Free Rhapsody by Judith Gould Page B

the words, and she
felt anew the overwhelming power that these particular words from
this particular man held over her. She felt a swoon of desire—that
was the only way to describe it— rise from deep down within her. It
overshadowed any resistance to him she might have had, rendered any
considerations but for this moment, in this place,
inconsequential.
    "I ...I've always loved you, too, Misha," she
whispered. "I've never loved anyone like I love you."
    He pulled her closer, encircling her in his
powerful arms, as his lips sought out hers. When they closed over
hers, her body trembled in a kind of ecstasy, and she wanted the
moment to last forever in its tender sublimity. Then his tongue, so
warm, so sweet, so langorous, parted her lips, and he began to
explore her mouth, slowly at first, delving, probing, licking.
Gradually, the flames of his desire began to build, and he began to
plunge more hungrily, lustily, devouring her with his passion, his
urgency driving him deeper, faster. She gave herself up to him, her
own desire consuming her, devouring him as he did her, her body
afire now with an urgency and ardor she had virtually forgotten was
possible but that she now remembered with a shock that was powerful
but welcome in all it entailed.
    He abruptly stopped and pulled back, and she
almost whimpered at the sudden need for him. "Oh, my God, Serena,"
he rasped, "I've missed you so much. So much."
    "Oh, yes," she whispered. "And I've missed
you, Misha. So much."
    His arms hugged her even closer to him, and
his hands began to run up and down her back, up her neck, into her
luxuriant black hair. He gently pulled her head back, and his mouth
plunged to her long, swanlike neck, and he licked at her
feverishly, then kissed and sucked at her as if he could never
taste enough of her deliciousness.
    Serena moaned with pleasure, holding his head
in her hands, running her fingers through his hair, up and down his
strong, muscular back, over his hard, round buttocks. She gloried
in his body and the return of this hunger that she hadn't known for
so long. She realized that she had been starved for the touch of
this man, for the banquet that was his magnificent body in its love
for her. Nobody in all those years had come close to arousing her
as he did now, as he always had.
    He rolled onto his side and pulled her with
him, so that they lay face-to-face on the couch, one of his arms
under her, the other free to explore. His mouth sought out hers
again as his hand ran up her leg, under her skirt, and over her
silken buttocks, pulling her to him, pelvis to pelvis.
    She could feel his hard tumescence riding
against her and was enthralled with this potent physical
manifestation of the sheer power that together they generated.
    "Oh, Misha," she gasped, "I want you. I want
you in me!"
    "Yes," he whispered, peppering her face with
kisses. "Yes, my darling." He drew back slightly, looking into her
eyes. "Let's go into the bedroom."
    "Yes," she said, "let's go. Now."
    Misha rose to his feet and extended a hand to
her. She took it, and he pulled her up to him, taking her into his
arms, kissing her passionately once more. Then he put an arm around
her waist, and together, they walked into the bedroom, where he
began to undress her.
    Slowly and reverently, he gently slid her
sweater over her head, dropping it to the floor. Then he unhooked
her bra and let it slide from his fingers to join the sweater. He
took her breasts in his hands, stroking them softly and gently as
his mouth covered hers and he kissed her more ravenously than
ever.
    Serena moaned, relishing the touch of his
hands on her nakedness, and returned his kisses, anxious for the
feel of his hard, muscular bare flesh against her own.
    His hands, moving more forcefully now, began
to thrum her small, strawberry nipples between fingertips, exciting
them to hardness. He kissed her neck, nibbling and licking, his
tongue darting across her flesh, slowly moving down, down,
inexorably down,