Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Sexy Without the Sex - The Ninja Tattoo by Dellani Oakes

Grant you, this fourth excerpt is as close to sex as they get without actually going all the way. But it still falls into the Sexy Without the Sex category.
Teague McMurtry has recently mustered out of the Army. He's glad to be home and pursuing his college degree and working his landscaping business. One day, completely by accident, his life takes a turn. He meets the beautiful and exciting Vivica Rambo and manages to mark himself for death--all in the same day! Boy, is he good or what?
Their relationship progresses quickly, but is overshadowed by Vivica's brother Randy--the psychotic leader of a dangerous biker group. Teague doesn't realize quite how bad things are until he and Vivica are alone.

She clung to him desperately. He held her, stroking her hair, rubbing her back, talking softly. Soon, she raised her face, her lips tickling his chin. Always one to oblige a beautiful woman, he lowered his face to hers, teasing her lips with his. She opened her mouth, eating at his with a passion he'd never had from any woman before.
He wanted to take her hard and fast, immediately. Instead, he made himself move slowly, allowing her to set their pace. He hoped this amazing kissing session would lead to the obvious, inevitable, hot, sweaty conclusion. Considering his luck lately, he tried not to hope too much, afraid of disappointment.
When her hand drifted down his chest, to the top of his pants, then to his lap, he gasped. Tongues of fire followed her fingers as they caressed his throbbing penis. His grip on her shoulders tightened as she loomed over him, pressing her chest on his. Her lips moved to his throat, her tongue flickering across his Adam's apple in an erotic dance that added to the fire burning inside him. He couldn't think, he could hardly breathe.
His hands moved of their own accord, fondling her luscious body as he pulled her top out of her jeans. She was making him crazy, kneading his erection with her fingers, rubbing with her palm, as he struggled to get under her top. One side of her blouse was finally free. His fingers crept under, sliding up to tease her nipple with his thumb.
Vivica moaned, writhing on top of him. Her hand was still on his zipper, fumbling now with the button at the waistband. That was something he could do one handed. He undid his fly for her and her long, sensuous fingers found the opening. She smiled with pleasure when she felt how hard and big he was. The look on her face was like a kid that gets the best toy in the neighborhood for Christmas—smug satisfaction.
He wanted to talk, to ask her if this was really want she wanted, but his mouth couldn't form the words. Her actions made it impossible for him to think, let alone talk. Frustrated by her clothing, he got up, pulling her top with both hands. Vivica laughed at him, sitting up, her chest nearly in his face. She wiggled around, pulling the blouse over her head. Her breasts jiggled invitingly over the top of her black, lacy bra.
Who was he to say no to such an invitation? He lowered his head, allowing his tongue to trace the line of her cleavage as his hands massaged the sides and nipples. Laughing seductively, Vivica undid her bra. Her breasts sprang at him, released from their lacy prison.
Teague's shirt was off, his pants open. Her jeans kept them apart. He felt compelled to rid her of such a tight, unyielding object. That piece of fabric was keeping him from paradise and he'd had enough of waiting. Placing one knee on the couch, he knelt over her, attacking the zipper like a mathematical equation. While he worked, she pushed his jeans lower, massaging his buttocks with her fingers before tickling his ass and thighs.
It took longer than he anticipated, but he finally had her out of her jeans and in her skimpy black panties. Her belly was flat, her hips flared, tapering to firm thighs and trim ankles. True, he wasn't interested in the shape and trimness of her ankles, but he noticed it in passing as he pulled off her pants.
Growling with anticipation, he grabbed her to him, attacking her neck and breasts with renewed vigor. She demanded his lips on hers once more, yanking on his boxers, trying to free the beast. He flung her panties across the room, ready to divest himself of his underwear, when there was a tentative knock on the front door.
Vivica screamed, pulling the afghan from the back of the couch, covering herself. Teague realized he was standing in his living room with his dwindling erection hanging out the top of his pants, feeling like an idiot. He pulled his underwear up disconsolately. The tapping continued.
"I hope this is important!" He bellowed, jerking the door open.

