Friday, August 11, 2006

Last Chance excerpt by Kit Wylde

Max's gaze dropped to follow the path of her tongue, fascinated with its progress. His eyelids drooped at half-mast as his breath quickened. His eyes told her that he was about to reach for her. Her mind screamed, “Hussy!” even as her body cried for his touch. She didn’t care. Hussy or not, she wanted to taste him. Just one taste and she would forget him.
Their lips connected, the temperature of their passion easily surpassing the heat rising from the pavement. Damp clothes clung to their bodies. Beneath Max’s shirt, Susan felt the hard ridge of muscles, intensifying her desire. Further down, another hard ridge pressed against the juncture between her thighs. She moaned with the knowledge she had done this to him.
His tongue dipped into her mouth, tentatively at first, then with more force as she pressed closer to him, demanding more. He matched the rhythm of his tongue with the push of his hips. Tension built until she felt like she would explode. Frantically, she pulled his shirt out of his jeans, needing to feel his bare skin under her hands. Soft hair met her questing hands. She purred, a thrill shooting through her. She loved hair on a man’s chest. It screamed virility.
The shock of warm, rough hands caressing the underside of her breasts brought sanity rushing in. She pushed Max away, shaking her head. She couldn’t do this. A flush of embarrassment poured through her, and she stepped back, bumping up against the door of her truck. Her desperate need to have him inside of her scared her, killing any desire.
"Perhaps you better move so I can get to the tire," he told her, his voice rough with need, although he didn’t protest her withdrawal. He adjusted his jeans, wincing, but said nothing.
"Oh! Of course. I..." her voice trailed off, and she abruptly moved out of his way, her gaze assessing the erection in his jeans, remembering how it felt pressed against her. He was obviously turned on. That he respected her decision rekindled the ache within her all over again.
He grabbed the spare and began putting it on the truck. "You should stop by a station and buy a new tire, or have this one repaired before you go home tonight," he stated as if nothing had happened between them.
She barely heard him. Her attention was fixed on his denim shirt and how it stretched across the expanse of his broad shoulders and muscular back. Her stomach jerked in reaction. Clenching her hand, she stepped back and turned to look somewhere else, but her gaze strayed back to him.

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