Free The Forever Dream by Iris Johansen Page B

"Don't worry, love, we'll take it step by step."
    Why should she worry? she wondered. She had never felt so full and safe and secure in her entire life as she did in the arms of this stranger. No, that wasn't right. Fantasy figures couldn't be strangers when they were created from your own imagination, could they? Ryker could be anything she wanted him to be, do anything she wanted him to do. But at the moment the dream sequence was proceeding with such complete satisfaction that she was content to drift along in its wake.
    "Sit up, love. I want to look at you." He was pushing her away, and then the satin sheet was flipped aside and he was pulling her to her knees on the bed. She felt a wave of sudden dizziness, and she sank back on her heels. Then it was gone. She looked up to see the quick concern on Ryker's face. "Okay?"
    She smiled and nodded, blissfully content. Somehow that instant of protective concern had caused a heart-catching swell of emotion deep inside her, and his smoldering gaze as it ran lingeringly over each curve and shadow of her body brought that feeling to a radiant maturity.
    "Beautiful," he said huskily, his hand running over the curve of her hip with utmost care, as if she were infinitely fragile and would shatter at the slightest pressure. "So tiny and delicate, yet I can feel the supple strength of you under my hands. I knew you'd look like this." His hand moved across the softness of her belly to rub gently against the springy dark down. "Such a lovely soft nest. Do you know how often I've thought about how it would feel against me?" His eyes were hooded, a flush mantling the golden darkness of his face. "Come here."
    She edged closer to him on the bed and suddenly he was parting her legs and lifting her into his lap so that she was facing him. She gave a little shocked gasp when she felt the aroused length of him pressing against the intimate heart of her womanhood, and it was echoed by Ryker's guttural groan as he crushed her to him with a force that robbed her of breath. "Sit very still, love," he
    gasped, and she could feel his heart pounding as if it were about to break through the wall of his chest. "Don't even breathe. I think, in this case, realization of this particular fantasy wasn't such a good idea." Then, as if unable to resist the temptation, his hips moved in an indulating movement against her. "But Lord, it's fantastic."
    Fantastic? That was an understatement, she thought feverishly. She felt as if a hot liquid was rushing through every part of her, and her lungs were laboring so hard that it came close to actual pain. She felt him stiffen against her and the muscles of his thighs and buttocks lock with the effort he was making at control. His breath was coming in rough gasps, and she could feel the dew of perspiration beneath her hands, on his shoulders.
    "No!" The word was almost an explosion. Then he was lifting her off his lap and onto the bed. He backed away from her hurriedly. "Not now. Not this time." He was sucking air into his lungs as if he were starved for it. "Though so help me God, I may be elevated to sainthood if I make it through this."
    She was staring at him in bewilderment. Why had he pushed her away just when she was coming so close to the rapture he'd shown her before? She didn't like Ryker's expression: The tenderness and vulnerability were now completely gone—and she wanted them back.
    "Don't look at me like that, damn it," he bit out tersely. His eyes were harried as he ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. "You don't even know what's happening. Hell, you probably don't even know who I am.
    The man seemed to be obsessed with that idea, she thought crossly. She knew very well who he was. In fact, at this moment she felt as if she knew him better than she'd ever known anyone before in her life. "I do know you," she said indignandy. "I told you." Her fingers
    touched his lips. "You're Jared Ryker." Her fingers wandered down to test the pounding of his