© Dellani Oakes
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Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Sexy Without the Sex - Car Trouble by Dellani Oakes

The third installment in my Sexy Without the Sex. This is from Car Trouble. Kent Mason is an author who has just returned from a tri-state book tour when his car breaks down on the interstate outside Port Orange, Florida. Calliope Jacoby works for the tow truck company and comes to his rescue in the middle of the night, in the pouring rain.Kent gets home to find that his rental house has been sold in his absence. He needs a place to stay and Calliope needs a renter. He gathers his belongings and moves in with her. They can't deny the attraction they feel, even though both of them know that falling into bed so soon is risky. Calliope has just gone through a truly brutal divorce. Kent's wasn't much better, but longer ago that he has a little perspective that she doesn't.

"Not all men are bastards," I said calmly. "Some of us are actually house broken."
She snuffled, that mixture of a laugh and sob again. "You would say that."
"I'm being perfectly honest. I'm the first one to admit some men are pigs. I just want it clear that I'm not one of them." I held her away from me, gazing deeply into her luscious, hazel eyes. "If I had realized how much my conversation with Pepper would upset you, I would have walked out that door and never gone back."
"You're just saying that."
"My marriage fell apart for two reasons, Calliope. One, we rarely talked to each other. And when we did, we told lies or half truths. Part of the miscommunication was my fault. I swore I'd never do that again."
Her eyes searched mine for lies or inconsistencies. Finding none, she relaxed. "You must think I'm an absolute fruitcake." She sniffed, wiping her eyes on her shirt.
"Only way I like my fruitcake is with nuts," I said. "So if you're a nutty fruitcake." I purposely left that hanging. Let her finish it however she wanted.
Giggling, she pummeled me with another cushion. How many of the damn things were on the couch anyway? Curling up in a ball, I protected my head with my arms, laughing as she beat me. I rolled aside, nearly kicking over the coffee table. Her screech, as I narrowly missed something precious with my foot, heralded another attack.
"Truce!" I begged, trying to raise my arms above my head. Not easy to do lying on your side, being pounded by an angrily wielded cushion. "Truce! I surrender! I surrender!"
By this time, she was sitting on me, straddling my legs just below the hips. Oh, God! She was so—female. So—much a woman! I wanted to bury myself in her and never, ever come back.
Let me die. Let me die now so she won't see that I have a raging hard on. Let me curl up and die, please!
A moment later, she was kissing me. This wasn't a little kiss like you'd give your grandmother or your best friend. This was full throttle, mind bending, heart stopping, mouths open, tongues involved—conversation impossible—kissing. I was gonna stop her. I swear I was. I had every intention of pushing her gently away. I raised my hands to do just that, but she shifted and I suddenly had a boob in each hand. They were really good ones too. Shapely, soft and just the right size to fit nicely in each palm, leaving the fingers free to explore the outlying area around them.
If she wanted my attention, she got it. If she wanted part of me to stand up and say hello, she got that too. If she was of a mind to do me in her living room, I couldn't have told her no if I'd wanted to. And I didn't want to. Never in my entire life had a woman thrown herself at me like that. I knew it was because she was angry and distraught, but the why didn't really bother or concern me. What she was doing was more captivating.
I let go of the boobs, putting my arms around her as I pulled her to me. Her body was a good fit against mine. All kinds of nice things happened under her clothing, soft things to fondle and play with. Moist things to kiss and lick and dive into. I could smell her musky sex scent and it was making me crazy. The more I tried to control myself, the worse it got. I knew what we were doing was the worst idea in the entire history of bad decisions I've made, but that didn't stop me from putting my hands up under her shirt.
She didn't stop me then either. She should have. If she had slapped me, or pulled away, shoved my balls up my ass or something, I would have quit. But she didn't. Instead, she rubbed against me, making my lonely, sex starved dick really stand up and take notice.
My pal, dick, is a selfish prick. He has bad manners and can't be relied upon to behave—ever. He can do amazing feats, making women scream in passion, but behaving like a civilized member of society isn't in his genetic matrix.
The reason I talk about my penis as if it's separate from the rest of me is because when he's in charge, the rest of my body just kind of hangs out and moves around so he can get his freak on. He's one kinky bastard and he makes me do things I never would have thought possible in my wildest dreams. And I've had some pretty wild dreams.
Right now, he was struggling to get free of all the clothing that bound him. Dick wanted out, dammit! Then he wanted in, but not in any socially acceptable, civilized fashion. He wasn't going to come dressed for dinner, he was just going to come all over if she didn't stop rubbing herself against me.
I moaned, I know I did. I could feel it start at my feet and work all the way up past my aching balls and throbbing penis, past my stomach, through my lungs and out my mouth. It sounded like a bull moose in heat. Since that's how I felt right then, I guess the sound was authentic.
Laughing throatily, she continued to rub against me, only this time she took her shirt off, flinging it over the back of the couch. Shoving me flat on my back, she straddled me, rubbing her crotch against mine. My shirt went next, nearly choking me as it went over my head. Plastered to the couch like I was, I couldn't do it myself. She did it for me.
My belt was the third casualty, following the shirts onto the floor with a clunk. Her bra fell on top of it and it looked like they were mating. Funny what your mind latches onto at a time like that.
Her breasts looked even better than they felt. I had to taste them, hold them, admire them from every possible angle until I was sure they were really there, brushing my face as she struggled to get her jeans off.
"Let me help you," I offered.
But she only laughed, rising on one leg, the other bent beneath her, against the couch. She got the jeans off and unzipped mine, tugging hungrily at the zipper, pulling it down in little bursts that sent shock waves through me.
There we were, nearly naked, laughing and enjoying the sight of each other, delaying just a moment longer, savoring the happy anticipation of that final, warm, wet union, when the doorbell rang. I sat up, nearly knocking her on her ass. She screamed, grabbing my shirt and her jeans off the floor. Throwing my pants at me, she pulled on the clothing.
"Who is it?" Her voice sounded artificial and sugary sweet.
"I've got your mail, Ms. Jacoby," the mail carrier said. "I have something you need to sign for."

