Strange Bedfellows. Кейси Майклс

caught between passion and unexpected embarrassment. “Please, Sean. Hold me. Hold me.”

      He silently cursed the confines of the front seat, wishing he’d had the foresight to move them both into the wider back seat, but he was suddenly afraid that any hesitation, any conversation at all, would not only shatter Cassandra’s mood, but Cassandra herself.

      So he did just as she wished, lowering himself against her, his hand never losing contact with her, never lessening its sweet assault.

      He kissed her breasts, rubbing his tongue over her nipples, kissing her, nuzzling her, his breath leaving him in a long sigh as she wrapped her arms around him once more, her body once more turning liquid, willing, eager.

      He took her mouth again, hungry for her, feeding on her, finding his life through her, clinging to life even as he knew it could slip away at any time, reaffirming her existence and his own.

      Simple. Elemental.

      Man. Woman.

      Life.

      She was ready for him. And he was oh-so ready for her. To bury himself within her warmth. To feel the pulse of life between them. This beautiful, unreadable, unfathomable, intriguing, exciting woman. He wanted her. Had to have her. Might always need her…

      And then he felt the barrier between them. Sensed it. Realized that she was once more tense, holding her muscles tight even as she continued to cling to him, continued returning his kiss.

      Could it be? Was it possible?

      “Cassandra, are you sure…?” he murmured questioningly against her lips. Blood drummed in his ears, trying to block him from thought. But he was no raw high school jock experimenting with sex, and she was no giggling, willing cheerleader.

      Was this possible? Was this real? Was he actually in the front seat of a Jeep poised to roll down a mountainside—ten feet from a particularly unpleasant death—with a virgin?

      God surely had a lousy sense of humor….

      “Please,” she whispered against his ear as she tore her mouth away from his, then buried her head against his shoulder and neck. “Please, Sean. I want this. I truly want this. I—I shouldn’t have to die without…without knowing. Please!”

      And then, of all the craziness that had happened that night, Cassandra did the craziest thing of all—or at least that’s how Sean viewed it.

      She held on to him tightly, her head raised from the seat to press against his shoulder.

      And she began to move.

      Move her hips, her whole lower torso. One long, silk-clad leg snaked up and over his thigh, slid up onto his back, holding him to her, imprisoning him, urging him on, helping him, aiding and abetting him.

      And he was lost.

      The barrier disappeared, broken by passion, by a need that made his throat raw, choked off his breath, and he was sheathed in her warmth—fully, completely.

      His heart was going to burst, he knew it.

      His brain had already exploded, leaving all reason to vaporize into the night air without a trace.