ADVISORY: This novel contains adult language and scenes depicting sexual activity.

CHAPTER ONE

   “I want you to make love to me, Mason," Evie said for what had to have been the second time, because his ears were still buzzing from the first, and still all Mason could do was stare at her in open-mouthed wonder. She stared back boldly, smiling thinly, obviously nervous, and he struggled to make himself speak. To say something, anything.

   She put her hand over his, a gesture meant to be comforting. Her skin was hot. He felt the heat radiating up through his arm, mixing with the chill he felt running up and down his spine and creating sharp jolts of electricity. She waited until he looked up, until he was looking into her eyes. “You want to know why,” she said.

   He snorted laughter. “That’s an understatement, Evie,” she said. “You’ve got to admit, this is a bit unexpected. You’re getting married in two weeks. If I have any question at all it would be why now?”

   Evie sat back slowly, and he could tell she was as much at sea in this as he was, which made it all the more confusing. She brushed a stray lock of auburn hair from her face, a gesture that he’d always found endearing. “There are a lot of answers to that question,” she told him. “I guess the most important one, the one that really matters, is that I trust you.”

   “That explains why me, not why now,” he said. “I mean, after our history…well, you see what I mean, don’t you?”

   “Yeah, I understand. It’s complicated, Mason.”

   He put his hand over hers this time. “Try,” he urged.

   She took a deep breath and brushed her hair back again. He could tell she was nervous, and not entirely about what she was asking him to do. Between any other two people, it might have seemed an incredibly bold request to make of someone, especially a friend she hadn’t really spoken to for the last three years. Not until they’d run into each other at the market last week, when he’d felt his heart nearly melt with the rush of remembered desire at the sight of her. She knew the effect she had on him. It wasn’t something he could hide. What impressed him wasn’t that she had asked him to make love to her, which should have been incredible enough. It was the fact that she asked him now, barely two weeks before her planned wedding to the man who had stolen her away from him all those years ago.

   “Gerald is a good man,” she began, then seemed to reconsider what she was going to say. “From the first day we met, I knew you were going to be someone I could trust for the rest of my life. You’re still the best friend I ever had, even though we drifted apart. You know how I was raised, what I believe a relationship should be like. I’d never cheat on my husband. Not ever.”

   “You’re asking me to help you cheat now,” Mason pointed out.

   She shook her head. “I don’t see it that way,” she said and lifted her head for a brief glance into his eyes. “I mean, yeah, it will be cheating on my fiancé, but that’s not the same as cheating on a husband. Damn it, I’m not saying this right.”

   Mason squeezed her hand, acutely aware of the heat radiating from her body. Her free hand self-consciously tugged the lapel of her overcoat tighter about her chest, and she crossed her ankles demurely. Dressed in the plain beige coat that hung to her knees hid her body effectively, and more importantly hid whatever she might be wearing beneath it. He didn’t miss the fact that she was wearing sheer black hose and red pumps, a combination distinctly unlike her normal attire and something she should have known would pique his interest. She wasn’t stupid, he’d give her that. But she wasn’t exactly playing fair, either.

   “Gerald is the only man I’ve ever had sex with,” she blurted. “There, I said it. I know you and I came close, but events came between us. No, we don’t need to talk about that, it’s not important.” Mason’s mouth snapped shut. She went on, doggedly. “The thing is, when we ran into each other it just seemed like fate. I mean, here I am back in town, and here you are at the same time, and meeting like that just seemed like it was meant to be. Like the universe was trying to tell me something. And I’ll admit, it’s been hard to get you off my mind.”

   “I think about you a lot too,” he said softly. She looked at him sharply, a slightly wounded look in her eyes, then cast her gaze down as if deeming herself unworthy at that moment to meet the steady piercing scrutiny he leveled at her.

   “Anyway,” she continued, “I take marriage vows very seriously. It’s supposed to be for the rest of our lives, and I’ll never make love to anyone other than him. And I…” She faltered.

   He got it at last. “You want a comparison,” he said, unable to disguise the bitterness in his voice. She wanted to use him again. He withdrew his hand and she looked stricken. He didn’t care. “You want to know what it’s like to be with someone else, and you think I’ll do it and not tell on you. So, everyone will keep on thinking of you as sweet, innocent Evie.”

   “You make it sound so lurid,” she said. There was a hint of a sob in her breath, quickly stifled. “You’re right, of course. You see right through me, better than I see myself most of the time. I want the comparison. I want to know what it’s like to be with someone besides him, and cheating on him is less a burden to bear than going the rest of my life and never knowing if I did the right thing.”

   Mason stared at her hard for long minutes, saying nothing. She let the silence deepen, waiting for him to respond, knowing he would. If he knew her at all, she seemed to know him better. “What if I’m better?” he asked finally. “What if I’m a better lover than Gerald? What then?”

