The Australian

“Steady on,” he breathed gently, watching her face as his fingers began to trace her breast, watching her eyes widen with pleasure.

She made a wild sweet sound and buried her face against his chest, clinging to him.

“I need this,” he said, sounding shaken. “God help me, I have to!”

She felt his mouth searching for hers, and she turned her head a fraction of an inch to meet it.

“Keep your eyes open,” he breathed as he took it, ardently, roughly, and his eyes stared into hers. His hand moved at the same time, and he saw her pupils dilate until her eyes were black as he cupped her soft breast in his big hand and felt the nipple go hard in his palm.

She moaned, feeling her body move helplessly against his, feeling her body provoke him, beg for his touch.

He lifted his mouth. “It’s passion,” he whispered. “Don’t be ashamed of it. I need you as much as you need me. I won’t compromise you—not in any way.”

As he spoke, he bent, lifting her clear off the floor, his eyes glazed with emotion. “Where are your parents?” he asked softly as he carried her into her bedroom.

“In...in town, to have...to have the car...fixed,” she told him. Her voice was so shaky, it was hard to talk. “John,” she moaned.

“Shhh,” he whispered. His lips brushed her eyelids closed. “It’s going to be exquisitely tender. I just want a taste of you.”

“I’ve never...” she began.

“I know.”

He laid her down beside the open suitcase on the bed and slid alongside her. His mouth touched her face softly, lovingly, brushing every flushed inch of it, teasing her mouth. She felt his knuckles on her soft flesh as they slid beneath the bodice of her dress, and her eyes opened, because what he was teaching her was so beautiful, she wanted to remember him like this all her life. Even if it was only pity he felt for her, she’d live on these few minutes until she died.

“I’m only going to touch you,” he said gently. “Here,” he whispered, tracing the slope of her breast where it was covered by the lacy wisp of her bra. “And here.” They moved under the lace, to the hard pulsing tip that screamed her helpless reaction to him.

“Oh,” she moaned, shocked, arching to his hand.

“New sensations?” he responded, savoring the feel of her, bursting with the triumphant knowledge that no other man had touched her. “I feel new sensations, too, Priss. You’re a virgin, and all your first times are happening with me. I feel humble knowing that.”

She stared into his eyes. “I wanted you...so much,” she confessed brokenly.

His eyes smiled. “Did you? And now that you have me?”

Her lips parted. “I don’t know what to do,” she said simply.

“Do you want me to teach you?” His voice was all dark velvet, seducing her, and he smiled as his big hands found the buttons of her dress and lazily eased them open down the front.

“Yes,” she entreated. “But...” Her courage failed as the last button came undone, and the full force of what she was letting him do washed over her in waves.

He shook his head, pressing a gentle finger against her protesting lips. “No,” he said. “I don’t want this to happen with some college boy, out of curiosity. Let me be the first.”

Her body trembled. But she loved him almost beyond bearing, and she wanted his eyes on her. Only his. No other man’s, ever.

His hands moved again, unfastening the bra. There was a second when she almost jerked away from him, but he controlled the instinctive withdrawal, pulling her face into his throat, making her close her eyes while he eased the garments down to her waist. She felt the cool air on her skin and his warm rough hands against her bare back, and her heart went crazy in her body.

“Now,” he breathed, with his open mouth against her forehead. “Now let me look at you. Lie down, Priscilla, and let me see what you’ve shown no other man.”

With breathless tenderness, he eased her back onto the coverlet and slowly his eyes feasted on her soft pink breasts with their hardened, uptilted tips. She flushed.

But after the first few agonizing seconds of embarrassment, she began to relax, to take pleasure from the appreciation she read in his intent gaze. Her body seemed to like it even more. It began to move in jerky sensuous motions on the mattress and lifted toward him without her consent.

“Do you want my hands?” he asked, lifting his eyes to hers.

She tingled all over, her breath catching in her throat at the deep, fervent note in his voice. His sophistication made her innocence more obvious than ever.

