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I slid my hand down over her belly to the downy tuft of hair between her legs and eased my finger between her tender folds, stroking against that tight, furled slit. “I wish you could see what I see when I look at you,” I told her.
Nancy twisted in my arms and looked up at him. Her gaze had suddenly become very focused. “We’ll keep at it, then. Things take time. Right?”
We were gripped by tension. “Right,” he said hoarsely.
I sank to my knees and buried my face against the hot fuzz of ringlets crowning her pussy. I pried her legs wider—just wide enough to slide my tongue along her pussy seam, teasing and fluttering her clit, thrusting to taste her hot, rich flavor.
I kept at it until she shivered, arched, and cried out, shuddering with her release.
I picked her up and carried her into the other room. Flung her onto the bed. Touching her, kissing her, spreading her out and loving her again with my lips and tongue, again and again. Making her sigh and sob and clutch at me, begging.
When I finally rolled on top of her, she wrapped her strong, shapely thighs around me, taking me in completely. I felt licked by flames of pure pleasure, each stroke an agony of delight, each thrust more perfect than the one before. I clutched her, lost to it, moving with her desperately. My heartbeat clamoring in my ears.
Things took time. Hell yes, they did. All the time she liked. The more time the better.
Forever would suit me fine.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Nancy
Someone was pounding on my door, and had been pounding for a while. I struggled out of a dream that had a great deal of pounding in it. Liam stirred as I slid out of bed.
I found my nightshirt and slipped it on as I went for the door.
I pulled it open and beheld Peter and Enid, who looked electrified.
“Good God, Nancy! You’re not dressed!” Enid peeked into the room, eyes widening as they landed on Liam sitting on the bed, dressed only in his jeans. “Remember yesterday at the Exhibition Hall when you were talking to the promoter for the Jericho Arts Center in D.C.? Where Bonnie Blair is opening next week?”
“Uh, yes, of course. I gave him a packet. He seemed interested in an opening act sometime,” I said, rubbing my eyes.
“That’s just it! Sammy Phillips with the Phelps Bay Blues Band was opening for Bonnie, but he wrecked his car yesterday, and?—”
“Oh, no!” Dismay shocked me to full consciousness. “Sammy had an accident?”
“Don’t worry, Sammy’ll be fine,” Peter said impatiently. “But he broke his collarbone. Enid and I were having a drink at the bar, and the promoter came up and asked if we’re free Wednesday. I told him, are we ever!”
I was wide awake now. “Opening for Bonnie Blair? At the Jericho? This Wednesday?”
Enid and Peter nodded, identical grins splitting their faces. “Is that spectacular, or what?” Peter crowed.
“That’s incredible! I’ve got to get on the phone to the presenter. To all the venues in D.C., Maryland, and Virginia. And get pictures to the press.”
“But that’s not all,” Enid said. “There’s more. Get this, Nance. There just happened to be this exec from MGM Studios in Hollywood staying at the hotel, and he heard our showcase! He loved it!”
“Hollywood?” I rubbed my stinging eyes. “Excuse me?”
“His name is Maitland Sills, and he’s going to put his production department in touch with us,” Enid burbled. “He says ‘The Far Shore’ is perfect for the closing credits of a big-budget feature film they’re producing! Talk to him pronto, because he’s leaving for Logan Airport in an hour. He’s got a meeting this afternoon in L.A.”
“Holy crap,” I said slowly. “Why didn’t you call me?”
Enid and Peter exchanged glances. “Your phone was turned off,” they said in unison.
“I would’ve introduced you to Sills right after the showcase, but you vanished,” Peter sounded long-suffering. His eyes flicked over my shoulder, to Liam.
“Why not call the room?” I demanded. “You knew my room number!”
“We tried,” Enid said, her voice aggrieved. “It was disconnected.”