   She shrugged. “Marriage is about more than just sex,” she said.

   And Gerald would get sex from other women anyway, Mason thought. Like he’s always done. How could she be so blind when she’s so smart?

   Then again, on a deeper level, he understood her real motivation, and that was what truly terrified him. She wanted the same thing he did. It wasn’t the idea that she’d be missing out on some great experience by not having a lover other than her husband, it was the nagging thought that the thing she’d be missing out on was Mason himself. Just like he was sitting there thinking about regaining a lost opportunity, about what he’d so foolishly let slip away. It was the chance to know if they really would have had magic together, and his deepest fear was that it would be every bit as wonderful as he’d once imagined. And she would leave him all the same, leave him again and for the rest of his life his regret would be multiplied by the knowledge that he’d let the one true beautiful thing in his life slip away forever.

   He could have asked her why she would do this to him, but the question was useless. Why she did what she did, why she was the person she was, it didn’t matter. He’d been in love with her almost since the day they’d met, and he’d known he was a doomed man the moment he saw her at the market. He would do anything she asked of him, anything at all, even if it meant destroying himself in the process. He could tell she was less confident in her power over him than he was, that she feared she might have been mistaken to come here. What she didn’t know, what he struggled so hard to conceal, was that the only real struggle in his mind was whether or not his making love to her would bring her harm. His own well-being was inconsequential, as it had been every time he had made a decision concerning her. All he wanted, all he’d ever wanted, was her happiness.

   But she didn’t know that. Which is why she decided to play her ace in the hole. He watched her stand and take a pace away from the couch before turning to face him. He saw the indecision in her eyes, the struggled etched into the lines of her face as she pushed herself to go the distance, to do what she’d already decided she really wanted to do. That was what decided him. Her determination. She wanted this, and God help him he wanted to give it to her.

   Then Evie dropped the overcoat, and he didn’t think much at all afterwards.

CHAPTER TWO

   Mason had been something of a slow student during his high school career. He didn’t participate much in class, kept to himself most of the time, wasn’t a part of the social scheme. It was art that consumed him, drove him, comprised the primary passion of his life. So much so that by the time he graduated he was still, embarrassingly, a virgin. But he’d made grades good enough to gain entry into college and threw himself into higher studies with frenetic energy. Two years later he was still an impassioned artist struggling to grasp his inner muse when he came out of the library and ran into a freshman girl so hard it knocked her down.

   That was how he met Evie. She was a local girl and considered herself lucky to have gotten into college at all, what with the grades she’d scraped by with. In so many ways she was Mason’s polar opposite. Where he was driven, focused, and socially inept, Evelyn Walsh was airy and aimless, a social butterfly popular with all the right crowds. She was a petite redhead who looked strange next to the lanky, ash-blonde artist, yet for the next month it was rare for anyone to see one without the other. They met for coffee, for lunch, or any purpose at all, and for the first time in his life Mason felt like he was falling in love.

   He knew Evie didn’t feel the same way. She latched onto him because he was a sturdy rock to which she might cling while her life tossed storms around her. She was a virtual stranger to the city she’d lived her entire life in, the product of parents who feared the corruption of city life but who depended utterly upon its commerce for their living. Evie was deeply beautiful and just as deeply convinced that the morality her parents had taught her was paramount to her own survival. Mason, on the other hand, was more vicarious in his approach to interacting with the world. Life, he reasoned, is for living not analyzing.  Through his eyes Evie learned to see the world anew, and in her own way she loved him dearly for that gift. And yet she was not one who simply gave her heart away, and Mason’s artistic soul could see past the veils of Evie’s walls, could see that she was an unfinished work and in dire need of careful nurturing. It would be so easy to corrupt her and make her his own, but that would change her. He loved the person she was, and he wanted to love the person she would become.

   Helping her get there wasn’t easy. For the next few months his studies became second priority. He helped her decorate her dorm room. He introduced her to certain social groups who enjoyed having him because he was an artist and welcomed her for the sunshine she carried everywhere. He taught her to use the library and to study, and as the holidays approached, she finally began to think about what she really wanted from her college experience. And it surprised them both.

   “I want to be an architect,” she announced one day while they lounged together beneath a widely spreading oak tree near the science building.

   “And what will you want to be tomorrow?” he asked jokingly. Evie had announced, very firmly, that she had also wanted to be a teacher, a violinist, and a psychiatrist.

   “I mean it,” she said. She pulled an oversized book from her backpack and laid it open on the grass next to him. Page after page of photos shone up at him of structured steel and concrete, gleaming edifices which were as much art as buildings. She laughed when he told her that. “Yeah, I thought that too. I guess you inspired me.”

   He smiled. “It’s about time,” he said, and she laughed with him. Then, unexpectedly, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. He felt warm spread like prickly vines from the point of contact. “What was that for?” he asked.

