crystal Creek. Don't you want to take pictures?"

  "Yeah."

  His off-hand response struck the wrong note, but she couldn't put her mind to trying to figure out what was going on. It was nearly noon, and the whole time they'd been traveling today, they'd been deep in the woods surrounded by trees that were hundreds of years old and so tall they blocked out most of the sun. She wasn't claustrophobic, but there was no denying that she was ready to be where she could see more than a few feet. The peaks made her feel somewhat vulnerable because anyone on one of them had a clear view of her and Devin—not that anyone was within a country mile.

  Because she hadn't accompanied John when he brought clients—it was hard for both of them to be away at the same time—she wasn't prepared for the creek's small size and couldn't understand why her husband had recommended it. Maybe the remote location appealed to people determined to get away from it all. At least it was a beautiful place, the valley a riot of grasses and wild flowers. She guessed the soil was particularly rich, and if it hadn't been so isolated, the land could easily be cultivated. No, it shouldn't, she amended. Some places should remain the way nature intended.

  "Well," she said. "We're here. What next?"

  He didn't answer which gave her no choice but to turn in the saddle and look back at him. Instead of studying her the way she'd feared, he was staring around him, not in appreciation for the peaceful setting but almost as if he expected some fierce wild creature to jump out at him. There were so many components to Devin, strong and confident by day but trapped in his past at night, an unbelievable sex partner—not that she had any comparison—silent and brooding this morning. However, this new aspect to him unnerved her as nothing else had.

  She tightened her hold on the reins, intending to ride back to him, but in the end remained where she was. Her small backpack was pressing into her shoulder blades, and she again tried to reposition it. The animals had taken advantage of the break and had already begun feeding. Because they were tethered together, they were limited in what they could nibble, but they seemed pleased with the selection. In unnerving contrast, Devin looked as if this was the last place on earth he wanted to be. As had happened last night, she felt all but swamped by a need to get to the root of his emotions and, if possible, free him from them.

  And if they wound up having a repeat performance of what had happened last night…just the thought brought a flush to her cheeks and throat and it was all she could do not to run her hand along her crotch in an attempt to lessen the humming tension there. . .either that or see what it was capable of becoming.

  "What. . ." She swallowed and tried again. "What are you thinking about?"

  He glanced at her, then returned his attention to the land. "Nothing."

  "Don't tell me nothing!" Her outburst startled her mare and forced her to spend a moment calming it. "In case you haven't figured it out, I'm learning how to read you."

  "Are you? And what have you learned? Never mind. Why don't we talk about you, what you're feeling? What you want."

  Want? Couldn't he figure that out? On the tail of the two questions, another, more unsettling one, surfaced. Was he deliberately trying to distract her?

  "You're bringing what happened last night between us when you didn't say a word this morning?" she challenged. "Isn't reaching this creek what today is supposed to be about?"

  To her surprise, he only nodded and went back to taking in their setting. It would be safer if she did the same instead of studying him, but that's not what her eyes…and the rest of her…wanted to do. She concentrated on his legs. Like hers, his had been spread wide by the saddle. The position kept his lower legs in a constant state of tension as witness by the hard knot of calf muscle under his age-softened jeans.

  If not for his well-developed thighs, his upper legs would have flattened out. Instead, having the saddle under them only made her more aware of the muscle there. He'd told her he spent much of his time at a computer writing his articles, but those weren't the legs of a desk jockey. Neither did his wide shoulders and potent looking arms fit anyone's stereotype of someone who lived his life doing anything except using his body.

  What was he keeping from her?

  "What are you doing?" she asked, determined to try another track. "Deciding what pictures you're going to take? And why this place? Yes, it'd supply wolves with water, and game would be easier for you to find here, but it's hardly the only creek in the forest."

  He didn't reply; she wasn't sure he'd heard her. Her husband had been a forthright, uncomplicated man. He'd concerned himself with the mundane details of life, bills and food and local politics to some degree. They'd never had what she could call a deep conversation, and up until he'd gotten cancer, she didn't believe he'd ever questioned the meaning of life.

  In contrast, Devin was a man of shadows and layers. A man she wanted to have sex with again.

  Fighting a fear she could barely admit, she forced herself not to ask what tonight would be like…whether they'd spend it together, whether she'd find more of his layers and lay herself bare in a way she'd never wanted or needed before.

  "What do you know about this area?" he abruptly asked.

  "The geology of it? I'm afraid I don't—"

  "No, not that. What happened here?"

  His question was so hard-edged that she flinched. "Not—not much. Apparently the fishing's pretty good although I'm not sure—"

  "What about Aaron Powers?"

  "Who?"

  If Devin was trying to keep her off-balance, he was doing a great job of it. He kneed his horse's side, forcing the animal to close the distance between them. Torn between holding her ground and giving way, she stayed where she was. She could only hope he wouldn't notice her suddenly flared nostrils or guess she was in danger of soaking her panties. What was going on? Couldn't she just accept his nearness?

  "Aaron Powers," Devin repeated. "Don't tell me you haven't heard the name?"

  Right now she couldn't swear to her own name, let alone some. . .Devin continued to stare until she felt as if he was looking right through her.

  "What is this about?" she demanded. "And don't tell me you aren't using an accusatory tone."

  "Aaron Powers. He died here last year."

  Despite the sunlight filtering down through the tree limbs, she felt chilled. "T
here was some man—he'd been in the Siskiyous doing some kind of research or something when he disappeared. They searched for several weeks before they found his body. Is that who you're talking about?"

  She tried to look at anything except into Devin's eyes, but no matter how uncomfortable their intensity made her, she couldn't break the contact. It was a moment before she remembered more of the story.

  "He'd been shot, hadn't he? Didn't they think some hunter had accidentally killed him?"

  "Hunter? Is that what you believe?"

  "Devin, it isn't my fault. I had nothing to do with—"

  "He died in June. That isn't hunting season."

  The conversation had become so intense that she could barely put her mind on what had led up to it. Her sexual awareness of him was being replaced by something else, maybe fear.

  "A poacher?" she suggested.

  "That's what the police decided."

  But you don't agree. "Devin, I don't understand. What does this have to do with—"

  "He was my best friend."

  She couldn't breathe. Any other time, she would have expressed her heartfelt sympathy, but the way he'd gone about telling her had her too off-balance for that.

  "You didn't know that, did you?" he asked. "That Aaron Powers was my friend."

  "How could I?" It was just the two of them in this vast nothing. If she'd made a horrible mistake, and he was dangerous, maybe thrown mentally off-balance by his friend's accident… "I didn't even know his name until now. That's why you had me guide you out here, isn't it?" She forced herself not to shudder. "Not because of some article about wolves but because…why didn't you say something from the beginning?"

  "Would it have made a difference?"

  Damn him for playing word games! Only, that wasn't what drove him; she was sure of it. She could swear he was spinning a web around her, pulling her into whatever obsessed him. She wanted to run and yet she didn't. Last night she'd given her body and maybe a small piece of her heart to him, and the tie couldn't be easily broken.