Her Passionate Need Read online

  But this man, who suspected her husband had something to do with his best friend's murder, handled her fingers as if he cherished them. No longer trying to focus, she sank deep into response and reaction. Somewhere between needing romance and a hard fucking, she tilted her pelvis toward his. He did the same, their bodies inching closer until they touched again. Their jeans got in the way of a satisfying contact, and yet she had no problem imagining what it would be like if they were naked.

  They'd stand face to face the way they were doing now, flesh against flesh, perhaps her arms wrapped around his neck so he couldn't escape. But of course he wouldn't try. Instead, his arms would be around her waist, and her back would be bowed as he curled his larger body over hers. His cock would press against her belly, at least for a moment. But they'd find a way to make it fit inside her and they'd have sex standing up…something she'd never done, and until today, hadn't imagined what it would be like.

  Her fingers felt cool, prompting her to blink and gaze up at him. He'd removed her fingers from his mouth.

  "What—?" she started.

  "Before we go any further, is this what you want?"

  Are you kidding! "Is…what?" Unable to hold her pelvis in that unnatural position any more, she sank away from him. Her belly where his penis had been remembered the sensation.

  "I don't go for teasing," he said. "Foreplay, yes, but not games-playing. If I'm going to have sex with a woman, I want the groundwork laid out from the beginning."

  She didn't want to think about him with other women. In truth, if one of those bimbos made the mistake of showing up right now, she'd tear her lips off. Shaking off the image of herself attacking another female, she took an involuntary step back. She couldn't remember how or when he'd released her.

  "I don't recall there being any framework set for what we did last night," she pointed out. "If I'd known you had a contract for me to sign—"

  "I was asleep when you came into my tent."

  "Are you telling me you didn't want me there?"

  To her relief, he smiled. "You know the answer to that. But this is daylight. I've said some things that upset you."

  Yes, he had. And, eventually, she'd have to convince him that he was wrong about her husband—her dead husband. But on this bright and beautiful afternoon, her nipples pressed against her now too-small bra, and her panties were damp and warm with her juices. He had an erection.

  By way of answer for both of them, she touched her jeans with trembling fingers.

  "That's your answer?" he asked.

  "That's my answer." Please, let me do this.

  "What about regrets?"

  "What I regret. . ." She took a long, calming breath. Looked forward, not back. "What I regret is what I've been like up until now."

  "I don't understand."

  "I know you don't. I don't want to talk about it. Not now."

  When he didn't ask for an explanation, she tugged down on her zipper. He hadn't seen her naked before. Yes, his hands and cock knew what her body felt like, but when they'd had sex last night, she…and probably him, too…had hardly been thinking clearly. Maybe she still wasn't, but she didn't dare stop or give into doubts and fears.

  She'd worn boots today. Leaning over, she slipped them off and kicked them away. Then she drew her jeans down over her hips. It wouldn't have taken as long as it did if her hands weren't shaking and she didn't desperately need to know what he thought of what she was offering.

  She hoped he'd follow suit, but he stood with his hands by his side as she fumbled with the shirt buttons. He hadn't lost any of his erection, and his eyes had taken on a hooded quality as if only this moment, and what she was doing, mattered to him. That gave her courage.

  For the first time in her life, she didn't just remove her shirt. Driven by the hot weight between her legs, she slowly drew the garment off her shoulders and exposed herself inch by inch. As she revealed more and more flesh, she lost touch with the woman she'd always believed herself to be and became what she hoped Devin wanted. What she needed to be.

  Whatever Devin did with his life, it was filled with adventure and decisions and maybe danger. His world had little to do with balancing a paycheck and repairing old saddles and changing the oil in an ancient truck. He lived for the moment, did something vital that no one else could do. He'd want a woman capable of fully embracing life, one who saw sex as exercise and adventure, a woman who had no puritanical tapes playing inside her, who offered her body because, damn it, it felt good!

  In her mind and body she became that bold, confident woman. The new Ana didn't need clothes. Hell, they only got in the way of a good fuck.

