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Pot, beer, nudity - can she just ride by?
"I rather like the view down here at the moment," he said.
She smiled slowly and continued to gaze upward. She liked that he was watching her, and she stood in the moment, savoring it.
How long had it been since she had been regarded as a work of art?
--Too long, but she hoped he hadn't guessed that.
A warmth began to creep slowly up her body, and it collided with the cold chill on her shoulders, producing a shudder she couldn't contain.
He slid his arm around her shoulder and guided her toward her car.
"Mind if I climb in for a minute?" he asked when they reached it.
"No," she replied, "but you'll have to go around. It's a stick shift."
She slid into the driver's seat and leaned over to unlock his door. He jumped in, rubbing his hands briskly.
"Start the damn thing," he shivered. "I'm cold!"
She turned the key and slid the heater knobs on.
"This car has a great heater," she commented. "It gets hot almost instantly."
She turned to look at him, and suddenly his face was inches away from hers. "So do I," he confessed.
He clasped her neck and pulled her to him, leaning awkwardly over the gear shift. His eyes closed and his lips took hers, and they were warm and wet and hungry.
She closed her eyes, breathing into his face and his mouth, and into the sensation coming from the ground floor of her own body.
His hand slid slowly beneath the collar of her jacket, kneading the flesh of her neck and shoulder.
His tongue pushed against her lips with a question. She answered, sweeping him in like an ocean wave at high tide. The current pulled them deeper, as its source sent shock waves through their bodies in widening circles.
"May day! May day!" the alarm sounded in her brain. But the pounding of her heart drowned it out, and she pressed her torso closer to him.
"I'm sorry," he offered, just in case. "I promised myself I'd take it slow, but you put me in overdrive tonight: that tight little shirt of yours; the way that wisp of a skirt whirled up to your waist every time I turned you, showing those black stockings, that go all the way down those legs to your little red heels..."
He paused, giving her a look that explained better than words the effect she was having on him.
She felt confused. Her mind had a million reasons not to do this, but her body had none.
He slid his hand up her torso and closed it over her breast.
She jumped. "Oh, God, please don't do that. It sends shock waves all the way to my clit," she pleaded.
He grinned. "Now you know how I'm feeling--how I've felt ever since the night I spotted you across the dance floor and knew I had to dance with you; how I've felt every time I put my hands on your hips in the middle of a chacha or turned you in a twostep."
Her kisses were intoxicating. They were like a truth serum. Nothing came to his mind that didn't immediately roll off his tongue.
"God I want you," he continued recklessly. He kissed her again. "I want you. I want you. I want you." he alternately kissed and pleaded.
The words trailed off as he pulled her jacket aside and latched onto the skin over her collar bone. He sucked slowly and rhythmically, gently kneading her breast to the same rhythm.
Fire ignited within her, consuming her doubts and misgivings, and she could suddenly think of no reason on earth why she shouldn't give in to the craving she herself had entertained more than once.
"Not here," she breathed, and pulled away, trying to extricate her whirling head from the twister pulling it downward.
"My place," she offered, and jammed the car into gear.
He jerked back against his seat as the car lurched forward. She pressed the accelerator to the floor and sped up the street to her house.
He rested his hands on his tense thighs and rubbed them absentmindedly. She glanced over as a swath of light from a passing streetlight cut across his shrinking jeans.
"Uncomfortable?" she asked sympathetically. "I can't wait to get them off you."
He groaned and reached over to hide his restless fingertips in the hair at the nape of her neck.