...as fingertips plucked at her waiting nipple bringing a reeling dizziness.
She felt his chest rising unsteadily and heard his rapid intake of breath. His lips sucked gently at the curve of her neck, his tongue brushed against the lobe of her ear then plunged inside. Her body bucked in reaction at the desire surging through her.
Ross gave a quick tug and her pajama bottoms slid away with a quiet rustle. Suddenly she was bare. He thrust his leg between hers, and a deep heaviness throbbed in her belly. He was hard, pressing against her, and she moaned.
She needed him to fill the aching void at her center.
With devastating slowness, his hand cupped her completely before he slowly slid a finger into her warmth. She was burning up. Heat sliced through her. Emily gave herself up to the sweet torment of his hand as her hips rocked against his touch. Clutching his shoulders, her mouth blindly sought his. Desperate for release, she tightened her grip. "Ross," she managed, feeling as though she where spinning out of control.
Ross's body stilled. He made a harsh sound almost of pain then he withdrew his hand. He rolled away and lay beside her, his breathing still touch, one arm over his eyes.
"I'm sorry about that." Ross's voice was very quiet…
by Susan Combs, A Perfect Match, 1990
I can only wonder what fine tales Combs could write now with all her experience from being Ag Commissioner... And what if she becomes Comptroller? Naughty tax assessing? Stay tuned...