   “For always being there for me,” she said. “For always being my friend. I used to think I’ve had plenty of friends. That was before I met you, Mason.”

   The heat became something else, indefinable. His heart began to pound. “You know I think you’re special too, right?”

   Her smile made the afternoon sunlight seem dim. “I think you’re the only real friend I’ve ever had,” she told him. She leaned closer, and slowly he leaned toward her, aware and terrified that they were either taking the next step in their relationship or he was misreading her and making an awful mistake. Yet she continued to lean in, head tilting slightly, lips gaping slightly, and Mason lifted his hand to reach for her.

   “Mason, there you are,” a boisterous voice made the couple jerk apart. Mason looked up annoyed to see a broad-shouldered man trotting toward them, smiling gregariously. “Thought I might find you here. Oh, who’s your friend?”

   Mason struggled to his feet, partly angry at the interruption, partly relieved. Evie stood as well, brushing herself off and blushing slightly. Maybe, he reasoned, he’d misread her after all. “Why were you looking for me Gerald?” he asked. “If you need the room for another conquest, just leave a t-shirt on the door like usual.”

   “Ah, Mason,” Gerald laughed, staring at Evie. “Such a joker. No, Professor Morrill was looking for you. Something about a painting.”

   Mason stared at the other man hard. “And you came looking for me?” he asked. Evie had stopped fidgeting and seemed to notice Gerald for the first time. Mason was very uncomfortable with the way she looked at him.

   “I wasn’t looking for you, but when I saw you…aren’t you going to introduce me?” Gerald held out his hand to Evie. “I don’t think I got your name.”

   Evie took his hand tentatively, a light and uncertain grip. Her smaller hand was lost instantly in Gerald’s meaty paw. “Evelyn Walsh,” she said.

   “Evelyn, what a lovely name,” Gerald said, leering slightly.

   “Yeah,” Mason said and moved slightly in front of her. Gerald let go of her hand and laughed as he took a step back. “Evie, this is Gerald Stamp. My roommate.”

   “And closest confidante,” Gerald added. “Though he’s never mentioned you to me. An oversight, I’m sure.”

   Mason could feel Evie’s eyes on him. There was a good reason he’d never said anything about her to Gerald, but he couldn’t explain here in front of the man. “Aren’t you late for class or something?” he prompted.

   “To be sure,” Gerald said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your little romantic interlude.” He was still smiling, as if it was a joke, and made a small sort of mock bow.

   “Oh, it wasn’t –” Evie began, but Gerald cut her off.

   “Do we have a class together?” he said smoothly. Mason hadn’t missed it, and he knew Gerald wouldn’t have either. Inside his heart felt suddenly heavy. He’d misread her after all, as he’d feared. Or else she wouldn’t have been so quick to correct the idea that what she and Mason had been doing was anything romantic.

   “She’s a freshman,” Mason said. “You wouldn’t have a class with her. Speaking of class…”

   “I got the hint,” Gerald said, and there was a touch of anger in his voice quickly smoothed away by practiced charm. “Evelyn, it was a pleasure to meet you. Maybe we can have coffee sometime?”

   Say no, say no, Mason thought feverishly.

   “I’ll think about it,” was what she said. Mason felt a touch of relief. For Evie, that meant no.

   Gerald nodded as if she’d agreed anyway and began to back away from them both. “I’m sure Mason has your number,” he said. “You two have fun studying. Mason, don’t forget the Professor.” He spun on his heel and strode manfully away.

   Mason ground his teeth, biting back angry words. Evie leaned on his arm and said, “My, he’s full of himself, isn’t he?”

   “He’s full of something, all right,” Mason said. They looked at each other and burst into laughter. The tension drained away in an instant, and the world was right again.

   Or almost. He still couldn’t let himself forget that Evie still wasn’t ready for romance. Worse, that she was ready but not interested in him.

   In the days that followed he paid careful attention to her words, her gestures, and the way she touched or avoided touching him. Nothing seemed to have changed. Gerald said nothing more to him about her, and Evie said nothing about Gerald. Still, Mason hesitated to ask her out, to push ahead with his desire to date her as more than just a friend. What they had was incredible, and to lose that because he let his hormones make decisions for him would be intolerable.

   The weather turned colder just after Halloween. The semester was ending, and exam fever was taking over the campus. Mason and Evie met for long study sessions, though they had no classes in common. She had taken on a measure of his focused intensity, and he had accepted that their closeness might not signal an approach to something deeper. That was what he told himself anyway. As an artist, he should have realized that surface appearances can often disguise the bones of something more meaningful. It was while they were both sprawled on her dorm room floor with books open that friendship melted into something else. He looked up from his book, as he often did, just to gaze at her, to drink in her beauty, and at that moment she’d looked up at him. Something unspoken passed between them then. He leaned into her without thinking, and as if it were choreographed Evie canted her head at the perfect angle to accept him. They kissed softly, lips grazing lips, breath tickling each other’s face.