  Simple, she decided as she slid out of the sleeves and let the flannel drop to the ground near her jeans. The new Ana needed to be screwed. Needed to screw. Beyond that…hell, there was no beyond.

  There was only determination to jump Devin's bones.

  Chapter 9

  "No, don't."

  Ana stopped with her hands on the fastening for her bra.

  "I want to do that."

  "Oh," she managed. With a shake of the head, she reminded herself that today she was leaving the woman she'd always been behind. Tamping down on the shyness and insecurity she couldn't completely exorcize, she stepped toward him and turned her back to him. He reached around her and unbuttoned her shirt. Then he dragged it off her. Next he unhooked her bra. However, instead of finishing the disrobing, he wrapped his arm around her midsection and pulled her against him. With his free hand, he explored the swell of her breasts under her bra; his fingertips felt like the finest sandpaper. Sighing, she rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes. She couldn't have lifted her arms if he'd commanded her.

  He became a painter, brush-stroking the tops and sides of her breasts before turning his attention to the valley between them. Because she still semi-wore her bra, the straps were around her upper arms, and she felt imprisoned by them…not as captured as his encircling arm made her feel, but not bad. Not bad at all.

  Slowly, lightly, he worked his fingers under a bra cup, but he didn't seem to be in any hurry to touch her nipple. Couldn't he tell how hard and erect it had become? Surely her ragged breathing and the way she couldn't stop herself from pressing against him told him what she needed.

  Of course he knew. He simply wanted to play with her.

  Now he slid his hand under a breast and lifted as if clinically and critically testing its weight. Of course the rod poking into her backside made a lie of that observation. She stared at the treetops, seeing not the contrast of green against blue sky but inside herself to where the woman she was just now discovering lived and breathed.

  She was Devin's captive. How she came under his control, she didn't know. No one was looking for her; no rescuer on a white horse would charge up to save her from whatever fate Devin intended for her.

  If she was ever going to taste freedom again, she'd have to do it herself.

  But did she want that, she asked herself as he released her breast so he could run his hand over her rib cage, to her belly. No! the wanton woman in her shouted when he pressed his hand between her legs and forced them apart. She still wore panties, but he had no trouble sliding his fingers under the nylon and pressing against her crotch.

  His slave. His helpless captive. His to torture and pleasure.

  Her heart became a wild animal beating against her breastbone. Momentarily alarmed, she tried to judge whether she was in danger of having a heart attack, but then he dipped two fingers into her.

  She sagged because she could no longer feel or command her legs.

  "Wet," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. "So you've already started."

  It was all right that he knew so much about her; she loved it that way.

  "But just started," he whispered as his fingers withdrew.

  Starving, she tried to grab his hand and guide it back in her, but he increased his hold around her arms and held them against her side. When she stilled, he re
turned his attention to between her legs but made no move to glide his fingers into her again. Instead, he trailed them over the inside of her thighs. Lost in sensation, she opened herself to him so his nails were free to lightly mark her flesh. He drew lines, circles, small, tight curves.

  She whimpered. He chuckled.

  "You like that?" he mouthed against her neck.

  "You have to ask?"

  "No, I don't."

  There. There he was. Inside her, his fingers at least, exploring that hot, moist place where surely all her nerves were centered. Without his having to tell her what he wanted her to do, she opened herself more fully to him and through eyes that could no longer focus on anything, she saw herself sagging in his arms with what little clothing she still wore in disarray. She imagined that his features had darkened. Maybe, like her, he couldn't close his mouth and was concerned about his heart's erratic thumping.

  Maybe, like her, this wasn't enough.

  Oh God, what was that? Touch—-touching what no man ever had!

  From somewhere came understanding; she clung to her newfound wisdom and reveled in it. He was—-oh shit, his short, strong nail had found her clit! Now it danced for him, for her, for both of them, swelling and pushing, maybe vibrating.

  Jutting her pelvis toward him, she ordered him without words.

