A Kiss in the Dark Duet

A Kiss in the Dark (Duet)
Shelby Morgen
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2017 Shelby Morgen

She'd never seen a night so black. No lights in the houses. No streetlamps. Not even moonlight creeping around the edges of the thick storm clouds. She couldn't see an inch in front of her face. It was as quiet as it was dark. All the trappings of civilization had disappeared. Only the sound of their breathing broke the total stillness of the night.

They huddled in the dark, waiting, while the storm raged outside. Tomorrow the sun would shine and they'd begin to find their way again, but tonight they were lost sheep, cuddled together for warmth. Strangers, thrown together by fate.

Strong, masculine hands chafed her arms, warming her skin, heating her blood, making it hard to focus on anything but the feel of his skin against hers. His voice, chiding, seemed to come from miles away. "What were you doing out there? You could have been killed."

Oh God. He had a voice like Sean Connery, deep enough to curl her toes, and with a strong hint of a burr to it. Maybe Irish, rather than Scots. She was no expert. One way or the other, the situation was hopeless. She was lost. She wanted, needed to feel his hands on her skin, his body over hers, his cock buried deep in her needy cunt. And she was supposed to make small talk? "Part of the job," she mumbled. "Too many trees down. Tried to go back, but the water's too deep."

Her lips were moving, answering his questions, but the words had no meaning. It was Pat's fault. Ever since her best friend had linked the Purity Test on line the questions had been there, nagging at her.

Have you ever:

* Had sex on the first date?
* Had sex with someone whose name you did not know?
* Had sex with someone whose face you never saw?
* Had sex with someone where there was an age difference of more than 20 years?

No. Not her. She hadn't done anything. Ever. She was a good girl. The world was black and white. Good and bad. Right and wrong. What she was thinking about was wrong. Totally and completely wrong. And the idea made her hotter than she could ever remember being. His hands were on her again. He had the most exquisite hands. Large, strong, capable hands that would feel so perfect against her bare skin, riding the curves of her breasts, parting the folds of her pussy. Surely she was reading too much into that touch. He couldn't know what he was doing to her. She was going to combust.

"We need to get you out of these wet clothes or you'll end up with pneumonia. Take my hand. I know this old house well enough to find my way around in the dark."

She couldn't see a thing. She followed him blindly, hunting with her toes for each step, up a set of steep old stairs, down a hallway, and into what could only be his bedroom. She shivered as he opened a door -- must be the closet. Her hand still rested on his elbow. She felt him reaching for something. A T-shirt, from the feel of the fabric he pressed into her hands. "Put this on. It's big enough to cover most of you. I'll be just outside the door."

"No!" Was that her voice squeaking? "I mean, I may need your help. My fingers are so cold I don't think I can manage these buttons." Buttons? That was the best she could do? Pretty lame.

"Oh."

Was there a note of disappointment in his voice? Dear God, she was no good at seduction. She was so inept he actually thought she was talking about the damn buttons. Well, her fingers were shaking so badly she couldn't get them undone, but it wasn't from the cold. At least not completely.

She fumbled with her tool belt, laying it carefully aside. His hands made short work of her uniform shirt, pausing only when they got to her waist, then working quickly to unbutton the fly of her heavy twill pants. As he pulled her shirttails free, she pressed her hands over his, savoring the sharp intake of his breath. If she stopped to think now, she'd lose her nerve. She wouldn't think. She couldn't.

"I'm so cold," she lied. He had to feel the heat pouring off of her. He didn't resist as she guided his hands to her breasts. Her nipples contracted into tight buds at his touch. She swallowed a whimper of need.

"I've always been told body heat is the best way to warm someone when they're chilled." Those magnificent hands moved down to her hips, pulling her closer.

"That might work. If you don't mind." Did she sound as breathless as she felt?

"I'm willing to make the sacrifice. After all, we're in the middle of a natural disaster."

"I wouldn't want to put you out any." Damn him! He was laughing at her. She tried to back away, only to have his grip tighten.

"Oh, I think I can manage."

The darkness had sharpened her senses. She felt the slight movement of air against her skin as he bent, his lips seeking hers. OK. Maybe he wasn't laughing at her.

She'd noticed his hair when he waded out to pull her from her stranded truck, the ponytail accenting his profile. Somewhere between the truck and here the neat tie had come loose. Now as he bent his head to press his lips against hers, his damp hair spilled over her shoulders, almost sizzling against the heat of her skin. She buried her hands in his curls, rubbing handfuls over her breasts.

He didn't need any instructions. He read the message her body was sending him like a blind man's fingers over Braille. His teeth scraped her nipple through the thin lace of her bra -- the one concession to femininity her uniform allowed.

Oh, yeah. He could manage just fine.