   She smelled of hairspray and lightly applied makeup, of sweat only dimly masked by her deodorant, like a star-swept sky on a moonless autumn night. Her lips were tender and warm, slightly moist. She stared into his eyes from the distance of two inches with orbs so deep and darkly mysterious that he thought he could pour his soul into them endlessly. She smiled. Not a mocking or condescending smile, not embarrassment or amusement. Just a smile. He kissed her again, and she pressed her face to his eagerly, joyously.

   The second kiss lasted much longer than the first and involved a great deal of faint, wet sounds. She was still smiling when she eased back from him. “I’ve been waiting for you to do that,” she said.

   It was his turn to smile. “Really?”

   “Yeah, really.” She kissed him again, reaching for him, nestling closer as his arm snaked around her body. He felt profoundly alive, his pulse pounding like the ocean in his ears, breath erratic and quick. She came to him like the bright, shining sun, all heat and soft radiance. He didn’t remember pushing her back, but he came to rest half atop her, the books scattered. She had her arms around him, urging him to continue, to smother her, and he wanted to consume every bit of her. He drank her lips and drowned in the magnificence of her unfettered passion.

   What might have happened next was something that tormented him for years afterward. But the door opened, and her roommate came in, and Evie pushed him away suddenly, sitting up to quickly smooth her wrinkled blouse as if no one could look at her and see the desire burning red holes in her cheeks. Mason sat up as well, keenly aware of his erection tenting his jeans and the cool tingle of her lingering kisses on his lips. The other girl kept her eyes averted but the smile she wore said she knew what they’d been doing. She was just too polite to let on. Evie began to giggle, and Mason joined in. Their hands found each other’s, and in that reassuring touch he found comfort.

   They’d crossed the line. They were more than friends from that moment on. At least, they couldn’t go back to being nothing more than friends. He had to believe she planned on something continuing, that she hadn’t been just a willing participant in the venting of his pent-up desire. Many nights he tried to comfort himself with that thought in the years afterwards. Years of nights alone.

   He floated on air back to his dorm room, mind buzzing with possibilities, with plans and dreams and, dare he think it? Love. He was in love with Evie, and he planned, as soon as he got back to his room, to call her and tell her so.

   “You look like the cat who ate the canary,” Gerald said as Mason wafted in. “Get lucky with Evelyn, finally?”

   “She’s not like your girlfriends,” Mason said, too elated to be angry. “She’s special. Wonderful. Pure.”

   “Too good for me, eh?”

   “Yep.”

   Gerald laughed. “If you say so. The RA was looking for you. Something about a message.”

   “He didn’t tell you what it was?”

   “Nope.”

   Mason shrugged. “Must not be that important, then,” he said. He threw himself on the bed, sighing happily. “We kissed,” he announced.

   “’Bout time,” Gerald grunted. “Kinda frigid, ain’t she?”

   “She’s old-fashioned,” Mason corrected. “She’s perfect.”

   “Damn, Mason. You’re in love with the girl.” Gerald shook his head. “Haven’t I taught you anything? Sleep with them, but don’t get committed. They aren’t worth it.”

   “Evie is. And I’m not like you. Sex isn’t as important as you think it is.”

   “Yes, it is,” Gerald replied. He turned around in his chair to face Mason. “Look, you think you love her. That’s great. How do you know she feels the same about you?”

   “Why wouldn’t she?”

   “Mason, you poor guy,” Gerald shook his head sadly. “Women are all the same, even the so-called old-fashioned ones. The ones who tell you they’re saving themselves are just telling you they want you to work harder to seduce them. It’s a power trip for them. They enjoy thinking they have the means to control us. They withhold it long enough and men start to think they’re emotionally attached. They hook you, reel you in, and eat you alive. Believe me, I know.”

   The euphoria was fading, and Mason felt resentment growing for his roommate. “That’s sad that you think that,” he said. “Evie’s different. She really is. This time you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

   “For your sake, I hope so,” Gerald said. “Mine too, I guess. It’d be nice to know there’re really girls like that out there. You going to marry her?”

   “We just kissed, Gerald.”

   “You were all convinced a second ago that this was love,” Gerald said, laughing again. “Don’t you get married when you’re in love?”

   “I think it’s premature to…”

   “So, she’s still on the market?”

   Mason was on his feet in a flash, fists clenched. “Stay away from her, Gerald,” he said menacingly. Gerald didn’t flinch. He was a big man, and Mason was a skinny artist. In a fight, each knew who would win.

   He respected the gesture, though. “I don’t plan to try stealing her away from you,” he said evenly. “But listen to yourself, Mason. You said you love her, but you hesitate to say you want to marry her. You want her, but not the long-term commitment. That’s not love, it’s lust. It’s just what she’s manipulated you into feeling.”

