Two True Loves

Two True Loves - Prologue

He woke her up in the most pleasant of possible manners � that hot, wet mouth of his gluing itself over her most precious part, his soft, broad tongue settling right over her already stiff bud, just lying there for the longest time, surrounding and engulfing her pleasure center in an act of outright ownership. When he began to move, it was in the smallest of ways, barely working his tongue back and forth on her, rubbing her, pressing only slightly � just enough to let her know he meant business.

Lana couldn't keep the guttural moan to herself; it escape through her mouth and filled the room as he arranged her ankles on his shoulders, splaying her gently but inexorably for his own pleasure and hers, never detaching his mouth from its snug home. She reached down to run her fingers through his short hair, loving the feeling of it on her fingers, knowing it was his, making her realize just exactly what he was doing. She didn't know whether she should encourage him or try to pry him away � neither direction would preserve her sanity, she was sure. She couldn't imagine how lost she would be if he stopped but should she be letting him do this to her? The intimacy � dear God the pleasure � was almost more than she could stand.

When he began flicking her, firmly but demandingly, Lana had to arch her hips against him. The low groans and growls she heard were unrecognizable even to her own ears. Burke reached up and caught one of her wrists, circling it with his fingers and pinning it to the bed beside her hip. The fingers of his other hand roamed her natural cleft from the bottom to that sweet, weeping well where they stopped and pressed, slowly, twisting slightly, making every nerve in that very sensitive spot riot along the way, stretching her open almost to capacity, creating that wonderful, stretchy hurt that was such a perfect contrast to the loving ministrations of her tongue.

The storm snuck up on her, hitting her all at once, before she had a chance to come to grips with it, before she could prepare herself and build her mental defenses . . . before she could cope. It washed over every inch of her body from the tips of her toes to the split ends of her hair, convulsing her body beneath those suckling lips and on those stiff, uncompromising fingers. Lana bucked and arched and screamed in ecstasy, expelling every ounce of breath in her body.

Burke loved to see her so completely engulfed in pleasure. She was absolutely mindless with it, and he made sure she experienced every bit of it he could conjure for her, not letting her dissuade him from bringing her up to the very same mountain top for a second . . . third . . . fourth time, until she was completely wrung out from it and begging him to stop.

He loved hearing her beg, knowing he had pushed her to the limits of her body's tolerance. Burke moved away slowly, not wanting to startle her in any way, slowly rising up between those slender legs, keeping them over his shoulders, dragging himself up her and kissing every inch between until he reached a tempting nipple, replacing one erect bud with another. His bursting cock found the opening to her furrow naturally; its weeping tip slipping inside her easily, but she was so small, even after his fingers, that the rest of him took agonizing seconds to open her.

She was surprised by his bold claim and he absorbed every shocked whimper, every vulnerable whisper of his name as she surrendered her body to him by slow millimeters. He sank into her by weight alone, suckling avidly on a nipple, knowing that as soon as he'd made it all the way, as soon as he felt his balls resting against her open, dripping cleft, he would lose control completely and it would be over for him.

And it was. Almost instantaneously. He had to plunge � there was no avoiding the urge � but he'd already begun to spew himself inside her with a loud, bare toothed growl.

Lana tried to absorb the shock of his entry, to come to terms with his intimate possessions of her, first with his mouth, then with that enormous cock of his. At the last she was trapped � there was nothing she could have done to prevent him from entering her with her legs splayed and hooked over those broad shoulders. She was at his mercy, and she was beginning to realize that, in bed, he didn't have any.

She held him against her, closing her eyes against that unfamiliar feeling welled up in her heart, spreading through her body with more force than any orgasm she'd ever had in her life, occupying her mind though she tried not to let it.

Love. Dear God, her mind whispered at the behest of her heart, she loved him. Her love for Craig had just . . . been there; they'd been together forever and she couldn't remember a time when she didn't love him. Stronger than almost anything she'd ever experienced, it filled every crevasse of her body, alerted every pore and nerve. She felt throbbingly, excruciatingly alive, for the first time in her life.

And scared out of her ever loving mind.

Luckily for her, he'd pressed a somewhat absent kiss to her forehead and collapsed as he rolled of her, apologizing profusely but groggily for following the usual male routine of practically falling asleep before the last stroke. Lana's mouth twisted wryly. Normally, she might have complained and tried to keep him awake for some snuggling, but this time the typical male routine worked nicely.

She was able to slip out of the bed and into that sexy black slip dress she'd bought especially for the occasion . . . well, she'd been coerced into buying, anyway, slithering into her barely there panties but not bothering with the black hose. Small, pink tipped toes were tucked into pretty ballerina style flats, a concession to the atrocious, hereditary state of said feet. She was consigned by freak of birth to a lifetime of Nikes and orthopedic inserts when what she really craved, especially with this flirty little confection, was to wear something like a Manolo Blahnik stiletto heeled sling back . . .

Dressed to the nines � footware excluded � fervently wishing she had a brush of some sort to dispel the bed head their lovemaking had inflicted on what eight hours ago had been a carefully careless riot of curls. Lana stood next to the bed and looked down at him.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen. She snorted. Right onto that huge sword of his. A little intelligent talk, some witty banter, a gorgeous man in a tux, and she fell off the wagon with a resounding thud heard round the world. Well, if the world consisted of little Summerville, Tennessee, and for the most part, hers did. Thinking of the amazed expressions on her friends' faces � and, oh my God, her sister's - was enough to bring an evil smile to her face. It was almost worth it.

But not quite, considering that the person that mattered the most in the world was her daughter, and there was no telling how little Lily might take the news . . . Thank God she was safe with her Aunt Marilyn.

And then Craig's face floated in her mind's eye for the smallest of seconds, wiping that smile off her face almost violently. What was she doing here? Was she out of her mind?

He rolled over in his sleep, throwing his left arm over his hip, and it winked at her accusatorily even in the dim light of the hotel room.

It hadn't been a dream, although it was an accident, a terrible, terrible accident.

She'd known him for all of three hours, even if she was generous and included their short phone conversations. And she couldn't even claim inebriation, because they'd been stone cold sober when they'd done it. A high blush rose to her cheeks as more intimate details played behind her eyes. Both "its".

Summerville's most confirmed, reverent widow, Lana Avril Thorpe Hutchinson, stared down at her new husband in all his considerable glory, her mouth watering at the muscular line of his back and those broad shoulders. He wasn't muscle bound, but he certainly knew what he was doing with what he had, she thought irreverently.

She swallowed, amazed and ashamed at how her libido seemed to have infected her consciousness. She was Craig's wife � she'd been his wife since she'd been an adult. He was all she knew and all she cared to know.

Until now.

That cheap ten karat ring on his finger glared at her; she wanted to reach down and snatch it off his finger and throw it out the window, but she squashed the urge as tears darkened splotches on the sheets. Her own matching ring was already in the palm of her right hand, as she would have sworn that the skin it had claimed burned with the insincerity of it all.

The ring issued a tinny clink when she placed it on the nightstand next to his watch, and stalked out of the room without casting even the slightest glance back towards the stranger lying on the bed.

Her husband.