When he closed his mouth over one peaked nipple through the fabric, Ellie sighed, a release of tension so profound he hardened even further. He couldn’t take any more. His need was too strong, too overwhelming to contain.
Henry stood and pulled the low bench from the writing desk and dragged it to the center of the sitting room, guiding her to sit. “Let me worship you, Ellie,” he rasped as he dropped to his knees.
Her eyes widened, then lowered to a lazy, hooded expression as he lifted the shift, dragging the silk up her thighs. She let her thighs fall apart without hesitation, exposing her most intimate flesh to his gaze. He feasted on her, stroking her swollen folds with his tongue and fingers until she was soaked and moaning, gripping the edge of the bench as she keened his name.
With a start, she stiffened. “Henry,” she said, her voice low and husky.
He looked up, but her gaze was over his head and behind him. “What is it?”
“The mirror,” she said. He turned and met her eyes in the mirror above the fireplace, angled so it reflected the erotic sight like a framed portrait. If he had not already been aroused to the point of pain, this would have brought him there.
“Your glasses, Ellie, where are they?”
She paused, confused. “My pocket, in my dress.”
Henry stood and rooted through the discarded clothing until he found them, then placed them on her nose, sliding the earpieces in place. Copper lashes fluttered at him, then up to the mirror. She took a quick intake of breath, and he knew the reflection had become crystal clear in her sight.
“Now you can see what I see,” he murmured, turning his attention to kiss her thighs, one hand traveling under her shift, over the curve of her belly to cup her breast, worrying her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Her breath caught at the touch. “Can you see how beautiful you are, Ellie? How perfect you are for my hands, my mouth?” He brought his lips to her center and felt a rush of heat against his tongue, the taste of her arousal intoxicating him even further. “I can’t resist you, Eleanor. I’m addicted to your body, how you react to my touch.” One more stroke of his tongue along the length of her. He savored the trembling of her thighs around his ears. “You can’t deny it, my beautiful. I won't let you. You were made for pleasure. You are temptation itself.”
He gave in to the temptation her body presented, flicking and sucking until her fingers gripped his hair, directing him exactly where she wanted him. Where sheneededhim.
She needed him.
And when she came apart, he experienced a rush of possession more powerful than anything he had ever known. He had found his life’s work, the task he would devote his existence to, one he would never tire of. He would strive to bring his Eleanor pleasure until his last moment of life.
Henry stood, discarding his trousers and then captured her lips again, taking her hands and pulling her to her feet, her body loose and languid in his arms. He moved to stand behind her, her back to his front, stroking his palms down her waist until he caught the hem of her shift in his hands. “This is spectacular, but I want to see you, Eleanor.”
She stiffened in his arms and he caught her apprehensive expression in the mirror. He lifted one hand to cup her chin, directing her gaze to meet his in their reflection. “You’re a work of art, and I can’t stand that you won’t see yourself the way I do.”
“It’s not so simple.” But she did not avert her eyes when his hands returned to the hem and raised it, letting his fingers stroke the silky skin of her thighs. Her breath fell out of her lungs in a rush. “But you make me feel beautiful, Henry,” she whispered. “You make me feel perfect.”
Pride rushed through him, heady and overwhelming. She wantedhim, only Henry, to do this to her, something no one else could. His life’s work suddenly changed. If she allowed it, he would bring her pleasure, but above all, he would make her see herbeautyevery single day.
As the fabric slipped over her rounded belly, Henry felt her knees tremble, so he sat, bringing her onto his lap upon the bench, one arm around her bare middle. His erection pressed into the soft crevice of her buttocks, the sensation nearly shattering him.
“Ellie,” he moaned, “please let me see you. Please seeyourself.”
When she nodded, a tense and barely noticeable bob of her chin, he brought the fabric the rest of the way up, releasing her waist so he could remove the garment completely.
Ellie stared, lips parted. Henry stared too, his gaze hungrily memorizing every inch of her, every luscious curve and dip of flesh, every freckle and imperfection making him want to study her for hours, to create sketches and paintings and sculptures that would never be enough to capture the essence of her and her beauty.
“Henry,” she whispered, her voice uncertain. “Will you touch me?” She swallowed, and her words were bolder. “I want you to touch me.”
Arousal and pride rushed through him, blurring his vision. “Like this?” His palms closed over her ample breasts, caressing and lifting the globes before turning his attention to her straining nipples. She watched their reflection as her breath quickened, entranced by the display.
“No,” she said after several long moments. Then she spread her legs wide, lifting her thighs over his until she was fully exposed to his view, to his touch. “Here. Touch me here.”
“God, yes,” he moaned. He attempted to maintain control as he stroked down her waist, over her soft stomach and the tight curls guarding her sex, dipping his fingers into the velvety heat of her center.
Ellie’s head dropped back against his shoulder, her breath coming fast. “Yes, like this. I want to see this.”
“I do too,” he murmured, dropping a kiss on her temple. “I want you to see yourself come apart. You need to see what a goddess you truly are.”
Henry brought her there slowly, wrenching pleasure from her in agonizing increments as he took her to the edge again and again, watching her eyes as she devoured the sight of herself, wanton and writhing at his touch. When her mouth fell open, her lips were red and slick as her body convulsed around his fingers. She moaned as her climax tore through her, never breaking her own eye contact as she cried out and gripped his hand and rocked against it, taking every bit of pleasure for herself.
I could die like this, he thought.This could be the last thing I saw and I would die a fortunate man.
But one climax wasn’t enough, not for her. He wanted to share in her pleasure, to have her use his body more, to give until he had nothing left. Taking her hips in his palms, Henry lifted her higher onto his lap, holding her steady as his heavy arousal notched against her wet flesh.
