Page 81 of Fire Dancer
Item three, heading out to wreak my revenge on Victor Jananovich.
Item four, live happily ever after?
Outside, the sun was just over the horizon, and the horses roamed quietly in their paddock. I listened, trying the mindfulness thing, but I could sense a dark cloud slowly gliding in over the horizon.
“You’re frowning,” Ingo observed quietly, cupping my cheek.
Maybe. Still, what a treat to have him within whisper-distance so early in the morning.
“Not at you. I’m thinking of Victor Jananovich.”
Ingo arched an eyebrow. “I’ll try not to take it personally that you’re thinking of him while in bed with me.”
“You know what I mean.”
He chuckled a little, then sighed. “I do. And sorry. I think I finally get how you feel now.”
My brow furrowed. “How?”
“Waking up with someone whose mind is on the bad guys definitely puts a damper on the fun.”
My throat went all dry, and I blinked back tears.
“I didn’t mean to—”
Ingo pressed a finger to my lips. “Not an accusation. More like a look in the mirror.”
I gulped. Hard.
“I’m sorry. I really am,” I said. “Now I understand how hard it is for you to turn off work. Especially knowing the bad guy is still out there, ready to hurt someone.”
Ingo nodded. “It is hard. I definitely need more practice in switching off.”
I thought for a moment, then pointed outside. “How about we give ourselves until the sun is over the fence line?”
“Is that your alarm clock?” He grinned, stroking my side until his eyes sparkled. “Whatever will we do to distract ourselves until then?”
I chuckled. “Oh, I have a few ideas…”
More than a few, as it turned out. I stroked his side, then his steely rear. Then…other places. Ingo guided me around, and soon, I found myself straddling him, my body rippling over his, my pulse quickening.
Ingo tilted his head back and lowered his eyes to half-mast, succumbing to sheer pleasure.
As good as it felt, I found myself straining for something just out of reach. Then, in a brilliant lightbulb moment, I stopped and leaned to one side.
Ingo’s eyes popped open in a question.
“Remember this one?” I rose and swung a leg around, swiveling over him.
He groaned when we lost contact, then growled when we reconnected, now in reverse cowgirl. The view wasn’t as good for me, but Ingo seemed to enjoy his, and the angle was just what I needed.
“Oh yeah,” he murmured, all throaty. “I remember.”
As teens, we’d gotten hold of a magazine illustrating different sex positions, and we’d tried out every one. Some left us laughing too hard to muster any passion, while others had us moaning. Most turned out to be too complicated for anyone but a contortionist. We’d usually resorted to three tried and true positions: missionary, cowgirl, and wolf-style, as Ingo liked to call it.
Back then, as diligent students, we’d checked reverse cowgirl off the list and moved on. But now…
My body heated, and rapture filled my mind the way bright fog lit up the creek on beautiful spring mornings.