Free Sunshine and Shadows by Pamela Browning Page B

through her veins—was totally unexpected. He relaxed his grip so that her feet again stood solidly on the sand, his head bent over her upturned face to extract every last bit of pleasure. Their lips fused, blended, explored the limits of sweet sensation, almost parted and then came together again in the swift realization that they couldn't stop now, not yet.
    After the first shock of sensation passed, she was aware—but only barely—of her hands pressing against the front of his shirt, then sliding upward and unclenching against the corded muscles of his neck; then, as she felt herself melting inside, her hands met at his nape and her fingers twisted through his hair, pulling his head down even farther. When she sensed a lessening of intensity, she made a soft sound somewhere in her throat and realigned her head to make it more comfortable for him, and his lips renewed their quest, his tongue seeking more, more, until she opened her mouth and clung to him in unabashed passion.
    He was the one who ended it, pulling away and staring at her in the moonlight, his breathing rough. She closed her eyes, willing her heart to stop leaping about inside her rib cage.
    "I didn't know anyone could kiss like that," he said in clear bewilderment, which helped bring her back down to earth.
    "I didn't, either," she whispered.
    "That was—"
    "Was what?" she asked.
    "Wonderful," he said, his hands on her shoulders positioning her so that her face rested against his chest. He hadn't expected it to feel so right.
    "Are you cold?" he asked when he felt a little tremor run through her.
    "Warmer now," she murmured, her voice muffled by his shirt.
    He pulled away. "We should have brought jackets. And, maybe, a blanket."
    "I'm comfortable," she said.
    "I feel like a crazy kid, kissing you on the beach out here in front of strolling senior citizens and tourists and skateboarders," he said. He struggled to control his voice so that it wouldn't tremble.
    "I feel like—" she said, but she stopped.
    "Feel like what?" he asked.
    "Like doing it again," she said, sounding more helpless than he felt, and he laughed and pulled her close.
    "In that case, we will," he said, and this time he spent more time at it, reveling in the softness of her lips, the sweetness of her breath, the delight he felt at indulging himself in something that was pure perfection.
    Up on the bike path the teenage skateboarders whooped as they rolled past, their wheels noisy on the asphalt path.
    "Are you ready to go?" Jay asked.
    "Perhaps we should," she said, not sure if she meant it. She wished the skateboarders would leave.
    "One thing I know for sure, and that is that we don't need to leave right this minute," Jay replied, and he led her up the beach to a spot where he bent to touch his hand to the sand. He straightened and sifted a few grains through his fingers. "It's not too damp," he said. "Do you want to sit here and decompress for a few minutes? I feel like I'll get the bends if I come up for air too fast."
    Lisa smiled, happy that he could joke about it. She sat down and settled into the curve of his arm, leaned her head against his shoulder and inhaled the pungent scent of sea air. He could make jokes, but she hadn't reached that point. She was still overwhelmed.
    "I, um," he said, but he didn't finish.
    "Mmm," she said, moving even closer. She liked the way her shoulder fit exactly under his arm.
    "I don't usually make a habit of necking on the beach," he said after a while.
    "Where do you neck, then?" she asked, sliding an impish glance up at him.
    "What I mean is that this seems extraordinary to me. I've always been able to wait until I managed to find a private place. With you, it was kind of an urge. An imperative. A necessity," he said.
    "A necessity," she said, and she couldn't help starting to giggle.
    "You would laugh. Lisa, I'm being serious," he said.
    "It's funny, what you said. A necessity is something that you need," she pointed out.
    "Who says I didn't