“This thing we’re going to,” Derian said,
hearing the huskiness in her voice, “how important is it?”
Emily paused in the process of pouring
steaming water into her teapot and shrugged. “The BEA? For us, it’s like the
biggest race on the Grand Prix circuit.”
Derian frowned. “Really.”
“Really.” Emily carried the robin’s-egg blue
teapot, cups, and matching sandwich plates to the table on a hand-painted tray
picturing a weeping willow beside a sparkling waterfall and set it down. “Why?”
Derian caught Emily’s hand, pulled her onto
her lap, and nuzzled her neck. “So it would be a bad thing if we blew it off.”
Emily stiffened for an instant, surprise
giving way to a swift surge of desire. She’d already wrapped her arms around
Derian’s neck before she realized what she was doing. And by then she didn’t
care to consider anything but the urge for Derian’s mouth on her skin. She
tilted her head to give her throat, stroking Derian’s nape as she thrust her
fingers into her hair, wanting nothing more than for Derian to continue her
slow course of kisses down her neck, for Derian’s hands to slide under her
T-shirt and over her bare belly and breasts. God, she wasn’t wearing underwear.
“Derian. We have to go to the meeting.”
“Uh-huh.” Derian pressed her cheek to the
creamy, soft skin of Emily’s chest and wrapped her arms around Emily’s waist,
closing her eyes and breathing her in. “How late can we be?”
“We have appointments first thing.”
Derian rubbed her cheek over the swell of
Emily’s breast. “Every other second—no, every
second—I think about being with you, like this, of kissing you slowly,
everywhere, and undressing you, filling my hands with you.”
“No one has ever said anything like that to
me before,” Emily said with a sigh. She cradled Derian’s cheek and raised
Derian’s head from her breast. Dark, enticing shadows swam in Derian’s eyes,
beckoning her, promising her pleasure and discovery. Emily kissed her, craving
the taste of her, yearning for the heat she knew would flood her. Derian
groaned deep in her chest, a primal, possessive sound Emily loved. She loved
the power she had to make Derian hunger as she hungered. Desire flared, pulled
from deep inside where some ancient, primitive voice echoed yes. Yes and yes and
yes. Distantly, her mind reverberated with no,
no, no, but her mind was no match for the sensations swirling
through her. The excitement, the wonder, the aching clawing need. “Oh God. We
have to stop, but you feel so good.”
“Kiss me again,” Derian whispered, words
she’d never said in her life. She slid a hand beneath the back of Emily’s tank,
smoothing her fingers up and down the faint ridge of her spine, molding Emily’s
body closer to hers. She could feel Emily’s breasts, soft and full, pressing
into her chest and slipped her hand around to cup the warm yielding curve of
her. Instantly, Emily arched with a small cry of surprise. A lightning spear of
desire shot through Derian’s depths and Derian closed her hand without
thinking.