Hers For One Night Only?. Carol Marinelli

mouth and the roam of his hands and the way her body was craving his—it was a kiss that was potent, everything a kiss could be, distilled into one delicious dose.

      He took off her dress, because he wanted to see her, not the woman in silver, and his eyes roamed. They roamed as he took off her bra and he answered his earlier question because her freckles stopped only where her bikini would be. There were two unfreckled triangles that wanted his mouth, but he talked to her as well and what she didn’t know was how rare that was.

      He left control behind and was out of his mind.

      He wanted her in France, he told her as he licked her nipple.

      Topless and naked on the beach beside him, and new freckles on her breasts. She closed her eyes and she could smell the sun oil, could feel the heat from the sun that shone in France and the coolness of his tongue on sunburnt nipples. He pressed her into the couch and she pressed back to him.

      She was lying down and could feel him hard against her and she didn’t think twice, just slid his zipper down.

      She could hear her own moan as she held him and he lifted his head.

      ‘We’re not going to make it to the bedroom, are we?’

      ‘Not a hope,’ she admitted.

      Was this what it was like?

      To be free.

      To be irresponsible.

      More, please, she wanted to sob, because she wanted to live on the edge for ever, never wanted this night to end.

      She wanted this man who took off his trousers and kept condoms in his wallet, and it didn’t offend her—she already knew what he was like, after all.

      ‘Bastard.’ She grinned.

      And he knew her too.

      ‘Sorry,’ he said. In their own language he apologised for the cad that he was and told her that he wasn’t being one tonight.

      This was different.

      So different that he sat her up.

      Sank to his knees on the edge of the sofa.

      And pulled her bottom towards him.

      ‘Let’s get rid of these.’ He was shameless. He dispensed with anything awkward, just slid her panties down, and she did remember staring up at the ceiling as his tongue slid up a pale, freckled thigh that didn’t taste of fake tan and then he dived right in. As he licked and teased and tasted she would remember for ever thinking, Is this me?

      And she was grateful for his experience, for his skill, for the mastery of his tongue, because it was a whole new world and tonight she got to step into it.

      ‘Relax,’ he said, when she forgot to for a moment.

      So she did, just closed her eyes and gave in to it.

      ‘Where’s the rug?’ she asked as he slid her to the floor.

      ‘No rug,’ he said.

      He maybe should get one, was her last semi-coherent thought, because the carpet burnt in her back as he moved inside her, a lovely burn, and then it was his turn to sample the carpet for he toppled her over, still deep inside her, and she was on top.

      Don’t look down.

      It wasn’t even a semi-coherent thought; it was more a familiar warning that echoed in her head.

      Don’t look down—but she did, she looked down from the tightrope that recently she’d been walking.

      She glimpsed black eyes that were open as she closed hers and came, and he watched her expression, felt her abandon, and then his eyes closed as he came too. Yes, feeling those last bucks deep inside her she looked down and it didn’t daunt her, didn’t terrify. It exhilarated her as greedily he pulled her head down and kissed her.

      ‘It’s morning,’ he said as they moved to the bedroom, the first sunlight starting.

      Better still as she closed her eyes to the new day, there was no regret.