© Dellani Oakes 

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Sexy Without the Sex - Fly by Night by Dellani Oakes

This is the next installment in my short series of erotic scenes that don't include sex. The romance and prelude to sex can be just as titillating as the actual act--sometimes more so. The following scene is from Fly by Night, my 2013 NaNoWriMo novel (not yet published). I think that this is, by far, one of my favorite scenes.

Elam Armitage is a paramedic as well as a hospital orderly. He meets Blythe Donovan when she's brought to the emergency room after a car accident. They feel an immediate attraction (naturally) and eventually, she invites him to her apartment. She's still mourning the death of Alec, who was killed in the war. However, she's finally coming to realize that she needs to get on with her life. Elam seems like a good man to build a future with.

They stood in Blythe's bedroom, a few feet from the bed. She wanted to tackle Elam and ravage his body, but restrained herself. She was afraid and not quite ready to commit to that next step.
"Shower's through there. Fresh towels are on the bar. There's bath gel and shampoo, whatever you need."
"Thanks. I'll be out soon."
"I'll find a movie and fix popcorn."
"See you in a few." He desperately wanted to take her in the shower with him, but refrained. He still wanted her, but decided he'd better approach her differently, more slowly. Alec was her husband. He was still reeling from that revelation.
Blythe headed to the living room, closing and locking the glass door, pulling the drapes over it. She grabbed one of her favorite movies from the shelf, putting it in the DVD player, before heading to the kitchen. She liked freshly popped corn, not the microwave variety.
Elam came out a few minutes later, finding her in the kitchen, popping corn on the stove. It smelled fantastic. He leaned on the counter, shirt over one shoulder, his feet bare, dressed only in a pair of low riding jeans.
"When you said you were popping corn, I had no idea it would be this special."
"I can eat micro-waved stuff, but I prefer this. Dad spoiled me. He used to fix it every Sunday evening. We'd have popcorn and soda for dinner while we watched Donovan Family Theatre."
Elam snagged a piece of popcorn from the bowl. Blythe smacked at his hand, making him laugh.
"It's not quite ready. Patience, grasshopper."
She added melted butter, salt, pepper and paprika, tossing the popcorn with her fingers. Elam took one buttery hand in his, licking the butter and spices from her index finger. He laved it sensually with his tongue.
"Yum. Does the popcorn taste as good as you?"
Blythe fed him a piece. He chewed slowly, closing his eyes before licking another finger.
"Nope, you taste better."
Elam took a piece of popcorn, holding it in his teeth, inviting her to take it. Smiling, Blythe complied, biting the buttery kernel in half. Their mouths met, oily from the butter. Elam licked her lips, tasting the spices and her own special flavor, before kissing her deeply.
Blythe tried not to touch him with her greasy hands, but he had other ideas. Pulling her close, he put her hands on his chest, kissing her even more passionately than before. Her top was halfway off when his phone rang. He wouldn't have answered, except that was the special ring he'd set for his mother. She rarely called him, certainly not after nine o'clock at night.
"It's my mom," he explained. Frustrated, he answered, sounding more than a little tense. "Hello, Mom."
"I've interrupted something. I'm so sorry. I do have to tell you something before you take that lovely girl to bed for the first time."

© Dellani Oakes
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Tuesday, May 06, 2014

Sexy Without the Sex - A Novel Romance

Recently, on my radio show, we were talking about scenes that are erotic without the characters actually having sex. I thought it would be fun to share some of those scenes. The following is from a story (as yet unfinished) called A Novel Romance.