He sat up and one big hand smoothed across her flat stomach, across the bulge of the clothing at her waist. Lightly, slowly, holding her eyes, he touched the hard peaks of her breasts and watched her shudder.

“Your breasts are like honey,” he said. “You’re like honey. So sweet, you make me drunk.” He bent, with his eyes on her bareness. “I want to take you in my mouth,” he breathed. “Are you going to let me?”

She groaned helplessly, and her body arched again, inviting him.

“Priss,” he whispered, sliding his hands slowly under her back. “Priss, come here.”

He lifted her to his parted lips. She stiffened and cried out with the shock of pleasure as his mouth took her, and the excited little cry aroused him instantly. He took the hardness into his mouth and eased closer, feeling her reactions, glorying in her headlong response. Her hands tangled in his hair, frantic. Those wild little cries were pushing him right over the edge, making him shudder with a kind of desire he’d never experienced.

“Oh, God,” he whispered with reverence, because she was so deliciously innocent, so trusting. She was giving him free license to do what he liked to her smooth young body, and he was going crazy with the freedom.

His mouth moved down her body, to her waist, her hips, the flatness of her stomach, as he eased the dress farther down to bare her body to his greedy lips. She tasted of delicate soap and powder, and he wanted to taste all of her....

“Do you want me now?” he whispered roughly. His mouth ran back up her body, over her creamy breasts to her face, and he cupped her breast as his lips made nonsense of any protest she might have made. “Do you want to lie with me and touch me the way I’m touching you with nothing between us except air?”

“I...ache,” she said through parched lips, clinging, trembling.

“So do I,” he said unsteadily. “You’ve taken my mind from me. Lie still, darling. Let me touch you, let me have you.”

His face moved, touching, brushing. His mouth loved her, cherished her. She was shuddering under its tenderness, and he knew she’d make no further protest if he undressed her completely and took her. But even as he was drowning in the anguished pleasure of the knowledge, he began to think about consequences. She was a virgin. The first time for her was probably not going to be as good as it would be for him. He was more aroused than he’d ever been in his life—too aroused to take his time, to give her patience. And worst of all, she’d be unprotected. He could make her pregnant. It was that thought that brought him suddenly to his senses. She was hardly more than a child herself.

He dragged his mouth from her soft belly and managed to pull his tormented body into a sitting position, breathing roughly, running his hands through his damp hair. She was breathing roughly herself, and her body was trembling wildly.

With a harsh mutter, he brought her up into his arms and rocked her damp body against his. “Hold me hard, darling,” he whispered into her ear, feeling the heat of her breasts through the cotton of his shirt. Her back under his hands was like silk. “Hold me. It will stop. Hold me hard.”

She clung to him, vaguely embarrassed at the intensity of her response, wildly frustrated, wanting something he hadn’t given her but not realizing exactly what.

“Oh, gosh,” she whispered, awed.

“Now you know,” he said gently.

Her nails bit into his shoulders, and she nuzzled her head into his neck, shuddering a little as her heartbeat calmed and her breath steadied. “You...weren’t going to stop...at first. Why...did you?” It was a statement, not a question.

His big hand smoothed her hair slowly. “I could have made you pregnant.”

Thrills of pleasure wafted through her. She might have liked that, being pregnant with his child. It wasn’t at all frightening. But it would be a poor way of getting him, a mean trick. She sighed.

“I’d have let you,” she answered.

He laughed softly. “Yes, I know. Delicious, delightful little virgin.” He bit her shoulder, quite hard, and she shuddered with unexpected pleasure and laughed.

He half threw her back on the pillows and sat looking down at her seminudity with possessive, glittering blue eyes. “I’ve never wanted anyone so much,” he said huskily. “I was on fire for you. I still am.”

It was plain speaking, and a little embarrassing—like her wanton behavior. He seemed to sense those uncertainties, because he smiled tenderly when she sat up and began to tug her dress back in place.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said gently. “Only the two of us will ever know what happened here today.” He touched her mouth with a long finger. “And I won’t tell if you won’t.”

