𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄

OPEN*

Is it worth the giving, is it worth the try? ... Open the door, and you will see...

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Diana perched her hands just below his jaw. She could feel the beating of his heart, a quick, rhythmic tapping that pulsed through her fingertips.

Before, Michael hadn't realized how hard his heart was beating, but now he could feel it all over. Diana's supple fingers acted as a magnifier. The throb was in his temples, in his wrists, in the pit of his stomach—

He took a sharp intake of breath as she shifted on top of him.

And between his legs. He could feel the throb between his legs.

He tried to stay calm. This was Diana, after all, the woman he'd been in love with ever since he could remember.

Exhaling, he dislodged the lump in his throat, and with shaky hands, held her at the swell of her hips.

Vague recollections of things he'd seen in dark hotels and dimly lit clubs raced through his mind. He saw his brothers taking a girl by the arm, swinging them close and slipping their hands underneath their shirts; he saw the sheen of a golden curtain, a woman's auburn hair falling across a man's shoulder as his hips thrust between her legs.

Outwardly, he was frozen, torn between nervousness and dizzy from arousal. Diana's hands were the only thing that managed to pluck him from the clouds.

She ran a gentle thumb across his bottom lip and then used the other to do the same. His breath hitched in his throat. His fingers pressed into her, harder than intended. To his relief, it didn't seem to bother her.

Diana rolled her hips and dipped forward. She captured his lips again and they kissed until his lips stung. A good sting.

When she pulled away, the undeniable pulse of his member pressed into her inner thigh. As much as she tried, she couldn't swallow the curse that tumbled from her tongue.

She didn't fight the ache. She licked her lips, let it radiate between her legs, let it run higher, higher until it ran its course.

Diana took his hands and brought them to her sleeves. Although her coat had been long forgotten, it still dangled at her sides, its furred bottom brushing against the floor. Michael complied with her silent request. He pulled and within moments, her coat tumbled to his feet.

Underneath, she wore a red wrap dress. It clung to her shape and drew up around her thighs. His fingers, twitching slightly, moved at their own accord, reacquainting themselves. They caressed the area just above her knee then drifted higher, only stopping when they reached the beginnings of her inner thigh.

An odd burn swelled in his chest. It rose, consuming him.

Diana looked down. With a gentle touch of the hands, she guided him forward.

He took in a shaky breath, gripping her thighs underneath her dress. He moved further, felt the silkiness of her underwear, and the softness of her belly. He glanced at her, and when she urged him again, he moved his hands downward, back to her waist.

Instinct overtook him. He closed his eyes, let his hand creep between her open thighs. She was warm and damp against his fingertips. His hand hovered there and for a moment, he let the heat radiate onto his open palm.

"Diane..."

He pressed into her with fingers that didn't feel like his own.

Their heavy panting filled the air. He explored, her silky underwear becoming damper, slicker as time slipped by. He looked up at her with glassy eyes, wondering how he'd managed to go this long without touching her this way.