   “No,” Mason said more firmly than he felt. “It’s just…you can’t start planning marriage when you just had your first kiss together. That’s all I’m saying.”

   Gerald shrugged. “Whatever you say,” he replied, turning back to his desk. “It’s just, if it were me, and I was sure I’d found the right one, I’d do what I had to do to make sure she stayed mine. That’s all.”

   Mason stared hard at the back of Gerald’s head. “I want you to stay away from her,” he said.

   “I will.”

   “No. I mean it.”

   Gerald turned in his chair to look at him. Mason stood erect. Stolidly defiant. Gerald laughed. “Yeah, I see it,” he said. “You mean it. I’m officially threatened. I’ll leave her alone, Mason. There’s plenty more girls on campus.”

   “That’s right,” Mason said, relaxing. “There are.” After a moment Gerald turned back to his textbook and Mason relaxed. More. It had been important to say it, to make the point, even if he didn’t think he could really trust Gerald. Time would tell, though.

   “All the same,” Gerald said, “she is a sweet catch.”

   Mason stared at him, but nothing more was said. He went to bed that night with an uneasy feeling. He told himself that if Evie chose not to continue their new romance it wouldn’t be his fault, nor would it be Gerald’s. Evie had to make the choice. He could only hope that she’d continue to choose him. And if not?

   He didn’t want to think about that.

CHAPTER THREE

   Thinking had abandoned him by the time Evie’s coat hit the floor, and for a long moment Mason could only stare. A pressure in his chest reminded him he had stopped breathing, but even when he gasped sharply the pressure didn’t go away. She watched him in return, eyes silent holes and her posture a testament to her uncertainty.

   Mason stood slowly. A tiny voice lost someplace in the back of his thoughts told him to sit back down, to ignore her, to deny the lust that threatened to consume him utterly. No, not entirely lust, it had to be more, because he had never felt like this before. She looked momentarily fearful as he took a step toward her. He hesitated, grasping for sanity.

   She had chosen her outfit well. The nylon on her legs weren’t pantyhose, they were thigh high stockings complete with a garter belt and matching lace panties. Her slightly rounded belly was exposed in a white patch between the waistband of her panties and the bottom edge of a loose-fitting bodice. Everything was made of lace and her pale skin shone like moonlight between the spaces. She lifted her hand to the back of her head, and her raven black hair spilled over her shoulders like an ebony wave crashing on a porcelain shore. He tried to look into her eyes, but neither of them could manage that. Instead his gaze dropped lower and lingered on her cleavage. Somehow, he didn’t remember her breasts being that large before.

   But then, he’d never seen them like this. The bodice was narrower at the top than the bottom with thin straps going over her shoulders, and it uplifted her breasts, holding them out like an offering, barely concealing her rosy nipples. She was breathing quickly, almost panting, making her chest heave with alarming luridness. She had put on some weight since college, but it had gone to all the right places, filling in hollows and smoothing edges so perfectly that she was nothing less than a work of art. “Do you like my outfit?” she asked coyly.

   “Uh,” was his brilliant reply.

   She laughed softly. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said. “So, what do you think? Will you do this for me?”

   Mason found himself moving without thinking, reaching for her. She fell into his arms with trembling grace, a melting ice flower that filled him with insistent heat. Her shyness seemed to vanish when he kissed her. It wasn’t hesitant or doubting, not in the least. He wasn’t thinking about his actions or the consequences. Not anymore. All that mattered in the world was her softness, her perfume, her curves and the sweet taste of her lips. Years dissolved away, animosity evaporated. He wanted her as he’d never wanted her before, and she was his. He kissed her with every ounce of passion he’d ever withheld, and she could feel it down to her toes.

   He ran his hands up her back, tracing the contours of her spine, pulling her even closer to his body. She felt his arousal pressing into her, and it amazed her. He was a man, so she expected him to be hard at the prospect of no-strings sex, but his stiffness was beyond what she thought she could create. His hands roamed her like wolves seeking prey, seizing flesh and creeping into shadowed coves created by the folds of her flimsy garment. Every touch was a spark of electricity tingling at a thousand points. She labored for breath, feeling as though the air in the room had grown heavy, thick with something unseen but felt to the core of her bones.

   She hadn’t expected this. Her own reaction. Or, maybe, she had, and that was what had led her to this moment, to being in his arms. His lips were on fire and left searing trails across her cheek to her neck. Someone moaned. She couldn’t tell if it was him or her. It didn’t matter. Her nervousness was gone, taking with it all uncertainty. Her fingers grasped him tightly, balling his shirt into her tight fists. One leg lifted so she could dig her knee into his hip, allowing his manhood to grind against the top of her crotch. She wanted to feel it lower, needed it. She was burning with need she’d never known before.