Lionel Pettigrew is an English professor who is a certified genius. He's got his quirks, but he's handsome, brilliant and virtually oblivious to his own appeal. He's the epitome of the absent minded professor until he meets Arista Lockhart. When his bullet train brain finally slows down enough, he realizes that she's the woman for him.

Lionel couldn't wait to get her back to his apartment. The door had barely closed when he found her in his arms and they were kissing. The urge to take her to bed was stronger, but still manageable. The main deterrent was knowing that in a few short hours, he would be facing his mother. He'd be in a more defensible position if he hadn't been to bed with Arista.
His mother had a sixth sense when it came to his behavior. She knew when he'd lost his virginity and wouldn't talk to him for a week. Each woman he bedded, not that there were many, had earned him further scorn. She had nearly disowned him when Kitty moved in. Only the intervention of Giuseppe and his sisters prevented it. That was months ago, and she still hadn't completely forgiven him.
Lionel wondered what it would be like when he finally made love to Arista. He had to stop those thoughts, or he'd end up doing something foolish. Thinking of his mother gave him an effective block, making him behave himself appropriately. Eventually, he forced himself to stop kissing so he could take Arista home to change.
Lionel got ready before leaving his apartment. Unsure what to wear, he threw his shirt in the hamper. It wasn't dirty, but it smelled strongly of Arista's perfume. He knew his mother would pick up on that. He grabbed two, taking them to the living room to get Arista's opinion. She was examining some of the Art Nouveau décor when he walked out of his room.
"I have no clue what I should wear," he said from the doorway.
Arista turned around with a bright smile. Seeing his bare chest for the first time, layered in lean muscles, she was struck completely dumb. She couldn't blink or breathe, only stare at the magnificent chest and abs across from her. Framed by the doorway, his hair tousled, he looked incredibly like he'd just woken up. Behind him, his unmade bed seemed to beckon to her.
"Shirt?" He waved them slowly to catch her attention.
One was a black Oxford with white stitching and buttons. The other was a navy blue polo shirt with a red rider. Both shirts brought out the blue in his striking eyes. The movement of the shirts finally got her attention. Arista snapped her lips shut and focused on them.
She gulped, hoping she still had her voice. "The blue."
"You think?"
"The black will make you look too solemn. The blue matches—your eyes."
"If I'd known taking my shirt off was gonna make you speechless, I'd have done it sooner," he said as he walked back in his room.
The muscles in his back rippled nicely as he walked, making her think of the ocean. He tossed the black shirt on the bed and pulled the blue one over his head. He knew she was still watching him, so he did everything with deliberate slowness. Once he was dressed, he put the black shirt away and came back to the living room.
"Yeah." She crooked her finger at him.
Lionel walked over and sat next to her on the couch. Arista took the collar of his shirt, pulling his face to hers. She didn't quite kiss him. Instead, she ran her tongue slowly over his lips three times before letting him go. She fixed his collar and brushed his hair out of his face.
Lionel's body had lost the ability to control voluntary movement. His tongue followed the path hers had taken, tasting her. A shudder ran through him as he drew a ragged breath.
"If I'd known doing that was going to make you speechless," she taunted. "I'd have done it sooner."
He blinked, licking his lips again. His groin tightened as he fought the urge to crush her body to his. He shivered again, finally able to move.
Arista smirked as she stood and headed toward the door. Almost blindly, he followed her to the door.
"Keys?" She pointed to the table. "Do you want me to drive?"
He shook his head, licking his lips again.
"You're sure?"
"Hm...." He agreed, nodding.
Giggling, she swished out the door with Lionel, zombie like, in her wake.

