Page 65 of First, Best and Only

Marni was floating wild and free, with Web as her anchor, the only one she’d ever truly need. She slipped her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in the hair at his nape, fighting for his lips, then his tongue, then the very air he breathed.

“Where did you ever … get that passion?” he gasped. His hands had begun a questing journey over the planes and swells of her soft body.

“From you, my dear man,” she breathed, greedily bunching her fingers over the twisting muscles of his back. “You taught me … fourteen years ago … and I haven’t been the same since … ahhh, Web …” He’d found her breasts and was taunting them mercilessly. “Will it always … be this way?”

“Always.” He rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger and was rewarded by her gasp.

“Promise?” She spread her hand over his flat middle and let it follow the tapering line of dark hair to that point where it flared.

“Sunshine … mmmmmmm … ah, yesss …” What little thought her artful stroking left him was centered in his fingers, which found the tiny nub of pleasure between her legs and began to caress it as artfully. “Ahhhh, sweet … so moist, soft …”

They were both breathing shallowly, and Marni’s body had begun to quiver in tune with his.

“C’mere,” he ordered. Cupping her bottom, he drew her forward, capturing her mouth and swallowing her rapturous moan as he entered her.

Knees braced on either side of his hips, she moved in rhythm with him. Her breasts rubbed against his with each forward surge, and their mouths mated hungrily. They rose together on passion’s ladder, reaching the very highest rung before Web held her back.

“Watch,” he whispered. He lowered his gaze to the point of their joining, then, when her head too was bowed, he slowly withdrew, as slowly filled her again, then repeated the movement.

It was too much for Marni. She cried his name once, then threw back her head and closed her eyes tight upon the waves of pulsing sensation that poured through her.

Web held himself buried deep inside her, hoping to savor each one of her spasms, but their very strength was his undoing. Without so much as another thrust, he gave a throaty moan and exploded. Arms trembling, he clutched her tightly to him. She was his anchor in far more than the storm of passion. He could only thank God that she was his.

On a bright, sunny morning in early June, Marni and Web were married. The ceremony was held beneath the trees in the backyard of the Langes’ Long Island estate and was followed by a lavish lawn luncheon for the two hundred invited guests.

Marni’s mother was radiant, exuding the air of confidence that was her social trademark. Marni’s father was gracious, if stoical, accepting congratulations with the formality that was his professional trademark.

Marni was in seventh heaven. Her mother had been the one to insist that the wedding be held there, and she’d personally orchestrated every step of the affair. While her father hadn’t once vocally blessed the marriage, Marni had seen the tears in his eyes in those poignant moments when he’d led her down the rose-strewn aisle and to the altar, then given her away. She’d whispered a soft “I love you” to him as she’d kissed him, but after that her eyes had been only for Web.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the minister had said, and she’d gone into Web’s arms with a sense of joy, of fulfillment and promise that had once only been a dream.

In the years to come, they’d have their home, their careers and their children. Most important, though, they’d have each other. Their ties went back to when they’d both been young. They’d weathered personal storms along the way, but they’d emerged as better people, and their love was supreme.