That was the John she loved so much, teasing, mischievous. She couldn’t help smiling at him. He smiled back and bent, kissing her softly, amorously, as his hands drew the bodice down again. “I’ll never see anything else so beautiful as long as I live,” he ground out, staring at her pink skin where his mouth had pressed and pulled and tasted it, with something like reverence on his hard face.

She flushed wildly and blushed even there, and he bent and kissed the shyness from her eyes, her mouth.

His fingers moved the damp hair away from her face, and he looked at her as if she were a sunrise he was committing to memory. “You belong to me now,” he said quietly. “Keep your body for me, and no other man. I’ll wait for you.”

“It belonged to you long before now,” she said in a choked tone, her eyes searching his. “John, I...!”

He put his fingers over her lips. “Don’t say it.” His mouth replaced his fingers, and he kissed her with an expertise that left her moaning, in tears, when he lifted his head. “You’re very young,” he said, as if it bothered him. “There’s plenty of time.”

“Plenty?” she queried. “When I’m leaving today?”

“Darling,” he breathed, staring down at her, “if you weren’t leaving today, you might damned well find yourself in my bed by nightfall.”

He got to his feet, stretching lazily and indulgently watched her efforts to rearrange her dress. There was possession in his eyes, and quiet pride, but she wasn’t looking.

“See what happens when you avoid me?” he asked as she got to her feet, smoothing back her disheveled hair. “Frustration can push a man to the very limits.”

She smiled shakily. “Was that what it was?”

He caught her waist and pulled her to him. “What do you think it was?” he asked.

She stared at his shirt, curious about how he looked without it. She’d only seen him that way from a distance, when he was working on fences with the men or digging a new bore.

“It’s too late now,” he said deeply, his voice amused. “If you wanted to go on safari, you should have indulged yourself while we were lying together on the bed.”

She flushed, and he laughed.

“The months will pass,” he said lightly, giving her a last careless kiss. “Write to me.”

“Could I?” she asked, breathless.

“Of course.”

“Will you write back?”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m not much good at letters, honey,” he confessed. “I’ll get Mother to write for me.”

His words hurt her. They wouldn’t be love letters—he was saying as much. Perhaps he’d meant what they had just shared as a going-away present, a fond farewell. Something to make up for the times when he’d ignored her, crumbs from his table.

She felt sick all over, but she was too proud to let it show. How could she have forgotten what her father had said, about John being glad to let her go, about his being too old to be interested in her?

“I’ll see you at the Easter holidays,” he said. “You’ll be home then?”

“Of course,” she said woodenly. “’Bye, John.”

He traced her cheek lightly with his finger, and his eyes met hers in a long hot exchange, but he didn’t touch her again. “’Bye, Priss. Keep well.”

“You, too.”

And he was gone, leaving her with the memory of a few wild minutes in his arms. It might have been kinder, she thought, if he’d spared her that. Coming from heaven back to earth was painful. She went to the window and watched him drive away. He waved from the end of the driveway, and she knew that he was aware of her watchful eyes. He knew how she felt. It had all been a pacifier, a consolation prize. Give the girl a few kisses to thrill her.

She went back to her suitcase and stared at it, denying her eyes the tears they wanted to shed. Well, she didn’t need John’s crumbs, thank you, she told herself. She’d go away and forget him. She’d forget him completely.

Sure, she would. She sat down on the bed and wailed. The coverlet still smelled of the spicy cologne he wore. Her lips touched it with aching passion, and it was a long time before she could force herself to get up and finish packing.

Hours later she said good-bye to her parents in Brisbane and climbed aboard a plane bound for the Hawaiian Islands. Despite the fact that she had promised herself she wouldn’t, her helpless eyes scanned the airport terminal for a glimpse of John. But he wasn’t there. Why should he be? He’d said his good-byes. She sat back in her seat and closed her eyes. It was going to be a long day.

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