Page 41 of Kane

Never have I known such a touch. This desire, him for me—it is maddening, wild-making. Me for him, even more so. I touch him everywhere I can reach, all of his bared skin—chest, shoulders, belly, back, waist. Roaming, seeking, exploring.

And all the while, he is softly, slowly kissing my mouth. The heat builds from a flicker to an inferno, blazing in me. The pressure is immense, undeniable. It makes me squirm, makes me press my thighs together in an attempt, in vain, to relieve it. His hand now moves from my thigh, midway between hip and knee, higher. His thumb grazes the very innermost part of my thigh, and I gasp.

I think he will touch me there, now.

I want him to.

I want to push past all my fear, all the barriers, past all the things which were kept from me. I am twenty-three—I am not a child. I want this with him, and I will have it.

There is only us, here. No one to say no.

He breaks the kiss, lifting up so his eyes meet mine. “Okay?”

I nod. “More than okay.”

He watches me as his hand slides over my hip, along the band of my bikini bottoms. I feel my mouth open, anticipation thrilling through me. His fingers turn, fingertips to my feet, heel of his palm at my navel. “Anjalee…” he breathes. Hesitating.

I put my hand on his again. Hold his eyes, and hold my breath. Push his hand down. I cannot make myself say it, that I want him to touch me there, but I can show him.

My jaw trembles, a breath escaping me as finally, finally, his touch cups over me, over the yellow cotton. He is touching me. And it is beautiful.

He just holds his hand there, but I feel his fingers pressing against me, exploring. One ring finger, middle, index, resting along my center. Middle finger against the seam.

When my lungs spasm, forcing me to breathe in again, he draws his touch upward, dragging. I gasp at this, feeling a shiver travel through me, making the hot pressure pulse. Making it worse, not better.

“Kane?” I say, my voice high, soft.

“I know, honey. I know.”

“I need…”

“I know.” He bumps his forehead to mine. “Gotta watch, honey. Watch.”

I direct my eyes to his fingers. They slip under the yellow band. Against my skin. Oh, oh, so hot, electric touch. Bursting sensations as the rough pads of his fingers skim over my flesh, through the curls covering my intimate place. I know I am not breathing, and I know I must, but I cannot. Not until…

A gasp is torn from me as his fingertip slips against the seam of me, there, skin to skin. The ache is painful. So hot it is a wonder I do not burst into flames, so much pressure it feels like I could come out of my skin.

“Anjalee…” he murmurs. It is a question—the question he is always asking.Okay?

I tip my hips; I do not know why, just that I must—it is a seeking motion, though I do not know what I am seeking. “Please, Kane.”

“I know, baby.” His voice is so low, that smooth, tiger-like rumble. “I know.”

That one finger dipsin, then, sliding, slipping. A ragged whimper scrapes out of my throat. Up, then. Sliding up.

Touching…there. Touching a place where lightning hits, jolting through me, twisting me, shaking me.

“Ohhhhh…Kane,” I gasp. “Yes….yes. There, please.”

I shake all over, head to toe, knees drawing up, thighs tightening. The heat and pressure all one sensation, now—a bolt of lightning waiting to strike.

“My god Anjalee,” he murmurs. “Barely touched you, and you’re ready to come.”

“Again, please.”

“Greedy girl,” he mutters.

I look at him. “Are you teasing me again?”