He nuzzled her ear and her neck, and when his hand skimmed her thigh, slowly creeping up one denim-clad leg, Maggie almost whimpered out loud she was so turned on. She should have been mortified that they were necking like teenagers but she was so utterly caught up in his heat and his smell and the sexual squall lashing her insides and scrambling her thought processes, she couldn’t have cared less.
She wanted to feel his lips on her so badly she turned her face towards him, her mouth seeking his as she clutched at his shirt, fisting it. ‘Nash,’ she whimpered as his lips brushed lightly against hers. Soft, teasing. She clutched his thigh, trying to anchor herself in the maelstrom.
Nash felt her desperate whimper right down to his toes and knew her torment. He wanted to tear her clothes off right here and now, push her back against the seat and have his way with her, audience or not.
And if he deepened the kiss that’s exactly what would happen. ‘Shh, Maggie,’ he whispered, kissing her forehead, her eyes, her cheek. ‘Nearly there.’
Maggie made a sound of protest deep in her throat. How could he be so controlled when she was practically blind with lust? His thigh felt thick and powerful beneath her hand and she massaged it convulsively, trying to claw back her breath, her sanity.
Nash clasped his hand over hers as it moved higher. God, didn’t she know he was holding on by a thread? He placed his forehead against her cheekbone, forcing himself to slow down, to think practically for a moment while he still had the chance.
‘Have you got condoms at your place?’ He had two in his wallet but no way was that ever going to be enough - they were going to go at it all night long. They might have to ask the driver to stop somewhere for supplies.
Maggie only just heard the question over the thrumming of the pulse in her ears. She shut her eyes, desperately trying to gather her thoughts. Protection, Maggie, protection — think!
It had been too many years since it had been an issue.
‘Oh...er...yes.’ Think. Think. She did have some somewhere. ‘I have a...a box...’ Where. Where? ‘In...in my bedside drawer.’
Nash pressed a kiss to her temple and moved his hand further up her leg. ‘I hope it’s full.’
Maggie strained to think again. ‘Well, it’s been a while since I’ve used any but I’m pretty sure they’ve barely been touched.’
Nash felt strangely satisfied by the admission. ‘Good. The way I feel right now, we’re going to need every one.’ And he kissed her full on the mouth.
Maggie’s head spun as she clung to his chest and opened her mouth to his deep, wet kiss, moaning low in her throat.
‘Er...’ the driver, who had been studiously discrete, coughed. ‘We’re, uh, here.’
Nash pulled his mouth away, thanked the driver and practically dragged Maggie out of the car. ‘Keys.’
Maggie, too lust-drugged to coordinate herself, handed him her purse and clung to his hand as his long legs strode up the path. They reached the front door and she leaned her hip against it watching through a sexual haze as Nash sorted through her keys.
The subdued light from a sensor light spilled across his profile and down the tanned column of his neck as the keys jingled. She leaned forward, the flutter at the base of his neck too tempting to resist. She pressed her lips to it, his stubble grating against them. The smell of man enveloped her and she inhaled deeply, his aroma making her dizzy. She moved her lips higher to the ridge of his windpipe.
Nash, having trouble finding the right key, shut his eyes as her tongue caressed the path of his carotid pulse. He reached for her hip, the contours beneath moulded perfectly by the tightness of denim. ‘Maggie,’ he moaned.
Their lips sought and met and opened and he backed her against the door, his body covering hers wanting to feel every inch of her against him, the keys forgotten. Her mouth was warm and wet and inviting, and when she moaned and shoved her fingers into his hair he pushed his thigh between her legs and ground it against her.
Maggie gasped at the surge of pure desire that scorched her, and rubbed herself against the thick wedge of hard muscle sandwiched at her centre. She grabbed his shirt, faint from need. Her fingers brushed the contours of his chest and he felt warm and vibrant and very, very male.
‘Inside,’ she croaked as his lips left hers to nibble down her neck and his hand stroked a sinful tattoo on her hip.
Nash hauled himself away with difficulty, his breath harsh in the still night. ‘Right,’ he said handing her the keys. ‘Open the bloody door.’
He stood aside for her and she took the heavy keyring from him, turning to insert the front door key into the lock. She pushed it in but then Nash’s lips were at her neck and his heat was at her back and she shut her eyes as her head lolled to the side to give him better access.
‘Damn it, Maggie,’ he whispered against the arch of her neck, his lips caressing her heated skin, ‘open the door.’
Maggie fumbled with the key as her flat-lined brain grappled with even the most basic task. Her fingers, heavy and useless, fumbled with the lock. But then the key turned and the door was opening to them, and then they were on the other side in the dark, fumbling for each other. She was turning and he was reaching and they fell into each other like lovers starved for an eternity of the other’s touch.
She reefed his shirt out of his jeans as he toed off each of his shoes. He pulled at her shirt, lifted it over her head and flung it to the floor. She returned the favour, his muscles shifting beneath her fingers as she reached the good stuff.
Maggie couldn’t ever remember feeling this focused or desperate - this crazed – over getting a man naked. She must have with her ex, in the beginning before conception sex and fertility treatments had derailed their lives. Back when sex had been for fun instead of procreation.
Like this.
Nash fumbled with the clasp on her purple lace half-cup bra. ‘Off,’ he growled. ‘Take it off.’
Maggie’s pelvic floor muscles seized at his rough demand. No. It had never been like this with Pete. Never.
The light from a streetlamp filtered in through a nearby open doorway and Nash’s frustration was well rewarded as she unclasped the bra and her naked breasts fell free, bathed in milky light. They were rose-tipped and heavy, her skin lush and creamy.
‘Oh, my,’ he whispered, taking a moment to just look.
Maggie blushed at his reverent exclamation and part of her wanted to cover herself beneath his hungry gaze. But another part wanted to lean back against the door-frame and wantonly arch her back like an old-time film starlet.
Blood roared in her ears as his eyes explored every inch of her. ‘And those,’ he said, his voice rough as he pointed at her jeans.
Nash watched as Maggie unzipped, peeled the denim down her legs and stepped out of their confines. A scrap of matching purple lace underwear hid the last piece of her from him and he reached out to her hip. ‘You’re even more beautiful than I imagined, Maggie May, and I’ve been imagining this...a lot.’
The heat in Maggie’s cheeks intensified. Beneath his gaze she felt beautiful. Not ten years his senior. Not some kind of Mrs Robinson or an infertile divorcee - somehow less of a woman.
She felt his equal, his partner. And all woman.
Closing the distance between them, her nipples tightened as they grazed against the light smattering of blond chest hairs. She rose on her tippy-toes, twined her fingers in his hair and pulled his head down so their lips met.