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hand immediately slid into her panties, cupping her smooth ass and pulling her pussy tight to his aching cock. Moaning, she ground against him. Her flat belly and breasts brushed against him as she rode up and down the ridge. He suspected the rough placket over his zipper was making contact with her clit through her thin panties.
    One of his hands pushed between them and covered her mound. Her wetness enveloped his fingers as he probed her folds, and satisfaction at her arousal triggered a primal response in him he’d thought long dead. She wanted him; there was no question.
    Turning, he placed her against the pillows on the rumpled bed. Her long, sable-colored hair tumbled around her head in silken waves. Her eyes were deep, chocolaty pools of trouble. Her pale pink lips parted as she reached for him, and this time, as he leaned over her, he didn’t stop her as she moved to open the buttons of his shirt. He braced over her and remained still.
    His eyes closed, and he tried to keep his face impassive as he waited for her to see the collision of scars from both burns and the metal that had clawed deep into the left side of his body. The damage hidden by his clothing was far worse than what had been done to his face.
    “Oh, Jamie,” she whispered as she pushed open the cloth and shoved it down his arms.  She opened his shirt cuffs, and he pulled free. His eyes opened when his upper half was bare, and he almost wished he’d left them shut. Tears brimmed her eyes as she met his gaze with such dismay at what had happened to him. “How?” she asked again.
    He shifted to lie beside her, and she cuddled into his arms, not thinking twice about pressing her lips to his chest where scars pulled his nipple to an odd shape.
    “I was a photojournalist. You know…that Life magazine, National Geographic, coffee table book kind of stuff. I was in the middle east—wrong place at the wrong time. I was filming a religious festival when a suicide bomber attacked the participants.” He splayed the fingers of his scarred hand. “I was a mess but still very lucky. Nearly a hundred people died.”
    Her tongue flicked over his nipple then she kissed his chest again. Her nails dragged along his good side, sending fire through him.
    “You have a remarkable attitude,” she said.
    “I didn’t for a long time. I still don’t about some things.” Like his chances with a girl like her. He flexed his fingers on her ass. “But I still have my hand. And I have my life. And I can hold you.”
    They lay silently for several minutes, chest to chest, two souls meshing. Despite his hold on her rear and their nudity, there wasn’t an overt sexuality to the moment. They comforted one another, though he wasn’t sure yet what had traumatized her. They accepted each other.
    Rayna shifted upward and threaded her fingers through his hair. She kissed him hard. “And you can fuck me. You better,” she threatened good-naturedly.
    Rolling, he trapped her beneath him. Her legs bracketed his hips. He flexed into her, wishing he’d already removed his pants. “Or else what?” he asked.
    “Or I’ll…I’ll march over to the garage, just like this, and start handing out kisses to any man I see.”
    “Oh no you won’t.” He kissed her hard, grinding into her until she writhed and moaned. Wriggling beneath him, she removed her panties while he opened the front closure of her bra. His breath caught as her small, perfect breasts fell free. “So beautiful,” he murmured.
    She trembled as he ran his thumb over one tip then took the peak between his lips. He sucked deep until she cried out and shook. Her fingers bit into his upper arms, but that was pure bliss in itself, for he knew the pain was due to her own pleasure.
     
    “Oh yes, Jamie,” she moaned. Her pussy flooded as she moved beneath him. She wanted the hard proof of his desire plunging into her. She pushed up into his mouth as his tongue lashed over her nipple, each pass making her cunt