  Fuck me with your fingers. Make me come! Feel my body celebrate!

  There! Him, knowing what she needed. Strumming her clit like it was some exquisite instrument. Her, twisting and rejoicing, climbing, climbing. Standing at the edge of the earth and leaping unafraid and gloriously alive into space. Into him.

  * * * * *

  She came back to herself a few moments later. It was as if something had briefly flicked off inside her, some light extinguished and time lost. She returned to find herself so weak she would have fallen if he hadn't still been holding her. At the same time, she'd never felt stronger or more ready to celebrate.

  Still not trusting her legs, she took inventory. The arm he'd wrapped around her midsection hadn't moved. His every breath chased warm, moist currents through her hair, and once, twice, three times he licked her ear, causing delicious shudders across her shoulders and down her spine.

  Most of all, oh yes, most of all, his fingers were still in her cunt.

  Yes, yes, my cunt! I can say it!

  "Are you back with me?" he asked.

  "Y-es."

  He chuckled. "But not completely yet. You had a climax."

  "Yes…I did."

  He chuckled again and withdrew his fingers. At the same time, he turned her toward him so she couldn't fully concentrate on the loss. Her cunt remembered the breadth and warmth of him. With his fingers no longer providing a plug, her juices flowed freely, drenching her panties crotch and oozing down her thighs.

  He held up his hand; sunlight glinted off her body sap. Still too far gone to know whether she should be embarrassed by the display, she waited to see what he would do. To her joy, he licked at it, cleaning one finger but leaving the other milked. He extended that one toward her and after a momentary hesitation, she drank of herself.

  "Devin," she managed. "Thank you."

  "For?"

  "Helping me find myself. What I'm capable of."

  He regarded her soberly. "That's never happened before?"

  Not quite strong enough to meet his eyes, she said, "Last night was the first time I've ever had a climax."

  "Damn him."

  Damn who? Belatedly, she realized he was talking about John, but she didn't want to have to defend him at this moment—didn't want to think about him.

  "I am who and what I am," she said, not sure where her thinking was going. "I've always…I had a conservative upbringing. Certain things simply weren't discussed."

  "Like your sexuality."

  A nod was all she was capable of. Even now, with the proof of her reaction in both their mouths, she couldn't completely extinguish the old tapes which said a nice girl didn't talk of such things, let alone take proof of her sexuality into her mouth and down her throat.

  But she wanted to silence that nice girl, bury her once and for all and relish the woman she'd become—the woman Devin had uncovered.

  It took effort, but by forcefully separating her mind from the lower part of her body, she managed to concentrate on him. On his obvious needs.

  Smiling in anticipation, she unhooked his gun belt and laid it and the heavy weapon on the ground. Then she unzipped his jeans.

  "You don't fool around, do you?" he said.

  "I have a lot of catching up to do—unless you mind."

  "We may both regret this."

  "I know. Maybe. . ." She indicated what she'd just done. "Maybe I shouldn't—"

  "It feels right at this moment; that's all that counts."

  Unable and unwilling to argue with him despite the massive holes in his logic, she pushed his jeans off his hips. Then she crouched before him and unlaced and loosened his hiking boots. He placed a hand on the top of her head and balanced on one foot while she removed first one boot and then the other. That done, she slowly slid the denim down his legs.

  His thighs had only a faint dusting of hair, but it grew richer from the knees down. Again he lifted first one leg and then the other so she could remove his jeans. Instead of standing, she fashioned a cushion for her knees out of the garment and knelt on it so she could explore, not just his hair, but the flesh, muscle, and bone that was part of him. Despite her declaration that she'd buried the repressive woman she'd once been, she was grateful for the white briefs hiding his penis. In a few minutes, she told herself, she'd be ready to see it.

