One Reckless Summer Read Online Free PDF Page A

life like this. With a stranger. On the ground. In the woods.
    I can’t do it. I just can’t.
    Even if I want to.
    With Mick Brody, it seemed, arousal and fear mixed and mingled until she could barely tell them apart.
    Tell him you’re sorry , you’ve made a mistake here. You’re not this woman, not someone who can have—or handle— sex in the woods. And maybe he’ll be a decent enough guy to let you leave now.
    Not that he seemed like a very decent guy so far. But she knew she couldn’t do this. It wasn’t right. It made no sense.
    I can’t. She practiced saying it again in her mind, and was just about to break the bad news out loud—when Mick Brody lifted her bottom with one hand, yanked her panties aside with the other, and situated her body just atop his erection.
    Oh! She sucked in her breath at the sensation.
    It’s now or never. Say it.
    But she didn’t.
    And then he pushed her down, onto him.
    Oh God.
    Oh my!
    It was the end of life as a good girl.

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    But those with the courage to explore the weave and structure of the Cosmos, even where it differs profoundly from their wishes and prejudices, will penetrate its deepest mysteries.
    Carl Sagan

Two
    T he pleasure was startling and profound. Almost painful, because he was big and because she hadn’t had sex in a while, so a stunned cry left her—but it was also amazingly good, in a way she felt in her gut, her very soul.
    He was inside her—deep inside her—and there was no sense in protesting now, no turning back.
    She wanted desperately to be angry at him, to feel she’d been forced, compromised, but—Lord—he felt too incredible inside her. And she knew she’d had a thousand chances to say no and had never once uttered the word. And besides, she was on top , for heaven’s sake.
    And as she began to adjust, to find exactly the right angle where he felt best, as he hissed in his breath sharply, then let out another masculine groan, it occurred to her that she was finally taking that ride he’d invited her on all those years ago. This is what she’d pictured then in the forbidden spots of her mind, her on top of him like this, moving. And the very thought propelled her to do just that—to move as she had in those illicit visions, to move and take him still deeper and to moan when their bodies connected in just the right way.
    He moved, too, thrusting up into her, powerful plunges that nearly blinded her with pleasure, made her bite her lip, made her curl her fingernails into the thin fabric of his T-shirt.
    She felt the urge to kiss him, but resisted, because even though he’d kissed her, once, earlier, this…didn’t feel romantic. And even as he moved in her, she found herself not wanting him to think she’d suddenly gone soft. This was not about kissing—this was about need, and hunger, and darkness. This was hard sex, in the woods. This was Mick Brody.
    She moved on him more vigorously, felt his hands mold to her ass. She closed her eyes and drank in the scent of the pungent forest floor, the damp earth, the very greenness of it all. But then she opened her eyes because it still seemed so unreal, and the pleasure inside her began to tighten and gather in the spot just above where their bodies met so wet and smooth. And she met his gaze again, writhed against him more wildly, let herself feel that—the utter wildness of it—until he whispered, “Come, pussycat,” and she did.
    The orgasm was rough, as jagged as the uneven land they occupied. Strangled cries left her throat as she tried to absorb the startling sensations that rocketed through her. Her arms locked around his neck; she bit her lip to try to stop sobbing her way through the abrupt pleasure.
    When the intense waves of climax finally passed, eased, her mind raced—what to do now? She had no idea.
    But she didn’t have to ponder it long since Mick was ready to take over again—without a word, he plastered both hands on her bottom and rolled her onto a soft bed of moss