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She closed her eyes at the words, at the way they rioted through her, winding the spring tighter. “Please,” she panted.
“Once you’ve found it, I’m going to give it to you again.”
She clung to him. “Harder.”
He pressed more firmly, swirled in a tighter circle. “With my mouth . . .”
“Faster.”
Faster.
“More.”
More.
“And after my mouth . . . I’m going to make you come on my cock.”
“Oh, God,” she gasped. Pleasure slammed through her, nearly impossible to believe, and she was clinging to him, desperate for it to go on forever even as she begged for it to stop. He somehow knew what to do—stopping but not leaving her, pressing the heel of his palm tightly to the center of her pleasure as she went boneless beneath him.
He kissed her, long and slow as she returned to the moment, ending the caress in a delicious suck that had her sighing. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, leaning down to suck one aching nipple.
She turned toward him, her fingers coming to play in his hair. “Thank you.”
He laughed against her skin, the breath of the sound sending a delicious shiver through her. “Don’t thank me, love. It was a fucking gift.”
She didn’t have time to blush at the foul language, as he began to move down her body, pressing kisses over her skin as he settled between her thighs. Hattie’s eyes opened. “You can’t—”
“Mmm,” he said, ignoring the words as he parted her folds, meeting her gaze over her body. “You cannot believe I would see you here, laid out for me like a banquet, and not want to feast. You cannot believe I would not feast for days.”
She caught her breath, the memory of the pleasure she’d experienced at his mouth impossible to ignore. “Yes,” she said, her hand sliding over his head.
His eyes went heavy with desire as she fisted her fingers in his hair.
She smiled. “You like that.”
He didn’t respond, instead setting his mouth to her, pressing his tongue into her softness in a long, lingering lick that had her serving herself to him. He groaned, settling in, savoring her taste, making love to her with slow, nearly unbearable strokes.
“Whit,” she whispered, writhing beneath him, pulling him tight to her, unable to stop herself as he found the aching point of her with long, slow, gentle licks that set her on fire. “More.”
She was greedy for him, for his touch, for his kiss as he grasped her bottom, lifting her up to his mouth. Her eyes opened, and she met his gaze over her body, the view of him, worshipping her, threatening to send her over the edge instantly. She started to close her eyes, and he shook his head, growling his insistence that she remain with him. And she did, forgetting what ladies were supposed to be, what virgins were supposed to be. Forgetting everything but him, here, with her.
She was writhing against him, unable to stop herself from moving, and he placed one hand, large and brown from the sun, against her belly, holding her still as he worked her—stealing her breath and her thought with his stunning kisses, over and over, again and again, faster and faster until—
She flew apart beneath him, unable to keep her eyes open, letting them slide shut as he growled his displeasure—but he didn’t stop. Glorious, magnificent man . . . he didn’t stop. Instead, he held her through the wild orgasm—like nothing she’d ever experienced. He’d somehow taken pure pleasure and distilled it further. Pleasure incarnate.
He guided her back to earth, as though he were there for nothing more than to keep her safe. And, for a mad moment, Hattie imagined what it would be like for this man to keep her safe, forever. For him to want her, forever. For him to love her, forever.
Impossible.
Tears sprang, and he lifted his head, the muscles of his shoulders and arms tensing as worry crossed his brow. “Hattie?” Her name was harsh on his lips. He leaned over her, one hand coming to cradle her face. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
He ran that hand down her body and back up. “Christ. Did I hurt you?”
She couldn’t help the laugh that came. “No. No,” she said. “No. My God, you made me feel—” The tears again, threatening. “Whit, you made me feel wonderful. So wonderful that . . . I wish—”
He didn’t seem to believe her. He was too focused on her face, his beautiful eyes tracking hers, seeing everything.
“I wish—” she tried again.
“Tell me,” he said softly. “Tell me what you wish.”
I wish we could have more than tonight.
She reached for him, kissing him deep, leading the caress in a way she’d never done before. Putting every bit of herself into it—Hattie who resisted the past, Hattie who dreamed of a future, and Hattie who wanted a man like this to love her the way she’d always dreamed, quietly, in the darkness, when no one was looking.
She kissed him until they couldn’t speak, because she was too afraid to speak—too afraid that she might tell him that she wished for something he could not give her. Too afraid that he would leave her before she had the last taste of him. Before she had all of him. And when they pulled apart, she whispered against his lips, “I wish for the rest.”
He watched her for a long moment, and her heart stopped as she considered the possibility that he might not give it to her.
She slid a hand down the front of him, over his bandages, until she reached the waistband of his trousers, left unbuttoned when he’d pulled them on. She hesitated there, at the edge of the dark, tempting opening, knowing that another woman would move with more certainty.
As Hattie hesitated, so, too, did Whit, freezing above her, his breath stilling. She met his gaze. Asked a silent question.
“Now,” he said. “Do it.”
And she did, sliding her hand inside the dark, promising V of the fabric, reveling in his quick inhale when she touched him. “Does that feel—”
“Yes.”
She smiled. “I didn’t finish the question.”
“It feels like heaven, love.”
She shook her head. “But it can feel better.”
He closed his eyes. “I don’t think I can bear it feeling better.”
She leaned up and kissed the sharp line of his jaw. “I think you’ll do fine. Show me.”
His attention flew to hers. “You’re not a warrior. You’re a fucking goddess. Did you know that?”
She liked that very much. Unable to keep the smile from her lips, she repeated herself. “Show me.”
He did, placing his hand on hers, showing her just how he liked to be touched, the firm, smooth heat of him sliding over her palm as she stroked him. “You’re so soft,” she whispered, her eyes on their hands in the V of his trousers. “So hard.”
He grunted. “Never harder.”
She met his eyes. “Is that true?”
“Yes.”
She wanted to touch him, to learn him, to give him all the pleasure that he gave her. “Show me how. Teach me.” He let her push his trousers aside, revealing him—full, thick, strong, and, “Beautiful.”
He swore softly and grew impossibly harder at the word, guiding her touch, squeezing her around him, almost too rough, until she stroked him and he growled, the sound like a gift. She smiled, watching their joined hands work him. “You like this.”
