It was reckless, improper; the sort of thing that got people dismissed, and into trouble, but it was also right. Jane felt that, deeply, and undeniably. And as she’d told…John, it wasn’t because she’d confronted her own mortality.
She still couldn’t understand—why me—but that was…unimportant just now. When she was safe, enveloped in John’s protective, caring wildness, and delectable scent—moors on a hot summer’s day. Though she should worry about his opinion of her bold wantonness, and what the future would hold, she couldn’t.
Instead, she leaned up to kiss him. He welcomed her unhesitatingly, with more than a little hunger—which matched her own, growing deep in her belly. His taste was as addictive as the rest of him, and his skilled lips and tongue kept her nerves firing ever more profoundly.
Gathering her up, not breaking the kiss, only lifting her just enough, he moved them to his bed, laying her down, covering and surrounding, but neither caging nor crushing her.
Then he went exploring, with the same frantic energy he’d had upon learning she was in danger. It was intoxicating, as his kisses—everywhere—were, along with his attention to her every shift, and breath. Her nightclothes vanished, and then he was between her legs, making her see stars. Never had anyone driven her to such heights thus—some had tried, quickly relenting to reach their own completion. Whereas John…
He sought something; a satiation to insatiable hunger, or her innermost self. Regardless, before long his clever tongue, fingers, and lips had her writhing and muffling cries as she held fast to his delightful curls. And when she’d peaked, covered in sweat, and him, he slid up to kiss her deeply.
We fit, she thought dizzily. In every way.
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