One Last Weekend by Linda Lael Miller

Author:Linda Lael Miller [Lael Miller, Linda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2016-05-18T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

“Sex,” Joanna said sagely, when she recovered her power of speech, “is not the solution to our dilemma.”

Teague, lying beside her in the tangle of bedding, hauled her on top of him and chuckled. “You couldn’t prove it by me,” he said. “Right now, I’m wondering what ‘our dilemma’ is, exactly.”

Outside, the wind howled around the edges of the cottage and rattled the glass in the windows.

Joanna knew she ought to withdraw from him, get out of bed, get dressed, but there was a disconnect between her mind and the corresponding muscles. She’d melted, that was the problem. “We don’t talk when we’re having sex,” she said, idly winding a finger in a strand of Teague’s hair.

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Teague suggested. “Maybe words get in the way of what we’re really trying to say to each other.”

“I don’t see how we can settle anything if we don’t talk,” Joanna replied. “But I’m intrigued by the theory.” She reached under the covers and closed her hand around him, pleased that he was getting hard again.

Teague gave a low moan.

Joanna slipped beneath the covers, kissing her way down Teague’s chest and belly.

But he drew her up before she reached her intended destination. And then, in a rolling motion of his body, he turned both himself and Joanna so that she was on her hands and knees in the middle of the mattress and he was behind her.

Joanna closed her eyes as heat surged through her, and instinctively gripped the rails in the headboard with her fingers.

Teague, already pressing against her, began caressing her breasts, one and then the other, delicately rolling her nipples between his fingers.

Now she was the one moaning.

He teased her with the moist tip of his cock even as he eased her thighs apart.

“Do it,” she whispered.

He bent, kissed her nape, the bones in her spine. “Do what?”

Joanna groaned out a long, needy “Ooh—”

“Do what?” Teague repeated, tracing the lines of her shoulder blades with the tip of his tongue.

“Fuck me,” she said.

“Don’t you want to—talk?”

“Fuck me,” she repeated, grinding against him, shameless in her need.

He found the entrance to her vagina and slammed into her in a low, hard thrust that made her throw back her head and give a guttural cry.

“Harder,” she pleaded. “Oh, Teague—harder—”

He toyed with her clitoris, still inside her, filling her.

She reached the first sharp orgasm, and Teague’s control shattered. He gripped her hips to steady her and fucked her in earnest, hard and fast and deep.

She gloried in the furious friction as he pounded into her, possessing her, ravishing her, like a wild storm that would not be stilled until it had spent itself.

They met in the whirlwind, their bodies fully joined in one final, shuddering collision of consuming fire.

Joanna came repeatedly, softly, all during the deliciously slow descent, Teague still grasping her hips, still moving in and out of her, though more gently now. He knew, damn him, how to extract the last, quivering release from her, how to melt the very marrow of her bones.

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