Free Edge of Passion by Tina Folsom Page A

rippled through his body.
    Did she know he was there?
    His gaze shot to her face, but her eyes were closed, and she was too engulfed in her own emotions to sense him. But if she didn’t know he was in her bedroom, then why had she called out his name? Had he misheard because he so much wanted her to call out to him, to scream his name as she came?
    “Aiden,” she whispered again.
    This time he heard it clearly: his name. She was calling for him. It could only mean one thing: as she pleasured herself, she was fantasizing about him ! But then why had she rejected him earlier? Was it simply because she didn’t trust him? He was a stranger to her, but plenty of women went to bed with strangers, and he’d seen interest in her eyes at first.
    Another moan pulled him from his musings, making him snap his gaze back to her hands that so eagerly caressed her sex. Her finger plunged deeper inside her, and her other hand rubbed her clit faster and faster.
    “Inside … yes, take me … make me come …” She expelled the words in short, breathless huffs, her skin now covered with a light sheen of perspiration, the scent of which drove him nearly insane.
    When his knees knocked against the mattress, he realized he’d crossed the remaining distance between them. From the foot of the bed all he needed to do was slide onto it and he’d be lying between her legs, his mouth at her sweet pussy. He could lick her and take her over the edge, feel her succumb to her orgasm, a pleasure he would give her.
    Do it!
    His hands fisted at his sides, his throbbing erection urging him to take what he wanted. She would never know it was he. All she would feel was his touch, his fingers, his mouth, his tongue. If he kept it light enough, maybe she would simply assume her fantasies were more powerful than ever, more real. And even if she suspected somebody was in her bedroom, she would see nothing, just air around her. He would be a vivid dream to her as long as she didn't touch him and realize that there was an invisible body in her bed, because even while invisible, his flesh would feel as real as ever.
    Nobody would ever find out. But he would know, and he would hate himself for it. When he touched her he wanted her to know it was him, to call out his name, to look into his eyes. Still, his mouth watered, imagining what she tasted like, how sweet her honey was and how soft her flesh.
    As if she knew that he stood there, fighting his inner self, she whispered, “Yes.” Her hands continued teasing her sensitive flesh, and from her choppy breathing, he realized that she was close.
    His hand reached out.
    A loud bang sounding like an explosion stopped his action. His head whipped toward the door.
    Shit! He rushed to the door just as Leila reared up from her supine position, equally shocked.
    Then the smoke detector started beeping.
    “Oh, no!” she cried out.
    Aiden passed through the bedroom door without opening it. From the hallway that led to the kitchen and living room, a cloud of smoke billowed beneath the ceiling, and coming from the kitchen he saw flames shooting through the open door. A violent fire was raging there, and he knew enough about fires to realize that this one would spread quickly.
    Behind him the bedroom door opened.
    A startled scream nearly pierced his eardrum. He turned toward Leila, who stood in the door frame, nude.
    She stared right at him, eyes wide, her lips readying themselves to scream once more.
    “How did you get in here?” Her hands scrambled to cover her nudity, but it was to no avail; her small hands couldn’t cover her plentiful curves.
    She saw him! Shit! In his panic, he’d inadvertently uncloaked himself.
    “Leila, I can explain. Later. The fire, we have to get out of here.” He shot a worried look toward the kitchen, where the flames were engulfing the entire door and were working their way into the corridor, the smoke cloud underneath the ceiling growing larger.
    Only now her look seemed to drop to