   Mason groaned. His lips found her earlobe where he suckled gently, using his teeth to nibble lightly and make her shiver. The strap over her shoulder had somehow fallen to the side leaving her milky shoulder in open invitation he couldn’t resist. The skin there had a different flavor. He began to crave more of her. A desire to lick and taste every inch of her invaded his thoughts, and she didn’t seem to be resisting at all. Of course not, a thinly rational portion of his brain agreed. She was the one who had come here seeking this, had initiated the events that were unfolding as inevitably as the rushing tide. He was a ship in a storm, tossed to and fro with no control. His left hand found her buttocks and gripped firmly as the sensation of her softness rushed up the pathways of his nerves to his fevered brain. His right hand closed over one breast, squeezing the solid ripeness before deftly tugging down the bra cup. Through the fog of his lust, he became aware that her nipple was hard now. It pressed into the palm of his hand like a resilient pebble.

   “Mason,” she growled. “Oh, my god. Mason.” Her hand tangled through the hair on the back of his head, pulling his mouth to her chest in the process. He needed no further urging. His lips closed over the rosebud capping her breast. His tongue swirled around it as he created suction with his cheeks to draw her breast deeper into his mouth. She tilted her head back and gasped sharply, digging her heel into the back of his thigh as her hips rotated against him in an almost wanton manner. He dropped his hand from her breast to join the other at her backside, and with seemingly effortless ease he lifted her from her feet.

   Instinctively she put her other leg behind him, locking herself to him and finally achieving what she desired. His hardness ground against the moist crotch of her panties, pushing the material into the pulsing heat of her sex. A tiny earthquake shook her body. Why, she wondered, why was sex never like this before? What made her react this way?

   It was hard to think about anything other than his body against hers. His mouth traveled to her other breast, the material covering it magically falling aside as his tongue sought and conquered another erect nipple. He was bent at the waist as she leaned back, trying to keep his mouth on her chest while their crotches heaved against each other. He finally had to straighten himself, no longer able to hold that awkward pose, and she slid down his body like lava. The material of his shirt grated over her sensitive nipples almost painfully as she raked her hands down his back, over his hard ass, until she landed on her rump at his feet with his straining crotch in her face.

   She looked up at him, into his eyes, seeing her own aching need reflected in his deep hazel eyes. Her hand moved as if it had a mind of its own, tugging down his zipper, pushing aside the denim of his pants and the white cotton of his boxers. It sprang out at her like an eager puppy, a shaft of pulsing sexuality aimed at her like the spear of destiny. When she wrapped the fingers of one hand around him, he shivered and moaned. The sound of his pleased response sent waves of excitement coursing through her. She was still looking into his eyes when she leaned forward and took him into her mouth.

   It was something she seldom did for her fiancé. Not that she found it repulsive or an act he didn’t often beg for. It was more that, on some level, she felt Gerald didn’t deserve it. He acted as if it was his right to receive such service, as though it were no big deal, and that made it something she could not fully enjoy doing to him. But Mason was different. Much different. The look on his face, the flames in his eyes, the way his body shook in minute tremors that raced through his organ and tingled her tongue, that was something that made her feel powerful. On her knees, with her mouth surrounding him, letting him thrust as she clung to his hips with both hands, doing her best to swirl her tongue against the sensitive underside of his manhood while he moaned, she was the one in command. She was the one controlling his pleasure. He was at her mercy, and though he gripped her hair in his hands and fought the urge to pull her head to his crotch forcefully, she knew she could make him stop at any time. It made her feel like her body was a vast gulf of turbulent air, a barely contained hurricane ready to unleash violent destruction, like a goddess.

   One hand released his hip and thrust itself between her legs. The other gripped his shaft, now coated with her saliva, and she leaned back allowing him to fall from her lips. She panted heavily and fisted him clumsily, thrilled by how hard he was. Only then did she become aware of his size. That sort of thing mattered to a man, she knew, though the truth was that a woman more often gauged the quality of sex by the measure of the experience in its totality. And already this was a greater experience than she’d ever known. Much more than she’d expected. More even than she’d thought possible. The rawness, the erotic tangibility, the consuming lust flavored by guilt.

   “I want you inside me,” she gasped at him, hearing the change in her own voice. “Please, Mason. Take me. Fuck me.”

   He hesitated. It wasn’t long, but the lapse between her request and his response was an interval she could feel. Gerald wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t even have waited for the request. Indeed, she’d never spoken to her fiancé like that, and it almost surprised her that the words were there in her mind. Mason lifted one foot and then the other, stepping out of the tangle of her legs before kneeling on the floor in front of her. His lips trembled with words he could not bring himself to speak, and almost she thought she knew what he would say if he could. She prayed he wouldn’t find the strength to say them, because she knew it would ruin this perfect moment and make it impossible to continue. Or, perhaps, make it impossible to carry on without him.

