“You should probably remove your boots. I believe Madam Radcliff has given us her finest sheets.”
He tugged off one boot. “Then I will try not to be too disrespectful to them.”
A light finally returned to Clara’s face as he removed the other boot and his breeches and small clothes. Standing naked beside the bed, Michael watched as Clara examined him head to toe. Despite her bravado, the look on her face told him for certain she had never seen a man without his clothes. That expression moved from astonishment to glee, as if she’d been presented with a new treasure.
She raised her hand again, reaching toward him. “Oh, my.”
Michael fought a laugh, then put one knee on the edge of the bed and lowered himself to cover her, spreading her legs and settling against her. She sighed as he kissed her and wriggled beneath him. He groaned, breaking the kiss. “You will be the death of me if you keep that up.”
She wriggled again, glee lighting her eyes as she stroked his back and rear.
Michael grabbed her hands and pinned them over her head. She opened her mouth to speak, eyes wide, but he smothered it with another lingering kiss. She tasted like mint and lemon, and he could not get enough of the soft and pliable warmth of her mouth. He shifted, trapping both her hands in one of his as he let the other trace down her temple and cheek. She sighed as he brushed the mound of her breast with the back of his hand, kissing his way down her neck, his tongue flicking against the hollow at the edge of her collarbone.
He cupped her breast, squeezing gently, and Clara gasped, her back arching as he pulled the taut bud of her nipple into his mouth, sucking greedily before pinching it between his teeth. She squirmed, her hips writhing, as she struggled to pull her hands from his grasp.
“Let me touch you!”
He raised his head. “Not yet, my love.” He moved his attention to the other breast, pressing it between his palm and his chest, rolling the nipple between his fingers as he watched her face. “You like this?”
Her word was almost breathless. “Yes!”
He tightened the pinch and she whimpered. “You want more?”
A frantic nod.
“You will leave your hands where they are? Over your head?”
Her eyes peered at him, half-lidded, but she nodded again.
“Then close your eyes. I want you to feel just feel how beautiful you are. How lovely you are like this, ready for me.”
A flash of uncertainly crossed her face. “Michael—”
“Shh. Close them.”
She did.
Michael released her hands, and she did, indeed, leave them curled in place over her head. This—her trust, her surrender—thrilled him more than he could have imagined. His desire for her became a painful tightness in his chest, his cock hardening. He moved down, now seizing both breasts—one in his hand and one in his mouth—his fingers and tongue working both nipples. He pulled and pressed, pinched and nipped, relishing the feel of her, the scent of her as desire overwhelmed her. Clara opened and closed her fists repeatedly, her arms jerking as she struggled to keep them in place.
He slowed his kisses, letting his fingers trail down her stomach to the now wet curls between her legs. He followed the bare touches with his lips, and her eyes shot wide. “Michael! What are you doing?”
He raised his head, his lips coated with her moisture. “Treating you like the goddess you are. Now close your eyes.”
She did, shuddering as he parted her lush curls, then the soft folds beneath, and set to enjoying himself.
*
Clara squeezed hereyes shut against the fire that seemed to consume her, a heat, a pure joy like nothing she had ever felt. Even the barest touch of Michael’s fingers seared her, creating a desire she did not know existed. She fought to keep her arms over her head. Her need to hold him, to pull him to her, to feel his skin under her palms overwhelmed her. Her nails dug into her palms as his mouth settled between her legs, and she bit her lips to keep from crying out. His tongue and teeth pressed into her, exploring her as the pleasure built inside, a growing, expanding tightness that arched her.
Then she felt another pressure, this one pushing inside, and she gasped his name again. He continued, his movements gentle but insistent, and pressure increased. His fingers, she realized, as he began to slip them in and out. Clara was not sure she could stand anymore, and her hips bucked, her feet sliding up and down on the sheets.
“A little longer, my darling,” he whispered. Then his mouth was at her again, sucking hard at the top of her sex as the pressure and thrust of his fingers increased again.
The pleasure seemed to burst within her, an intense wave of release washing over her. She cried out, a half sob, half whimper, and tears slid from her eyes. Her body went limp, and she fought for her breath.
Michael was at her side immediately, curling around her, cradling her against his chest. “Did I hurt you?” His words came between multiple kisses on her hair, her temple, her lips.
Clara shook her head, unable to speak. She felt as if she had been immersed in a hot pool, the water engulfing her, barely letting her breathe. He pulled her arms down, folding them against his chest, kissing her hands. Then he put his arms and legs around her, holding her close.
