One Tough Cookie by E. C. Sheedy Page B

pants. "These, too. I want to... feel you." She undid the buttons, but when she pulled at his zipper, he stayed her hand—his heart was already jumping out of his chest, freeing his cock at this stage would put him in meltdown.
    "Not yet, I need the barrier. Just a little longer." His voice was thick when he rolled back to her. Stretched fully beneath him now, there was nothing but flimsy fabric and his fragmented control between them. He extended her arms over her head, held them there and explored her with his mouth, tasting, kissing, licking. Mouth. Throat. Shoulders. All of her he could reach. Then his mouth was on her breasts, tasting then suckling her erect sensitive nipples.
    Veering downward, he kissed the underside of her breast, swept over her midsection. Finally nuzzling her at the soft red-satin apex between her thighs. Placing a hand inside each thigh, he exerted a light pressure. "You have to open for me, baby, but first the satin's got to go. You good with that?"
    Her hands came down to rest on his head and her voice was shaky. "I'm good. Nervous, but good."
    "It'll be okay. Lie back. Let me love you. I don't want to hurt you." He moved up and over her again to take her head in his hands. "I want it to be good for you. So good you'll never forget it—or me."
    He saw her swallow, then nod again.
    The trust in her eyes nearly undid him.
    He locked his thumbs into the flimsy threads of satin resting on each side of her hips. Letting out a silent breath, he pulled them down her legs and dropped the wisp of material to the floor. Bare to him, she took his breath away. He outlined her seductive, muscular body with his hands from shoulders to knees. His own need surged, threatened to engulf him.
    He wanted to take her, sink hard and deep with all the fumbling, awkward rush of an adolescent. Grasping for restraint and the return of at least some finesse, he stretched out beside her and rested his heated palm on the smooth plane of her stomach. When his hand headed downward once more, seeking the warmth of her inner thigh, she parted her legs and murmured his name.
    Taylor ran his fingers through her soft maze of pubic hair, caressed her gently. He wanted his touch to turn her to butter, wanted her wet and as desperate for him as he was for her.
    When Willow pressed herself to his hand, he groaned.
    "Oh, my God, that feels…so-o good. I can't—" Her hands grasped wildly at the sheets. She bucked and twisted toward his hand.
    It was game on…
    While he could still think, in a deft maneuver, he disposed of his slacks, first removing a foil packet.
    When he started to sheath himself, she stopped him. "Not yet. Let me... touch you first."
    "I don't think—" But he was too late. Her hand closed around him. He froze, utterly still in her firm hand and his breath ripped out of his lungs. Fuck! His rock-hard cock throbbed to aching. One more second of her touching him, and he'd be doing a slam-dunk. She started to stroke him.
    "Whoa… Not a good idea." He gripped her hand. "Not yet." He'd be back for more of what she was giving him. But later. Much later.
    With a soft, uneven sigh, Willy acquiesced, moving a hand upward to play with his flat male nipples. She lifted smoky blue eyes to his. "Then touch me again. I like it when you touch me."
    He gave her a crooked smile, using words to cool his raging heat. "Where exactly would you like me to touch you? I seem to have lost my place."
    Without a word, Willy took his hand and placed it in the warmth of her inner thigh. And in the dim bedroom light, she returned his smile, her voice throaty, her uptilted eyes sultry and teasing. "Can you find your way from there?"
    Taylor's fingers tightened over the firm flesh of her thigh before inching upward to comb through her curls.
    "Was it somewhere near here?" he asked, the steam of his breath heating the curve of her throat.
    "Hm-m." Willy closed her eyes, sinking into the husky rumble of Taylor's voice. Purring words, questions,