"Holy Mother of God," he whispered as he closed the door.

© Dellani Oakes 

Thursday, May 01, 2014

Sexy Without the Sex - Indian Summer by Dellani Oakes

We were chatting on my radio show yesterday about how scenes that aren't full on sex can still be sexy. I thought first of this one, but then started mentally reviewing scenes from other books which also qualify. I decided to pull out my favorite Not Sex Scenes from my novels (both published and not published) to share with you.
Indian Summer is my historical romance, set in Spanish controlled Florida in 1739. Gabriella Deza is the daughter of the Spanish governor. Manuel Enriques is her father's aide de campe. On her birthday, he admits to her that he's loved her a long time and wants to marry her. Gabriella is somewhat overwhelmed by this pronouncement. Like many young women of her era, she's completely ignorant of the ways between men and women. She has many questions and fears. Though they are closely chaperoned, Manuel and Gabriella finally get a few precious minutes alone.

Manuel could tell there was something on my mind, but he waited for me to bring it up in my own time. Instead he told me an amusing story of something that happened when he was a child. I don't remember what it was. I wasn't really paying attention, but trying to formulate my question. He reached the end of his story and chuckled, noticing I wasn't joining in.
"Gabriella." His tone brought me out of my thoughts and I focused on him. He pointed between my eyes. "The crinkle is back and the lips."
He made the exaggerated face as he had done before, but this time I didn't laugh. He lifted my chin with his finger.
"Talk to me, my sweet. You've something very important to ask and you don't know how. Shall I guess?"
I shrugged slightly, nodding, unable to look him in the eye. I could feel a lump growing in my throat and the tears burned in the corners of my eyes.
"This came upon you when I spoke to your brother, so I think I know what it deals with."
I blushed deeply, not looking him in the eyes.
"And if I know how your mind works and I think I do by now, you want to know if I'm as innocent of this union as you are."
He looked me in the eyes a moment. I blushed even more deeply and started to cry. He moved away from me a step or two, glancing at my father, turning back to me. He looked down and then back up, biting his lower lip as he always did when he was concentrating deeply on a subject.
"Do you want a pleasant lie to soothe you, or do you want the truth?" He handed me his handkerchief.
I took a shuddering breath. "The truth, please. I don't want there ever to be lies between us. I think I know the answer and I'll not be angry with you."
He wouldn't look at me. He gazed at the moon rising full and white above our heads. I knew what his answer would be, but I wanted to hear it from him. I hoped I would hold to my word and not be angry with him. My chest hurt with love and fear and unshed tears. I could hardly breathe while I waited.
He gazed upon a distant star, speaking so softly I could hardly hear him. It was if the night lost its sounds, his voice became crystal clear, all I could hear.
"I'm not innocent as you are, no, Mi Cariña. I've known the pleasures of the flesh. I have, in many ways, led a very bad life until now. I've over indulged in women, drink, gambling and other things I would rather forget. Perhaps it was being on my own here. I went a little wild." He stopped, facing me squarely this time.
"I promise you, however, since first I began to court you, there has been no one else in my life." He looked mortified by his confession. "But since your illness, when I thought I would lose you, I've not gambled and I've had wine only with my meals. I'm trying to be the man you deserve, Sweet Gabriella."
I held out both hands to him. He came toward me and took them in his own.
"And what makes you think you aren't already?"
His smile was tinged with sadness. "You deserve a man who is true to you, not one who used to look at any woman he met as an object for his use. I fear, at one time in my youth, that's all I ever considered a woman to be."