   So, she kissed him, cutting off the opportunity, and in the kiss he returned was all the strength of the emotion he felt. It reverberated through her, finding hidden in her smoky depths an answering call. Mason embraced her, loving her with every ounce of his being, feeling his soul breaking because above all else he knew he would never be able to keep her. Like he’d been unable to keep her so long ago…

   Evie straightened her legs, splaying them so that she could pull him down on top of her as she lay back. He followed, tied to her by kisses and by the pounding of his heart. Her hand found his organ again. She jerked at the thin waistband of the panties until it snapped. The garment fluttered as she tossed it aside. Her hands fumbled with his pants again, and she brought her feet up to help push them down his body until he could kick them off. Then there was nothing between them but air. No barrier except their own possible guilt.

   Mason knelt between her legs and looked once more into her eyes, hoping to see what he knew would not be there. She was not spread lewdly beneath him as an act of surrender, it wasn’t a token of heartfelt affection. It was regret that had brought them together. His which had festered so long it had become a part of his psyche, and hers because she feared the commitment, she wanted marriage to be. And yet neither of them pulled away from the other. Neither of them had strength to deny this moment, this act.

   Mason rose above her. She watched as he pulled his shirt up from the bottom, revealing a surprisingly hard body as he removed the garment. No longer was he the slightly gawky young man she had met in college, the veritable starving artist with his soft body and thin limbs. No, Mason had changed, and Evie reached up to run her hands over the contours of his chest, his abs, tracing the line of an old scar on his arm half-hidden by a rich tan. His skin tone contrasted sharply with her own. He was a bronze god hovering above her, descending from the heavens. She had always thought he was a uniquely beautiful man with his round face and bright, liquid eyes. The sun had put light tones into his brown hair which, typical of the artist he was, hung past his ears in a barely controlled mop. But his eyes, those were his best feature. Evie stared into those smoldering orbs and felt herself become lost in their languid depths.

   He leaned forward, covering her body with his own. She felt his shaft against the wet folds of her slit, hot flesh against hot flesh. She raised her legs into the air, angling her hips to give him better access to her body. Her desire had gone beyond mere need for sexual release. She needed to join with him, to feel him thrusting into her, feeding her with his lust. His hands shook as he took hold of her hips. Hungrily, he kissed her again, wrestling her tongue with his own. He rotated his hips, and she felt the tip of his organ nestle snugly against the entrance to her body.

   She braced herself for a sudden hard thrust that never came. He nudged into her slowly, gently, almost shyly. The tip spread her folds, delved inside, retreated, only to return again a bit deeper. He repeated it over and over, only an inch, then another. She groaned with need and lifted her hips trying to get more inside. He resisted, giving her only a taste. Slowly, on his terms, he began to thrust harder, moving deeper, and as he did, she realized the essential difference between him and the only other man she’d ever had inside her.

   Size did matter. Gerald was proud of his dick, quick to point out that he could measure a full eight inches in length. He never put all that inside her, though, because she claimed it hurt her. The truth was that no matter how deep he dug, he’d never mine her gold. Mason, on the other hand, he was a true digger. His penis felt far thicker inside her body than it had in her mouth. It was stretching her, filling her completely, and by the time she felt his curly pubes meshing with her own she felt absolutely stuffed full of him. His average length concealed surprising girth, though she suspected it might be that Gerald, for all his bragging, was deceptively thin.

   In any case, when Mason began to pull out again, she felt a definite void in his absence. He withdrew until only the head was left inside her, just past the entrance to her canal. Then he thrust into her hard, refilling her so suddenly it took her breath away. He moaned deeply, a long-drawn-out sound echoing the ecstasy apparent on his face. “Mason!” she gasped, clutching him tightly with digging fingernails and hugging thighs.

   “Evie,” he groaned in return, thrusting into her deeply again. “Oh, God.” He drove into her hard, managing to get fractionally deeper, and something seemed to blossom inside her. He rotated his hips so that his pelvic bone ground against her clit sending hot sparks racing along her nerves.

   “Oh!” she almost shouted, as surprised as she was thrilled. He did it again, thrusting into her so hard she felt his heavy balls slap against the bottom of her ass. He ground into her, thrust, ground, and the feeling of intense pressure became an explosion. Orgasm crashed over her like an avalanche, burying her thoughts and her fears and doubts, revealing to her in a flash of pure brilliance the one true thing she felt above all others. In that supernova of white-hot ecstasy, she loved him. Loved him with every fiber and every cell and every drop of fiery blood pounding through her veins.