  Turning her head to the side, she slid her tongue over his shin bone. The hairs slowed her progress and caused her to repeatedly moisten her tongue, but when he sucked in a breath and fisted her hair, she knew she'd hit upon something sensual to do for him. The thought of her kneeling before a man still wearing a shirt and briefs while her only garment consisted of sex-drenched panties was erotic. Before she'd moved around to his taut calf muscle, she'd begun to feel hot again—getting ready to explore her capacity for another climax.

  Inspired by his earlier use of his teeth, she drew back her lips and raked her teeth over what she could reach of his lower legs. She wasn't sure this fit under the heading of erotic, but it felt good to her. Before long, the strain on her neck forced her to change tactics. As he'd done, she slid her hands between his legs, and ran her fingernails over his inner thigh. She was surprised by how silken his skin there felt in contrast to elsewhere.

  The contrast fascinated her; she couldn't get enough of educating herself, of exploring what resulted in the most reaction from him. It was hard to be sure because almost every inch of his flesh seemed to be sensitive. His grip on her hair tightened.

  Looking up reinforced her belief that they were in sync. His penis pushed through the opening in his briefs, so large and ready that, for an instant, it frightened her. Had she really taken him into her mouth? Good grief! She'd hardly ever fantasized about doing that, let alone carry through.

  Then the memory of what his penis had done for her last night took over. Straightening, she licked the shaft, running her tongue over the underside, then the hard ridge. Last night there'd been no light in the tent, and she'd gone by feel. Now, seeing what he had to offer—what made him fully a man—excited her even more.

  "What?" he said.

  About to ask what he was talking about, she realized she'd stopped tonguing him and had settled back onto her haunches.

  "I'm admiring the scenery," she told him.

  "It's pretty much standard issue. One to each customer."

  Was this the first time she'd heard him joke? Despite her growing heat and the all too real feeling that she was letting down inside, her clit seeking to escape its prison, she had to acknowledge that.

  "I don't see standard issue at all." To prove her point, she took his tip between thumb and forefinger and pulled down so she had an unobstructed
view of his slit. Moisture oozed out, and he sucked in his breath.

  "And you've made a study of this?"

  "Wouldn't you like to know?" In that single drop was the ability to create life. The knowledge held her in awe. "No, of course not. I…I always thought I'd be embarrassed if I did something like this, but I'm not."

  "Always thought? Then it's something you've fantasized about?"

  Her fantasies had always been carefully guarded, hidden even from herself except deep in the middle of a lonely night.

  "No." She leaned forward so her breath would reach his cock and held him immobile. "I'm a normal, red-blooded woman." And if you don't believe me, put your fingers back up my pussy. "I just never knew it before—before you."

  "Your husband—"

  "I don't want to talk about him." She was vaguely aware that she'd told Devin something like that before, but with every heartbeat, she became even more convinced that now wasn't the time for talking. She didn't know how long a man could sustain an erection but surely he wanted more than this. Deserved more.

  He must have had the same thought because he took hold of her upper arms and pulled her to her feet. Before she could organize her muscles to the complex task of removing his shirt, he did it for her…for himself. Then he did the same to his briefs and watched as she rolled her panties down and off her.

  Naked. Naked in full daylight. His cock hard and huge and dark. Her nipples looking frozen but feeling everything. The only thing she knew was that she didn't want sex the way she'd always had it with her husband.

  As if reading her mind, he looked around, then led her to a mound and guided her to the top of it. She still wasn't sure how they were going to accomplish what they both wanted, but the moment he cupped his hands over her butt cheeks and pulled her toward him, she didn't care. She spread her legs as far apart as possible. His cock slid between her thighs and rubbed against her clitoris. His tip found the entrance to her core, and he slipped in as easily as if they'd been made for each other. Still, she didn't feel him deep inside her.

  She lifted one leg. As the same time, he worked his hands from her waist to her hips and finally her thighs. Arms clamped on his shoulders, she waited until he lifted her in his arms and then locked her ankles behind his ass and leaned back slightly. As easy as that, he settled inside her. They couldn't keep this position long; they'd have to hurry, work their bodies, drink of each other, maybe explode together.