I hugged him as if my life depended upon it. I didn't want a kiss, not then. All I wanted was to feel his arms around me, holding me, promising me his heart, his strength, his trust. I whispered into his chest.
"I love you so."
He stroked my hair and held me close. It was not like sometimes, that burning, aching feeling. I felt whole, complete, as if half of me had been missing for years and I hadn't known.
"I love you more than words can ever tell, Gabriella."
"And I love you with all my heart."
I don't know how long we stood there, I didn't care. All I wanted was for him to hold me. He spoke quietly to me again.
"So, do you forgive me my transgressions?"
I looked up at him with tears in my eyes. "Whatever transgressions you may have committed, that's between you and God. That you love me and you've honored me with the truth, that's enough. But if you must have my forgiveness, then I give it to you freely."
He held me away from him, gazing at me. A look of wonder filled his handsome face. "You're an incredible woman, do you know that? I've wanted to tell you this for so long, but didn't know how. We've had so little time alone. I thank God for providing this opportunity to us." He embraced me again.
"It's a terrible thing that our society is so very strict about what is proper to discuss or not to discuss. I dream for a day when men and women can talk freely about whatever is on their minds. And they can have time alone together without someone watching over them for fear they'll get to know each other too well." He cracked his wry smile, his eyes twinkling like twin stars.
"You sound just like Maria. She's always talking about how to change things, how the customs are foolish. If she could, I think she would run naked down a street in broad daylight just to set people off."
He laughed quietly at this so as not to wake Papa. We were enjoying our privacy too much for that.
"Well if you were to do that, I would be running wildly after you, ripping off my own."
I didn't know whether to be shocked or laugh, so I settled for laughter. "I believe you would too!"
"Dressed or not I would follow you to the ends of the earth, I promise you. You're my heart and my soul. If you were taken from me, I'd look until I found you, or I died trying. Since we are telling the truth, I'll share something else with you I'm sure has been on your mind. You're scared of the ways between men and women, aren't you?"
I couldn't speak to him, the answer burned in my face and showed in my eyes. He took my chin in his hand. Raising it gently, he looked me in the eye. I tried, but couldn't meet his gaze.
"Mi Cariña, there is nothing to fear, I promise you. Would I ever do anything to hurt you?"
I shook my head, wide eyed.
"Then don't be afraid of this, for it's wonderful, not something to fear." He held me close, but gently. "When we are close, or we kiss, don't you feel something stirring inside you? And does it please you, what you feel?"
I tried to meet his gaze, but found that I couldn't. "It makes me feel good, but ashamed as well."
"Why ashamed, my sweet?"
"Because I'm not sure I should feel these things for you right now. It's wrong." Sighing, I hesitated. I simply didn't know what to say.
"You think it's wrong for you to want me to touch you, to get to know your body?"
He was nuzzling my neck as he moved us out of the direct line of sight from the window. His voice changed, grew deeper, more sensual, full of barely controlled passion.
"You don't think it's right, but you want it, don't you?" His breath was hot on my neck, his lips demanding mine.
I couldn't restrain myself. I wanted him, in a way I couldn't describe. It felt so very good to have him touch me, kiss me, hold me. I could feel him hard against me and I knew that was what I wanted. That would ease the burning inside me. He could quench the fire with his power. But I knew we couldn't, mustn't, wouldn't until we married. I clung to him, my passion meeting his own, with his hands traveling my body in an erotic journey, exploring with his hands and lips.
"You mustn't!"
The words exploded in my mind and I jumped as if someone had shouted behind me. Summoning all my resolve, I pushed gently away from him. At first I thought I'd made him angry. Then I realized he was not angry with me, but with himself. Anger fought with lust as he gazed down at me, embarrassed by his behavior. I could read shame in his eyes.