   He continued to move inside her in short, rapid thrusts as her walls pulsated along his shaft and she trembled from head to foot. The orgasm didn’t exactly end. It faded, it receded, but went on continuously as he held himself over her on strong arms, gazing down at her beautiful face with unquestioning devotion. It was her turn to quiver with unspeakable words. Somehow, he knew, and he smiled angelically. Then he did the most unexpected thing she could have thought of. He pulled out of her.

   She almost protested as he left her, but he moved swiftly, bending his body and scooping up her legs with his hands behind her knees. Her feet bounced toward the ceiling as cool air wafted over her burning sex. He was still smiling as he lowered his mouth to her crotch.

   Mason had been a virgin when he’d lost her to his roommate. In the years since then, he had been with only one woman, and that relationship was brief. Evie’s wasn’t the first female sex he’d seen, but it was by far the loveliest. He knew that women often found it impossible to see beauty between their legs, but men were different creatures. He took a moment to soak in the sight of her, knowing it might well have to suffice the remainder of his life. She was swollen with excitement, inner lips splayed outward like a flower. Her clit peeked from its hoot at the top of her slit in erect salute. Everything glistened with her moisture, and more fluid was leaking from within thanks to the strength of her orgasm. Eagerly, Mason thrust his tongue inside her, tasting her and finding her delicious.

   Evie screamed. She pulled at his hair even as she held his face to her body. She bucked her hips finding no leverage with her feet in the air. His tongue wiggled into her like a hot snake. The lips of his mouth closed over those between her thighs, and he seemed almost to be French kissing her down there. He licked up through her slit and circled her clit with his tongue, lavishing even more wetness upon her to replace what he so greedily consumed. The tongue found its way inside her again and the cycle repeated. He let go of her legs, but she kept them high, wanting him to have full access to her. A finger slid into her, replacing his tongue which covered her clit like a thick blanket. He lapped at her, dragging his tongue over her nubbin with agonizing slowness. The finger inside her curled. He touched something in there, a button that cascaded shockwaves of bliss in bands of silky radiance. His tongue seemed to vibrate on her clit, and the second orgasm, she discovered, was much more intense than the first.

   The world spun around her. Blackness closed in on the edges of her vision. When her orgasm subsided, he rose from between her legs swiftly. He scooted forward so that her legs draped limply over his thighs, and he put himself into her again. She was still spasming, so that walls of her tunnel seemed to be trying to milk his organ. He thrust into her steadily, rocking her body, seeking his own release. Groaning, she held her arms out to him. He lay over her, resting his weight on her, and kissed her even as he slammed into her again and again. They made a wet sound together, and his balls slapped against her with surprising loudness. He whispered her name over and over, his body shaking. She could feel his organ thickening, could sense the pressure building inside him to a frenzied pitch, and felt her own, unceasing pleasure rising to match him.

   “Evie,” he groaned, face contorting. “I’m…I’m…”

   “Come inside me Mason,” she said to him, wrapping her arms around him, lifting her legs to lock around his waist. “Don’t pull out. Give it all to me. Please!”

   “Evie!” he screamed and thrust into her so hard she thought she might be bruised. She felt something hot splash inside her. He was pulsing, throbbing, pumping his seed deeply into her, and she wanted to merge completely with him, to become a part of him as her third orgasm crashed down on her so hard she forgot to breathe. He thrust again, and more of his semen flooded her, spilling out of her to run over her hot skin and into the carpet below them along with a rush of her own juices. He nuzzled her cheek, lips murmuring nonsense as she held onto him. She was adrift on a stormy sea, and he was the rock to which she clung. He was a drowning man, and she was the breath of life.

   Finally, he sagged. She dropped her legs to the floor, spent. The air was filled with the pants of their ragged breathing, thick with the smell of their ardor. Thoughts were hard to grasp, flitting like ghosts through the wasteland of her mind. His weight was comforting, his presence a delight, and she stroked his back and held onto him as their breathing slowly returned to normal and he shrank until he fell from within her. It was in that moment that she knew she’d made a mistake. She told him she wanted a comparison, and she’d gotten it. How could you compare the blazing sun to a cloudy day? When you’ve sailed the turbulent ocean, how could you return to the meandering river?

   His lips caressed her ear. “Stay with me,” he said. For a brief moment her heart soared. Then he said, “Stay the night. Sleep with me, at least just once.”

   “Of course,” she said, though her heart felt suddenly hollow. “I’d like that.”

   Yes, a mistake. But one she would gladly have made again and again. The sea is unforgiving, and she was a ship lost in uncharted waters. Unspeakable words would be left unspoken. She kissed him, hungry to recapture the passion they’d shared, yet afraid it was gone forever.

   Mason stared into her eyes. Those wonderful eyes, like molten amber, and wished with all his heart she felt what he felt. That he could tell her how very much he loved her, and to hear her speak it back to him and mean it.

   At least, he told himself, they would have this night. One night. And then?

   He didn’t want to know.