The Liar

He took his time so the kiss alone left her limp—all watery knees and misty thoughts. He had a way of making that meeting of lips into a long, slow shimmer. A kindling rather than an explosion.

Wrapped in him, seduced when she had thought to seduce, she let herself be guided, let herself be glided along the river of sensation. Swaying to him, with him, on the old front porch with the sunlight like shattered gold and the world too still for a single leaf to stir.

He eased the zipper down at the back of her dress, enjoying, lingering over every inch of skin he exposed. Soft as silk, smooth as lake water.

His to touch.

He nudged the straps from her shoulders, gave himself the pleasure of laying his lips there. Stronger than she looked, he thought. Shoulders that didn’t shirk from lifting a load.

He wanted—needed—to help her with the weight.

For now, he gave the dress a little brush so it flowed like air to her feet. The pretty bits of lace she wore echoed the tender green of the dress.

“I bought them special.” She laid fingertips between her breasts when he looked down at her. “I shouldn’t’ve spent the money, but—”

“Worth every penny. I’ll pay you back.”

“I’m counting on it,” she said before his mouth took hers again.

A little stronger, a little deeper now so her head fell back to accept all he offered, to give all he asked.

He drew her down with him so they knelt on the blanket. Their lips broke apart long enough for her to tug the T-shirt he wore over his head; met again as she tossed it aside. Hot flesh under her hands, the water and soap of his shower teasing her senses as she played kisses over the curve of his shoulder.

And still that faint, lingering scent of sawdust, reminding her as the calloused palms reminded her, he worked with his hands.

A quick shiver ran over her skin, ran into her blood when he flicked the clasp of her bra open. Those working hands cupped her breasts, the rough pads of his thumbs stroked across her nipples, waking new needs, churning up a storm in her belly.

Everything in her so full now, so tender and already yearning. But his hands continued to play over her, finding more, stirring more.

He laid her back, ran his finger along the edge of the panties, along that vulnerable line between thigh and center.

That sound in her throat, not quite moan, not quite sigh. It could undo him. His own needs gathered, but he held them, held them, floating his palm over the lace, building the heat under the thin barrier until her hands lost their grip on him.

Her breath quickened, deepened; the lids lowered over the magic blue of her eyes.

His to touch, he thought again. His to have.

He slipped that thin barrier away and took her up, took her over with his hands.

It burst through her, lightning through the storm, slashing pleasure, a new flash of deep, driving need. She dragged at his belt, impatient now for all, to take, be taken.

He drew her up again to help her, then took her hands in his to still them when she yanked at his jeans.

“No rush.”

Her breath in rags, desire a single mad ache, she looked at him—and saw that same need, that same aching.

“Maybe I’m in more of a hurry than you.”

“Let’s just take a minute.” He kept her hands trapped in his, took her mouth again. “I love you.”

“Oh, God, Griff.”

“I need to say it, need you to hear it. While I’ve got you naked on the porch. I love you. I don’t have to rush it.”

“I can’t get a handle on what I feel, on what you do inside me even when you’re not there. It’s so much.” She pressed her face into his shoulder. “It’s all so much.”

“That works for now.” He eased her back so he could bring up her hands, kiss them before he let them go. “It all works.”

He shifted, lowering to the blanket again so she lay over him. He threaded his fingers through her hair, loving the mass of it, the wild curls and color.

She didn’t have his patience, but she tried to find some, guiding him now through the kiss, letting her hands stroke and stir, feeling his heart kick under her lips.

When at last there was nothing between them, she rose over him, took him in.

Filled. Surrounded. Joined.

She pressed his hands to her heart so he could feel it drumming while she set the rhythm.

Slow, she fought to keep it all slow, and found the staggering pleasure of that easy pace. Rolls of it flowing in like a sea, building layer by layer like clouds.

With the air thick as honey, the sunlight streaming, she rode him over that sea, higher into those clouds. She clung, clung, clung to that breathless peak. Then let herself be swept away.

She could hear the birds again, little trills and whistles through the circling woods. She could even hear the faintest rustle of the faintest breeze through the trees, like quiet breath, now that her heart wasn’t hammering in her ears.

And she knew the pure, sated joy of lying limp on the porch, a thoroughly satisfied woman, beside the man she in turn had thoroughly satisfied.

“I wonder what the UPS guy would’ve thought if he’d come driving up to the house.”