"I'm so very sorry. I've dishonored you with my conduct. I'm like a stallion after a choice mare. I'm so ashamed!"
He grabbed his hat and started for the gate. I took his arm, holding him back.
"You've nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing!" I took his face between my hands, kissing him hard on the lips. "If you're guilty, then so am I, for all I could think of was how much I wanted you! I need you to quench this fire inside."
"But you had the control, you pulled away. Gabriella, don't you understand? If you hadn't stopped me, I would have ravaged you here and now! It's how I am. I'm a wicked man and I don't deserve you!" He made as if to pull away, but I restrained him once again.
"No you mustn't say that! You're not wicked, only human. God doesn't expect us to be perfect, my love, but society does. So we don't embarrass our families or dishonor them, then we must not."
He agreed hesitantly, desire fighting honor. I could see the inner struggle pulling him apart. This love, this great passion would drive us both mad!
"You're right. Of course you're right. Oh, God, Gabriella, I can't wait to marry you! If I could shout our love to the four winds and marry you tonight, I would do so! This just isn't enough. I want all of you, not the little bit we're allowed when we can snatch it."
He buried his face in my hair and I breathed in deeply his scent of sandalwood.
"Perhaps someday, sometime in our future, our lives can be different, Manuel. I can only hope."
He kissed me again, deeply, his tongue probing my mouth. I couldn't get enough of him. I felt if I had to stop kissing him I was going to die on the spot. I knew my father was near, my sister was just inside, but I didn't care.
His hands fondled me again in places he shouldn't touch, but I wanted him to. I gave myself over the passion I felt, but part of me knew it was wrong. A tiny voice kept insisting that we must stop and yet I knew I didn't want to.
But I couldn't, mustn't - not here, not like animals! This should be a beautiful moment, not one of harsh lust. I tried to pull away, but he held me tightly, not wanting to let me go. I grabbed his face as he leaned over to kiss my breasts.
"No," I whispered, not wanting to. "No, not this way."
I wanted more than anything to let him touch me again, to kiss me, but I couldn't allow it. There was much anger in his face. But I saw reason prevail as he stood straight, adjusting his coat, shirt and tie. Briefly I saw the temper flair that Aunt Securo had mentioned. It was not directed at me, but again with himself. He was furious at his own weakness.
"I'm so sorry." I started but it hardly seemed enough.
I knew that I had gotten him in a state that no man should be in without release and I knew I couldn't give that to him. I put my hand on his chest, gazing into his eyes.
"If you found relief with another, I would understand."
He looked at me puzzled for a moment, his mind befuddled by the unconsummated act. "I promised you I'd have no other women and I mean it. If I have to dive into a pool of freezing water, I'll manage."
He went to kiss me farewell, but thought better of it. I knew if he had touched me then, I couldn't and wouldn't have said no.
"Promise me, something, Cariña. Promise we'll wed as soon as we may, for if I can't have you soon, I think I'll burst into tiny pieces."
"I promise, my love! As soon as we are able!"
He kissed my hand and ran to his buggy. I heard him cluck to the horses and drive rapidly away. My heart skipped a beat with each click of the ladies' hooves on the road.

When I went back inside, I found the library deserted. Maria had gone up to bed and so had Papa, apparently not realizing I was still outside. As I locked up the windows, I couldn't help thinking, "Oh, we could have, we could have after all! And no one would have known!"

© Dellani Oakes
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Old Time Religion ~ A Love in the City Romance by Dellani Oakes – Part 5

"This is Ms. Whitley. Her mother's a parishioner at St. Blase. I'm filling in for Father Charlie today." "Yeah, I h...